#Is there anything like sustainable lace by the way?

[t0rschlusspan1k]

I just want some cute lingerie, is that too much to ask?

[laenordeservedbetter]

For Sam x reader.

Ghostface is back and had followed the Carpenters, the twins, and Amber's older sister, Reader, to New York. No one trusting her because of the fact that her little sister was Ghostface, Reader is in disbelief, and Sam breaks up with her on the spot. Fast forward to the end, where Ghostface is dead, everyone's being treated by paramedics, Reader is seen walking away from the scene alone. Kirby asks where she is, Sam then sees her walking away, holding her broken arm to her body, and runs after her and apologies for not trusting and believing her. (Reader saying it's too late for sam to apologize. She then walks away from her friends, from Sam.)

You're Somebody Else

Words: 1.4k

Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x Fem!Freeman!Reader

Synopsis: You were told that the biggest betrayal comes from the people you care about the most, but never did you expect it to hurt so much.

Warnings: scream vi spoilers, violence, spitting, cussing, angst, no happy ending. lmk if I missed any.

A/N: I wrote this at a coffee shop. I'm still here rn, so we'll see how many fics I can post before I go home. (This will probably be the only one)

not my gif. || masterlist || previous work

You stood before Amber’s Ghostface outfit, reaching out to touch the fabric before you remembered where you were -- who you’re with. The glares given to you by the rest of the group burned at the back of your skull. You can practically sense their judgments. Since the first Ghostface attack in New York, they pointed their fingers at you. You understood, given what you've all been through. Can't be too careful. You didn’t care that you saw the contempt on your own girlfriend’s face. You stayed by her side, understanding where she was coming from.

Being related to a previous Ghostface was something you and Sam had in common. When you are linked to a person with that track record, it sticks with you even if you are different from them. Trust becomes hard to give. And out of everyone, you figured your girlfriend is the one who understood the most about what it’s like. However, it looks like the sentiment isn’t shared.

She approaches you, getting the courage to ask, “Can we talk?”

You can tell what’s about to happen before Sam can utter what she wants to say to you.

Nothing good ever comes out of conversations like these.

“I’m sorry.” Sam stares, her gaze cold, nothing like the Sam you fell in love with. With each deafening step she takes away from you, your heart shatters just a little bit more. You are wounded by the way she’s looking at you. Any wound or injury you might sustain in the next few minutes will not compare to the poison laced in the invisible knife held against your throat by the woman you love. “I can’t take any more chances. I can’t trust you. We’re done.”

You scoff, glancing towards the group in hopes that they would back up your claim. “Sam, you know me. I would never hurt you or Tara or. . . Anika.”

Mindy flinches at the mention of her girlfriend’s name. Her stare hardens. “You have no right to say her name. We know you did it. You killed her.”

“Mindy…” Your voice breaks as your throat feels like it’s closing up. You can’t do anything to convince them, letting the stream of tears flow from your eyes. No one came to your rescue to prove your innocence. None of them trusted you. You felt pathetic, humiliated, embarrassed. Your eyes settle on Sam again. “Really? After everything we’ve been through together, you-”

Sam glowers. “It’s over, Y/n. Please, stay away from us.”

“Fuck you.” You turn your back, the hurt in your tone clear as day. “I don’t know you at all.”

“Maybe we didn’t know each other as well as we thought.”

It was one thing for you to walk away and another knowing that Sam would not be going after you.

-

“It was easy luring you away from the group. Guess we really can’t choose our family, huh?” Ghostface makes a tsk sound, the voice changer turned off.

He takes a step forward, but you stay positioned adjacent to the wall. That voice…

“Ethan?”

Ethan removes his mask, holding the voice changer to his lips, “Didn’t expect that?”

Of course it was him. Little by little, the pieces fall into place. The apartment attack -- that was probably Ethan. He wasn’t with the group. Not even the skeptic Mindy questioned his whereabouts. Your tears haven’t dried yet and you were as sure as hell they weren’t going to stop now. You bring your hands together in a slow clap. “Oh, wow, that’s… Fucking brilliant, actually.” Clutching your stomach, you let out what sounded like a painful cackle. “This is the part where I die.” You say. It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“Oh no, no, no. See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Ethan smirks, gripping your left arm, applying pressure to where you had been previously injured a couple nights prior. “You are our scapegoat. I must give credit to Mindy for the idea. You have the perfect motive to be Ghostface! It was just gonna be Sam, but… The press would go crazier if it was a Bonnie & Clyde situation. Not that I care about that sorta stuff. It just works.”

You collect the saliva from your mouth, spitting in his eye. “Jokes on you ‘cause we’re not together anymore.”

“But they wouldn’t know that because by the time you get ‘caught’, all of your friends will be dead and you would look like the asshole trying to save yourself if you attempt to say the truth.”

Ethan places his free hand on your shoulder, pulling your arm with more force than necessary to guarantee that it would break. You stand there, biting your lip in order to hide the pain. If I screamed, it wouldn’t make a difference anyway, you said to yourself bitterly. There’s not a single person who’d give me the benefit of the doubt. In fact, they’d make me suffer worse, believing that Ethan did the right thing. Who knows what creative scenarios he came up with already.

-

The paramedics found you slumped down beside a row of chairs after Sam and the rest of the group defeated the three Ghostfaces. They wondered why you weren’t with the others, but with a quick word from Kirby, they left you alone, guiding you outside to treat your broken arm. One of the paramedics - Theo (that’s what you heard Kirby call him) asked if you wanted a ride to the hospital. You declined, insisting that you could get there yourself without anyone’s help.

You spare Sam a glance, observing her interact with Mindy, Chad, and Tara. Core Four. Good for them. Although you were glad that they are are still extant, you can’t stop the rancor that you feel as you stare at the four. You want nothing more than for this day to be over, move to someplace else, maybe change your name. Anywhere is better than here. It’s become clear to you how unwanted you are in New York. A change of scenery might do you good.

Kirby (the only person who hasn’t treated you like scum) situates herself in front of Sam, “Hey, where’s Y/n?”

Sam only notices your absence when Kirby pointed it out. “Shit. I…” She scans the area in search of your familiar eyes, guilt eating at her knowing that she accused you of being a killer. Because of that, you got hurt. She’d never forgive herself for it. “I'll be right back.”

The blonde detective nods in understanding. “I’ll stay with Tara.”

“Thank you.”

You were on your way to the hospital when a hand grasps your injured arm. Recoiling from the touch, you look back to curse the one responsible for hurting your limb only to meet Sam’s pleading gaze. “What do you want, Samantha?”

“Y/n, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for being careless, for not trusting or believing you. If I had, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” Sam touches your good shoulder this time, expressing her genuine apology.

But no matter how many ‘I’m sorry’s’ she will direct at you, it won’t take away what’s been done. “It’s too late, Sam.”

“What? No. We can try again.” She pleads desperately.

You couldn’t bite back the words the words that are on the tip of your tongue, feeling the last ounce of self control fray away. “Try again? Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds? You broke up with me because you didn’t trust me. You didn’t even try to understand my side!” The news reporters turned their heads at your outburst. They point their cameras to you, but you don’t make an effort to cut off your ebullition short. “All of you pointed your hands at me because what? I’m the sister of a killer?! If we’re basing our suspicions of all the Ghostface’s relatives, you should’ve been on the top of the list. The only thing I asked was for you to stand by me and you failed. So, no, we can’t try again. We’ll only end up worse than where we left off.” You finish, walking away from everything (not for the first time). “I’ll get my things out of your apartment tonight. After that, you won’t have to see me again.”

Sam stays still while you leave, clutching your arm in the process. That limb will heal, but the words that Sam has spoken won’t. There will remain a constant reminder of how you were betrayed by those you would give everything for.

So much for trust.

[hearts4hughes]

trouble in paradise | luke hughes

(luke hughes x fem! reader) + (jack hughes x platonic! reader)

a/n: finally finished it!! i feel like i write so much for luke now, but hey i’m not complaining!!

request: hi, could i request an angsty fic with luke dating jack’s best friend? maybe they have an argument and jack is caught inbetween? thank you! <3

you stand before luke, your heart racing and your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt. the room feels smaller, suffocating, as the weight of your argument hangs heavily in the air. the person you saw as your rock, your confidant, now stands before you as a source of frustration and disappointment. this is a moment you never thought would come – arguing with luke.

every word you say is laced with frustration, each syllable a knife cutting deeper into the fabric of your relationship. your once shared dreams and laughter seem like distant memories, overshadowed by the mounting tension that has consumed you both. he stares back at you, his eyes a mix of defiance and pain, his own words a response to your accusations.

“it’s like you don’t even care anymore,” your voice is cold, the warmth it usually holds nowhere to be found. “it’s like i’m no one to you, luke!” your voice cracks, showcasing your insecurities.

“i’m the one who doesn’t care?” he huffs out a sarcastic laugh, causing your heart to crack ever so slightly. “you’re the one who spends more time with jack than her own boyfriend!”

your senses are overcome with betrayal. your relationship with jack - your best friend and luke’s brother - was anything but romantic. you were best friends from birth. ellen and your mother always joked you two were ‘attached by the hip’; however, you never thought anything of jack in a romantic way. your friendship was strictly platonic, and you made sure to tell luke that when you began dating.

in this anguished moment, you wonder how it came to this. how the person who once brought you joy and comfort has become a source of turmoil. you question whether love alone is enough to sustain a relationship, or if it takes something more, something you fear may be slipping away.

“jack is my best friend. i’ve known him since i can remember, and you’re going to use that against me? fuck you, luke!” you yell, your feeling of betrayal quickly turns into rage. “you’re just insecure because jack and i have a healthy relationship without even trying, but you and i can’t because you ruin everything! that’s what you do, luke. you ruin everything you can touch.”

the hurtful words flow freely from your lips before you can stop them. silence consumes the room. your mouth hangs agape. you never thought you were capable of saying something like that to luke - your soulmate, the love of your life, your everything.

your words hit him like a sledgehammer. shattering both his heart and his confidence. his once angry features have now fallen into sadness and anxiety. did you really think that about him? did you really think he destroys everything he touches?

he opens his mouth and you expect to be yelled at or even scolded, but he only manages to croak out, “why don’t you go date jack instead, then!”

before you can even process what had been said, he exited the shared bedroom and the apartment, making sure to slam the door. you’re left standing there, the weight of his departure pressing against your chest. tears stream down your face, a mixture of regret and longing. the house feels empty and the reality of his absence crashes down upon you. for a moment, you're overwhelmed by a wave of uncertainty and fear. the weightiness of the dispute bears down heavily on you, leading to doubts that stain your thoughts. have you crossed a line that can't be undone? is this the point of no return? uncertainties whirl in your mind as you struggle with the potential of losing him.

as sobs leave your tired body, you fall to the floor, tucking your knees to your chest and hiding your face in between them. your cries almost drown out the soft knocks against your door. “i don’t want to talk to you, luke. go away.” you say, your voice holding utter exhaustion.

“it’s jack, not luke,” his voice is muffled from being behind the door, “can i come in, please?”

in the midst of the heated argument, you had completely forgotten jack was home, listening to the whole thing. a few months after you and luke started dating, you both talked of moving in with each other - considering you were at jack and luke’s apartment everyday anyway. with open arms, they both invited you to move in with them. jack even redid the guest bedroom for you (even though you claimed luke’s room as yours too).

you rise from your place, wiping away your tears, and open the door to find jack standing there, concern etched across his face. he doesn't say anything. he simply steps forward and envelops you in a tight, understanding embrace. you find comfort in his arms, feeling the weight of your burden begin to lift ever so slightly. you know that you can trust him with your pain, your fears, and your deepest vulnerabilities.

“he’s not coming back is he?” you say in between uncontrolled breaths, “i ruined everything, didn’t i?” you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck as he tightens his hold around you.

“he has to come back, y/n. his airpods and phone are still here.” he jokes, trying to cheer you up and break the tension. you pull away from his neck, shooting him a glare that reads ‘not the time’. “ok sorry but he’s definitely coming back. he just needs time to cool down and chill out before he talks to you. and, you didn’t ruin anything. all relationships have their ups and downs.”

“but what if this isn’t just an up or down? what if we break up?” your voice is barely above a murmur. voicing your insecurities is something you don’t do often. you were taught at an early age that it’s best if you keep your doubts to yourself instead of showcases them for everyone to see.

jack rests his head atop of yours, “believe me, you won’t break up. luke loves you too much, y/n/n,” he pauses to take a deep breath, “however, you did say some pretty hurtful things. i’m not defending luke by any means because he was being a total dick, but you should apologize as well.”

you nod softly in agreement.

-

luke came home a few hours later. he went out fully convinced he would get drunk, but he didn’t - he couldn’t do that to you. instead, he ended up driving around, attempting to forget the words that cut through him like a knife.

the bedroom door swung open, revealing a exhausted luke. his eyes met yours, and a mix of relief and sorrow washed over his face. his once happy and confident demeanor now showed signs of sadness, his shoulders slightly slumped, and his gaze filled with remorse. the tension between you hung heavy, suffocating, as the weight of your argument lingered.

the bedside lamp illuminated your tired features and tear stained cheeks. guilt washed over him as he looked at you. hesitantly, he walked over to the bed, sitting besides you. silence continued to fill the room.

unable to bear the silence any longer, you took a hesitant step forward. your voice was barely above a whisper as you said, "luke, i... i didn't mean those things i said. i'm sorry."

his eyes met yours, searching for sincerity. slowly, he closed the distance between you, bringing you into a bone crushing hug. the room seemed to hold its breath as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his touch sending a jolt of warmth through your veins.

“do you really think i ruin everything?” his voice cracks as he asks. your heart breaks at his vulnerable state. if only you didn’t say such hurtful things, this wouldn’t be happening. if only you dropped the disagreement instead of turning it into a fight

“of course i don’t, lukey.” you coo, bringing your hand to entangle with his curls. “i was just angry and saying things i didn’t mean. if anything, you do the exact opposite of ruining things.” you pause you take a deep breath, “you can make anything better no matter what. that’s why you’re the perfect boyfriend and i love you so much.”

"i’m sorry too," he finally spoke, his voice filled with remorse and regret. "i shouldn't have said hurtful things either. i love you, and i never wanted to hurt you." the weight of the argument began to lift, replaced by a renewed sense of hope and the promise of healing.

every relationship has it’s own bumps in the road; however, what really matters is how you overcome those bumps with the strength of your love.

[ultrone]

🏹﹒♱ ┊ hunting lessons. hunter nat scatorccio

🎧 𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙸𝙽𝙶 fade into you by mazzy star

synopsis. nat teaches u how to hunt.

cw. friends to lovers trope (?), shooting an animal.

wc. 2.8k

n/a. just finished binge-watching yellowjackets and fell in love with nat (and shauna and pre-crash lottie), i almost combusted and threw up when i saw the lack of fics 😖 had to do something abt it so here y'all go 🙌🏻

It was already afternoon, and you had devoted most of the entire morning to chopping pieces of wood. The stack of wood grew steadily higher, as you meticulously arranged each piece, ensuring there was enough to sustain a warm fire for at least three days. It was a laborious process, but one you found solace in, the repetitive motion calming your thoughts.

The crisp winter air filled your lungs as you swung the axe, each powerful stroke splitting the logs with a satisfying thud. Your breath formed small clouds of vapour, mingling with the falling snowflakes. As you continued your diligent work, wood cracking echoed through the quiet surroundings, accompanied by the occasional chirping of distant birds.

With the woodpile complete, you wearily cleaned your tools, removing any lingering wood chips, and carefully stowed them away in their designated place. As you finished, a gentle voice called out from behind you.

"Are you finished?" Tai asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

Turning towards her with a tired smile, you nodded and replied, "Yes, finally done. I managed to gather enough wood to last us for a few days. I'm just going to take a quick nap upstairs, though. My body could use a rest."

Tai's eyes widened slightly, her concern evident. "You've been working so hard today," she said empathetically. "Make sure you get some good rest. I'll keep an eye on the fire and wake you up if anything happens."

You appreciated her thoughtfulness and gratitude washed over you. "Thanks, Tai," you replied, "I'll only be upstairs for a little while. Wake me up if you need anything, okay?"

She nodded and gave you an encouraging smile. "Take care. I'll see you later."

With a final wave, you made your way wearily inside, your tired footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. Climbing the stairs, you reached the attic, shedding your heavy outerwear and sinking into the comfort of the bedsheets. The weariness of the day settled upon you, and as your eyes closed, you drifted into a much-needed slumber.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs stirred you from your sleep. You groggily registered the noise but dismissed it, assuming it was just the usual household activity. However, your drowsiness was quickly interrupted when you felt someone settling down beside you. Startled, you blinked your eyes open to find Nat, grinning mischievously.

"Well, well, well, look who decided to hibernate for three hours instead of twenty minutes," Nat teased, her voice laced with playful sarcasm.

You groaned, rubbing your eyes and turning to face her. "Damn it, Nat. I can't believe I overslept like that. Why didn’t you wake me up?"

She smirked, propping herself up on one elbow. "Oh, and miss the opportunity to witness your adorable sleeping face? No way. It was too good to pass up."

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving her shoulder. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"Guilty as charged," she replied, grinning unabashedly. "But hey, since you're finally awake, are you ready for your hunting lesson? Or do you need another three-hour nap?" She teased.

Your groggy mind took a moment to process her words, realizing that you had completely forgotten about the hunting expedition. With a tired sigh, you covered your face with the blankets, only peering out with an adorably exasperated expression.

"Nat, do we seriously have to go hunting?" you whined, your voice muffled by the cozy fabric. "I mean, can't we just... I don't know, I honestly wouldn't mind chopping wood for the rest of my life. It's a lot less daunting than tracking down wild animals, don't you think?"

"Chopping wood for eternity? Seriously? That's your alternative plan?" Nat replied, amusement lacing her voice.

"Hey, at least chopping wood sounds a little less intimidating than embarking on a hunt. And besides, check out these guns I’ve got now," you said, flexing your biceps with a hint of cockiness.

Nat chuckled and teasingly poked your side. "Oh, come on, Mr. Lumberjack. Where's your sense of adventure? Besides, hunting isn't just about killing animals; it's about survival, connecting with nature, and embracing the wild." She said with a fake inspirational tone.

"Damn, now you sound even crazier than Lottie," you jokingly remarked.

Nat widened her eyes in mock surprise, placing a hand on her chest in an exaggeratedly offended manner. "You better take that back," she playfully retorted.

"Okay, c'mon now, let's go," she urged, her tone indicating a hint of excitement. "It's gonna get dark in just a couple of hours, so we better get moving." Taking the lead, Nat reached out and gently took your hand, tugging you downstairs. Her touch was warm, and you couldn't help but feel your chest flutter a bit at the contact.

In the dimly lit room, Nat guided you towards the equipment laid out on a table. With care and efficiency, she helped you put on the necessary gear, ensuring everything was secure. As she fastened the straps and adjusted the fittings, her touch was gentle yet purposeful, a tender familiarity you couldn't help but notice.

She then retrieved a neck gaiter and gently slid it over your head, adjusting it snugly around your neck. Pulling it up slightly, she positioned it to cover your mouth and nose, shielding you from the chill in the air. Your eyes met for a fleeting moment, and in that exchange, a flicker of unspoken affection passed between you.

Nat took a step closer, her gentle touch pulling the hood of your attire snugly over your head. With utmost care, she tucked away any stray strands of hair behind your ears. The simple yet affectionate gesture didn't escape your notice, and a warmth stirred within you. However, both of you remained oblivious to the unspoken attraction that lingered in the air. Underneath the fabric concealing your face, a faint blush spread across your cheeks, as her considerate actions revealed her protective nature, further endearing her to you.

Breaking the silence that enveloped you both, Nat let out a playful remark, bringing a smile to your face. "Alright, let's get going before Lottie goes all wicca on us,” she quipped. “Last time she made Travis and I down one of her weird ass drinks and it tasted like shit," she added with a grimace, eliciting a chuckle from you.

With determination in her eyes, Nat led the way as both of you stepped outside into the pristine white landscape, the snow crunching under your boots. The biting cold nipped at your cheeks, but the excitement of the hunt kept you warm from within. Heading north, you scanned the surroundings, searching for any signs of movement or animal tracks. The towering trees stood tall, their branches adorned with a delicate layer of snow, creating a picturesque scene that contrasted with the anticipation pulsating through your veins.

"Remind me again, Nat, why couldn't we just stick to shooting cans in the comfort of our ‘backyard’?" you asked, your tone filled with a mix of curiosity and mild protest.

Nat flashed you a wry grin, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and wisdom. "Shooting cans is child's play, Y/n,” she replied, her voice laced with a hint of playful sarcasm. “I wanted you to experience the real deal, the hands-on thrill of hunting. You know, the kind that makes your heart race and your senses come alive,” she exaggerated her tone with fake enthusiasm. “Don’t be a pussy," she added, teasingly emphasizing her point.

"Yeah, right. Whatever you say," you huffed, eliciting a grin from Nat beneath her face-covering.

You continued walking for a couple of minutes, the snow crunching under your boots with each step. Suddenly, you felt Nat's arm gently press against your chest, bringing you to an abrupt halt. Instinctively, you turned to look at her, only to find her blue eyes locked onto something with an intense focus. You followed her gaze, directing your attention to the right, where a tree stood proudly. Underneath its branches, a small, fluffy bunny nestled peacefully in a bed of fallen leaves. Its delicate form rose and fell with the rhythm of its slumber, completely unaware of your presence.

With a cautious demeanor, Nat carefully retrieved the gun from her side and placed it in your hands. Sensing the need for stability in your aim, she commanded you to lie down on the ground, where you could rest your arms against the earth. It was a thoughtful decision on her part, recognizing that shooting while lying down would provide a steadier position, especially since your aim needed improvement. In this way, she intended to teach you to utilize the support of the ground, enabling you to better control your shots.

As you settled into the prone position, the weight of the gun pressed against your palms, and the coldness of the ground seeped through your clothing. Nat positioned herself intimately close beside you, her body snugly fitting against yours, perfectly mirroring your stance. She delicately wrapped her arms around you, providing a comforting embrace.

As you were about to adjust your face-covering to facilitate better communication, Nat's delicate touch reached out and gently tugged it down for you, revealing your faces to each other. In that moment, her gaze lingered deeply on your lips, and then her eyes met yours with an intensity that stirred a flutter in your stomach.

Whispering softly, her warm breath grazed your ear, creating a delicate shiver that traveled down your spine. The proximity of her lips to yours was tantalizing, and you could feel the gentle warmth of her breath caressing your mouth. It was as if the air crackled with an invisible magnetic force, drawing you closer together.

"Remember to load the gun," she reminded you, her voice barely audible over the winter breeze, but her words were merely a backdrop to the unspoken tension that swirled between you. Her arms encircled your body, providing not only stability but a sense of security and reassurance. In this moment, you were acutely aware of her presence, her body fitting perfectly against yours, as if you were two puzzle pieces destined to interlock.

As you prepared to take your shot, the weight of the gun became secondary to the fluttering sensation in your stomach. Nat's captivating gaze and the proximity of her touch made your heart race with intensity.

"Take a deep breath in... and exhale," Nat instructed, her voice a soothing melody cutting through the crisp air. And with each inhale and exhale, you felt your racing heart steady, the rhythm of your breath aligning with the tranquil surroundings.

As you aligned your sights, the world around you blurred, leaving only the target in your vision. In a fluid motion, you squeezed the trigger, the recoil rippling through your body. The shot echoed through the air, a testament to your growing skill.

The bullet found its mark, striking the bunny with precision. A sense of excitement and accomplishment washed over you as you witnessed the small creature stir and then lie still.

Elation bubbled up within you, and turning towards Nat, you couldn't help but grin from ear to ear. "Did you see that? Nailed it!" you exclaimed, your voice filled with both triumph and a playful undertone.

Nat's eyes sparkled with surprise. "To be honest I wasn't expecting much from you," she admitted, a playful smirk curling on her lips. "You've definitely surprised me."

"Ouch, no faith in my skills, huh?" you replied with a mock pout, pretending to be hurt by her lack of expectations.

She chuckled, a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Well, you know, I've always believed in your ability to surprise me in the most unexpected ways," Nat retorted, her playful tone matching yours, as a glimmer of tension began to weave its way into the air.

In that moment, as Nat spoke, her eyes caught sight of a stray strand of hair gently drifting towards your face. Without hesitation, her fingertips delicately brushed it behind your ear, her subtle touch sending a shiver down your spine, and as your eyes met, you both felt an undeniable tension building between you. Time seemed to slow as she lingered there, her gaze shifting from your smile to your eyes, softness settling over her features.

Your heart quickened as you mirrored her actions, and the magnetic pull between you grew stronger, intensifying the tension. With each passing second, the unspoken connection sparked in the air, enveloping you both. As you leaned in, the space between you narrowed, causing the world around you to fade into the background.

But just as your lips were about to meet, a rustle in the distance broke the spell, bringing you back to reality. Startled, you instinctively pulled away, the moment shattered but not forgotten. A mixture of disappointment and curiosity filled the silence, leaving an unspoken question lingering between you: What could have been?

As the charged atmosphere slowly dissipated, and you and Nat found yourselves back in the present moment, a voice broke through the silence. "Finally, there you are! Dinner's ready, guys. We're all waiting for you," Shauna said, unknowingly interrupting the moment.

You both turned towards her, momentarily startled by her arrival. You exchanged a glance, a mixture of disappointment and gratitude for the timely interruption. Nat composed herself and returned Shauna's smile. "Thanks, Shauna," she replied, her tone masking any hint of the emotions that had filled the air just moments before. "We'll be right there."

With a nod, Shauna turned and walked away, leaving the two of you laying there, caught in a mixture of emotions. Instinctively, you both decided to mask the intensity of the moment and carried on as if nothing had happened.

You quickly regained your composure, and without missing a beat, you casually reached down to retrieve the bunny. Nat followed suit, and together, you started making your way back to the cabin for dinner.

The journey back to the cabin was quiet, each step accompanied by a lingering tension. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the surroundings into a dusky embrace. As darkness settled around you, the soft glow of the moon emerged, casting an ethereal light upon your path. Words seemed unnecessary, as the weight of the unspoken hung between you.

Just as you were about to reach the cabin, lost in your thoughts, Nat's hand unexpectedly found yours, causing you to turn towards her with surprise. Without a word, she turned you around and pressed you against the closest tree. The moon's soft glow highlighted her intense gaze, and the tension between you grew palpable.

In an instant, Nat leaned in, her lips meeting yours with an intensity that left you breathless. The forcefulness of the kiss took you by surprise, but you quickly responded, fueled by the eagerness and pent-up desire that had been building up between you.

In that moment, you let go of the bunny, allowing it to drop to the ground, as your arms instinctively wrapped around Nat's neck. Your fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, desperate to deepen the kiss. The urgency between you was palpable, as if you both had been waiting for this release, a long-awaited culmination of unspoken feelings. Nat's hands slid down to your waist, pressing against you with a fervent desire.

As the kiss deepened, you felt Nat's playful nibble on your lower lip, and you softly parted your lips, wordlessly inviting her to explore further. With a gentle push of her tongue, she sought entrance into the intimate depths of your mouth, craving the taste of it.

After what felt like an eternity, Nat finally pulled away, her breath mingling with yours as she rested her forehead against yours. A mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes.

"Shit, I'm sorry," she breathed, her voice filled with a mix of apology and exhilaration. Her breath came in short bursts as she tried to regain composure. "I didn't mean to pounce on you like that, It's just that our moment back there kinda messed me up, and I couldn't wait any longer,” she confessed, her voice tinged with a touch of self-deprecating humor.

You couldn't help but chuckle softly, trying to catch your breath as you looked into her eyes. "Well, that was quite the way to show it," you replied, your voice laced with a teasing tone. "But I can't say I'm complaining. I was hoping you'd make a move. Shauna interrupting us almost gave me blue balls," you joked.

Laughter erupted from both of you, the lingering tension from earlier dissipating into thin air as you shared this lighthearted moment. With that, the two of you straightened your clothes and made your way back to the cabin, joining the rest of the team for dinner.

[cherrycola27]

Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

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Chapter 12: mirrorball

Tinsel, lights, bows, fake snow, wreaths, ornaments, and trees as far as the eye could see filled the White House and its grounds. You'd gone over holiday decorating plans until you were blue in the face. You never knew decking the halls of the White House could be so stressful. You'd chosen a traditional Christmas decor style with lots of reds and greens and golds. It was classic, with a touch of modern thanks to some LED lights and some sustainably sourced pines and firs.

Everything looked beautiful. It was perfect—it had to be. Because if it wasn't, you were sure that would be the first thing your parents would say.

You always had a love-hate relationship with the holidays. You'd hoped that you and Bradley would be able to spend a quiet Christmas Eve together in pjs, but he insisted that your parents come for a Christmas dinner along with his godfather Maverick and his wife Penny. Jake and Jaycee were also joining you because neither of their families could get a flight out in time.

You paced nervously as you went over your mental checklist one more time. Everything had to be perfect.

You took extra care with getting ready for dinner. It was semi-formal, and your parents wouldn't expect anything less.

You were wearinging a maroon dress with cap sleeves and lace detailed bodice. The dress was tea length with an a-line skirt that slightly flared. You paired it with a classic black pump and your signature low bun. The diamonds Rooster and given you this year accented the dress. You also opted to layer the pearl necklace your parents had given you as a wedding present with your pendant. You weren't fond of pearls, but you knew if you didn't wear it, you'd never hear the end of it.

Bradley could tell you were nervous. When he really thinks about it, he's never seen you like this. Your parents were always a touchy subject. The handful of times he'd met them, they seemed to be focused on your flaws rather than your accomplishments. He's pretty sure the only time he's ever heard them say they were proud of you was at the wedding.

You were touching your makeup up in the mirror when he came behind you to give you a reassuring hug. "It's going to be fine. It won't be just them there." He tried to remind you as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

"Everything has to be perfect." You tell him. "It's okay if it isn't." He says. "No, it isn't. Not all of us had the supportive parental figure growing up Bradley. My parents only really cared when I started getting into debate and politics. And even then, they were only interested if I was winning. Because a win was the only thing they could show off. A shiny, perfect, victorious daughter, that's what they wanted, so that's what I became. That's what I still have to be. That's the only way they'll notice me. That's the only way they'll love me." You whispered the last part before wiping away a stray tear.

"Please make sure Maverick doesn't say anything deeply offensive to my father tonight about Admiral Cain's drone program. My father is on the committee for it. I've already warned him about it as well." You say, changing from doom and gloom to perky at the drop of a hat. It gives Bradley whiplash sometimes when he sees just how fast you can turn your emotions on and off.

"I've already told him, but you know Maverick. He's five foot seven inches of unpredictable rage. I'm sure Penny will keep him under control." Bradley laughs. You roll your eyes before lacing your hands with his. "Let's get this show on the road."

You stood neverously in the foyer, waiting for everyone to arrive. Maverick and Penny got there first, both greeting you with warm hugs and a smile. Jake and Jaycee tumbled in not long after them. Jaycee whispered some words of encouragement as she hugged you. Last to arrive where your parents. Senator and Congressman Wiseman. They weren't late per say, but they made sure to arrive late enough so that their entrance would be noticed.

"Mother, Father, Merry Christmas." You greeted them. "Hello, darling." Your mother greeted you with a quick hug. Your father was bit warmer, but still cold. "Mr. President! So good to see you. How's my favorite son in law!" Your mother beamed as she went to hug Bradley. Bradley responded that both of you were doing well as he shook your father's hand.

Before dinner, you decided to give your guests a private tour of the decorations. "They're a bit dated, dear, don't you think?" Your mother critiqued you. Your shoulders slumped at her comment. "I think they look wonderful, Y/N. They're traditional and elegant." Maverick quickly commented. You whispered a thank you to him.

By the time the tour was over, your parents had picked apart the decor you had chosen, commented on the fact that you hadn't offered to let them stay the night, and criticized the last event you'd hosted for your social cause. Your father also kept trying to talk shop with Bradley, even though you kept reminding him that this wasn't a business dinner but a family celebration.

Thankfully, dinner was served quickly after, and soon everyone was eating and having pleasant conversations. You silently picked at your chicken while listening to what was being said, quickly butting in if something was about to get too heated.

You really thought you were home free by the time dessert was being served—boy were you wrong.

Somehow, the topic of your marriage came up, and your mother asked that faithful question, "When are the two of you going to have children? I've read several articles about how people would love to see a White House filled with babies again, like back in the Kennedy era."

"Mother, Bradley, and I have barely been married a year. We'll have kids when the time is right." You tell her. "Well, honey, you're thirty-one. You aren't getting any younger." She tells you as she spears a berry from her cake.

"We still have plenty of time to have children. We don't want to rush into anything that we aren't ready for." You tell her politely. Bradley can feel you tense up beside him. He places his hand on your thigh and rubs circles with his thumb to try and calm you down.

"I know you think you have time, dear, but it's your job as the First Lady, especially a young First Lady, to give the world some presidential babies." She states. "I know you think you have a career to focus on, but your time in the campaigning and staffer world is over. You're never going to be able to work, if that's what you want to call what you were doing before, in politics again after Bradley's second term is up. No one is going to take a former First Lady seriously."

Anger thrums through your body. Your leg is shaking, you have a death grip on your fork, and tears prick your eyes. Bradley turns to you to speak, but you cut him off.

"That's enough, Mother." You say. You take a deep breath and meet her eyes across the table. She narrows hers at you, as if she's daring you to say something else. "I'm never going to be good enough for you, am I?" You ask her. "What?" She looks at you with feigned confusion.

"No matter what I do, what I wear, what I say, what I accomplish, it's still not going to be enough." You tell her. "I win first place in the school debate. You tell me that if I worked harder, I could have won the state one. I graduate at the top of my class in high school? You told me that I should have had a perfect GPA. I land a killer internship in college, and you say that I shouldn't be working for a representative from such a small state. I get a no-name independent elected to the presidency, and you think the best thing I've done with that is marry him! And then even that isn't good enough now, either! I've spent my entire life being a mirrorball, trying to keep your attention for even a fraction of a second because you and dad always put everything else before me! I've tried my whole life to be good enough for you, and it still isn't enough! So, like I said, no matter what I do, you'll never be satisfied. You'll never be proud of me. You'll never really love me." With that last comment, your nerve breaks, and the tears fall. You quickly excuse yourself from dinner and run out of the room. Bradley moves to follow you, but Jaycee beats him.

He turns back to the remaining people at the table who are looking at him with wide eyes.

"I can't believe she just said that! Ted, can you believe how your daughter just spoke to me?!" Your mother gasps.

Bradley takes a deep breath and collects himself.

"Congressman and Senator Wiseman, I think you should leave. He tells them.

"Excuse me?" Your father says.

"I said I think the two of you should leave. You've both overstayed your welcome." Bradley says calmly. "You're kicking us out because Y/N is so sensitive? How rude of you." Your mother tells him.

"The only person who has been rude this evening is you, Senator." Bradley states. Your mother scoffs at him and then darts her eyes across the room to the other patrons still seated at the table. None of them speak up to defend her.

"I was only telling her the truth. Y/N has never been good at handling it." She doubles down on her comments.

"The truth? You think that was the truth?" Bradley begins to raise his voice. "No, let me tell you what the truth is." He states through gritted teeth.

"Y/N has worked harder than any other campaign manager or Chief of Staff that I have ever known. She put her whole heart into my campaign because she believed in me. She quite literally almost lost her life for my presidency. Speaking of? Where were you when someone tried to murder her? Did you even call her to see if she was okay? The night of the election, you sent her a text congratulating her, a text message! You didn't even have the decency to call her and tell her how proud you were of her accomplishment. Are you even proud of her for what she did? Because I am! And all evening, you've sat on your high horse and picked her apart bit by bit, and I'm sick of it! So you can get your things and leave. Dante will show you to the door." Bradley tells them as he exhales deeply.

"Mr. President, you can't talk to us like that. Ted, are you going to let him speak to us like that?!" Your mother asks him.

"Right now, I'm not the president, Cynthia. I'm simply a husband who is furious about how his wife has been treated this evening." Bradley states as he stands up to lean over the table.

"But as the president, I'm telling you right now that if you ever speak to her like that again, or treat her like she is some prized show pony, I guarantee that you will never see another bill that you propose get passed, I will cut off your committee funding, and I will personally endorse and campaign for whom ever runs against you in your next election. Do you understand?" Bradley says with venom in his voice.

Your parents shake their heads before being escorted out. He sits back down and shakes his head before looking at the three people who are still at the table.

"I'm sorry. I—" He waves his hands, not sure what to say. "It's fine, Bradley. You said what needed to be said. Now go check on your girl. Jake can help us from here." Maverick says as he parts Bradley on the shoulder before he leaves the dining room.

Bradley knocked on the door before entering. You were lying on the bed whimpering as Jaycee stroked your shoulder to try and soothe you. "Babe, Bradley is here, I'm going to give you two some space." Jaycee quietly whispered to you before getting up to leave.

You sat up when Bradley joined you on the bed.

"I'm sorry." You sniffled as you tried to wipe your mascara stained cheeks. "I'm sorry that I ruined the evening, I shouldn't have said those things. I know I probably embarrassed you and everyone else. My parents are going to hate me now. Everyone else out there probably hates me." You rambled tearfully as Bradley pulled you to his chest to hug you.

"It's just my mom—she kept on picking and poking and it my anxiety just kept building and building, and—" Your body starts to tremble as your breathing becomes labored. "The weight of it—its just so much to bear, and I—I can't breathe." You pant out. Your hand flies to your throat as you desperately attempt to unclasp the strand of pearls from your neck. They're a physical reminder of the grip your parents have on you.

"Bradley—I can't breathe—I —I" He sees the panic written all over your face. He's trying to help you, but you're shaking and fighting the necklace, and he can't get a grip on the clasp. Before he can do anything else, you pull at the strand and rip it off. Dozens of white orbs fly off the string and clatter unceremoniously to the floor. You let out a long exhale before slouching onto him. You grab the oval pendant you're still wearing and run your thumb and index finger over it as you calm down. Bradley sits there silently with you.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." He tells you after a few minutes. You look up at him. Your eyes are still bleary from the tears you've shed. "I mean it. They were awful to you, and I should have said something sooner. If anyone should apologize, it's me." He tells you.

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. "Right after you left, I kicked them out and told them how horrible they were to you. I also made sure that they know if they even treat you like that again, at least while I'm president, it will be the end of both of their careers." He tells you proudly.

Fresh tears spring to your eyes. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you." You sob over and over again as you bury your head into his chest.

"I love you, Y/N. I'd do anything in this world for you. I mean it." Bradley tells you as he kisses the top of your hair. "Love you too." You tell him. Your words come out muffled from how hard you face is pressed up against him.

"If you're feeling up to it, we still have presents to open with Mav and Penny and Jake and Jaycee." He says. You smile. "I'd like that." You tell him. "Good, but first, we need to change." He states with a twinkle in his eye. He hands you a box to unwrap, and you smile when you see what's inside.

Twenty minutes later, the six of you are curled up on couches with mugs of coca and piles of wrapping paper. You can't remember the last time you smiled at Christmas or smiled this much in general, but you know, as long as Bradley is around, you were going to be happy.

Loves, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @princess76179 @bradshawseresinbabe @sunlightmurdock @lewmagoo @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @desert-fern @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis @bradshawsbaby @wkndwlff @dakotakazansky

[sinon36]

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part I

Warnings: torture, blood, pain, unconscious Ghost and basically kinda useless, really capable YOU persona ;), rushed writing, possible mistakes, reader is pretty neutral so far

P.S. Don’t judge the unexplained inconsistency of how a guy like Ghost gets captured, but spy you get to waltz around unbothered, yeah, you’re that good, so good you got plot armour. Besos!   

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

- the first time you meet it's messy. He's supposed to extract an agent from behind enemy lines but instead he gets captured

-  you pose as a computer science PhD who is in charge of the enemy base cyber security, when in reality you're there to install a backdoor with remote access.

- you know someone should come to help make your exit, but when no infiltration is reported panic starts to rise in your chest

- you start investigating, searching through the facility trying to find out if something happened.

- you gain access to a part of the facility you don't have clearance for.

- you stumble upon a gruesome scene in one of the holding cell in the underground levels

- you find a man tied to the ceiling, bare feet barely touching the floor, muscles stretching under the tension ready to snap

- a black hood is thrown over his head and he's shirtless, remnants of once black cargo pants hang on his hips.

- he was tortured, for days by looks of it

- you know enough about that to know that he hasn't cracked yet, otherwise he'd be dead not hanging there in the damp cold cell.

- you take your chances and take the hood off

- he groggily turns his head to look down at you, he’s a big that much you can say

- blonde whisps of hair matted to his scalp stained a dark red, pale skin the same blood oozing from small cuts on his cheeks dripping down on his pectorals. From behind black and blue and inflammation two brown eyes scan your face

- 'the wolf walks alone' you quietly utter the code phrase for identity verification

- he watches you like an owl watches a mouse with cautious patience but he gives no indication that he'll answer

- you can't stay there too long; someone might catch you here or someone could report that you never came back from the bathroom break

- you reach for the hood to place it back on the prisoner’s head, knowing that you can't do anything for him and in this state he can't even provide a distraction for you to slip out unnoticed

-as you get closer tiptoeing to reach above his head he grunts, you stop in your tracks making eye contact

- his dried and busted lips start to quiver you wait for a moment giving him a chance to prove you wrong

- 'But the pack's got its back...' he draws out in a deep guttural voice laced with a thick Manchester accent

- phrase matching your own, you get to work hastily finding a way to get him down

- as you unlock the chains wounded around his wrists you try to support his weight which proves impossible

- you barely manage to break his fall turning yourself in a cushion under his massive form

- you huff and try to pull him up ' I can't carry you' you mutter to him. 'You gotta get up, soldier' you try and nudge him, you slip and talk in the familiar British accent

- he stalls, taking in deep breaths trying to surpass the pain and ache, multiple bones broken, muscles tumefied, and skin bearing to many cuts and bruises. Blood covers him like a deathly veil

- he tries and with your help he manages to stand but he can barely walk on his own, he can barely see, he can barely think, having sustained multiple concussions

- with great difficulty you get moving, praying to yourself that the guard might be gone, taking a piss or having a smoke

- your prayers are answered, no one is on the otherwise busy hallways this late at night, many having called it a night going back to their rooms

- as you pass the med bay your quick thinking finds a credible disguise: you steal a lab coat and a doctor's key card, some glasses that make your vision blurry once you put them on, and get the wounded soldier in a wheel chair

-he huffs but you can clearly see the relief overtaking him as he no longer has to stand

-you throw a medical gown over him concealing the dried blood on his bare torso

-once you clean his face a little and bandage his whole head to cover his identity, you grab a few bottles of morphine and a med kit for later and push the wheelchair out the door

- you aim for the underground parking lot, where civilians’ workers such as your cover, keep their personal cars

-you hope that the sentinels stationed at the gates won't look too closely at your backseat as you carefully push the wounded man in the car

- everything goes smooth from there, the guards wishing you a good night, no questions ask as to your departure from the base

- once you get farther away you start speeding eyeing for any police cars that might stop you or any military vehicle that might chase you

- to your dumb surprise no one follows you the mountain road dark and deserted

- you head to your safehouse where you have stashed money, fake id's, a new disguise and another car.

- once you change everything and make sure that the soldier still breathes in the back of the SUV, after you've administered some first help giving him the relief of morphine, you burn everything down

- the wooden house the other car, everything, nothing can be left behind to be tracked to you or to the MI6, you have taken precautions that borderline OCD, but you know that you have to be through, no detail to small

- once you're back on the road you contact your handler, a tired voice but you can hear the sound of relief as he hears your voice

- he's pleased that everything went smooth, no alarm was triggered, no shot was fired, no chase happened and you even managed to save your would-be saviour, sent specifically to get you out of that den of wolves

- you announce your E.T.A. to the agreed pickup location and you are annoyed to hear you'll have to wait a bit, your nerves are starting to fray, and body to tire

- you don't have the manpower nor the firepower to make a stand in the woods until the heli gets there

-but you do as you're told, as always

- you grab the pistol you keep under the passenger seat and place it in your lap; the heaviness in your lap gives very little reassurance

- but not long passes and you can hear the lovely sound of an Apache helicopter

- in a whirlwind of dust and voices shouting out instructions both you and the soldier are placed in the metal beast's bowls

-you inform the medics of the dosage of morphine you gave to the soldier as they start hooking him to machines that monitor his vital signs

-you don't even know his name and he definitely doesn't know yours as per protocol, and you doubt you'll ever see him again

-you won't even be there when he'll wake up, he'll probably never know of your act of kindness; you could have left him behind but instead you risked your safety for his

- any other agent would've done it, but not you, you couldn't leave one of your own behind

- you still hold your breath, eager to cross the border and get back to HQ where meetings and debriefs will be held, and rapports will be written then redacted

-you expect the compliments at a job well done and the proud pats on the back from your superiors, even though for you that's just a show

- you know you will get a free month at best to recover and then you'll be shipped somewhere else to do it all over again

- it's a lonely life, and full of danger but it makes you sleep better at night knowing you helped soil some plans that could be used to hurt innocents

- once the pilot announces that you crossed the borders you slightly relax on the padded bench, closing your eyes in relief but not allowing yourself to fall asleep yet

- when you feel the heli dipping down towards the tarmac you open your eyes eager to get off the noisy thing and looking forward for some commodities you know wait ready inside the base

- you watch as the soldier gets rolled toward the med bay and you get pulled by a Sargent that informs you, he's there to take you to the commander of the base

- you'd hopped to at least get a few hours of sleep before the rounds of interrogations start, but the higher-ups are hungry for the confirmation of a successful mission

- you trudge behind the Sargent mentally preparing for the onslaught of questions and can't help but wonder what of the wounded soldier

-you subconsciously hope he'll pull through

Next part here.

[desert-fern]

A Gun Amongst Daggers - Jake “Hangman” Seresin X Fem!Navy Seal Reader

Part 15: Game of Survival

Summary: When Jake meets a woman at the Hard Deck, the last thing he expects is for her to be a Navy Seal. And not just any Seal, the Commander of Seal Team 3. She’s beautiful, smart, dangerous, and everything about her just makes him want to get close. Her name? Bear. When the Seals need backup, Cyclone puts the Daggers on their radar and now, Jake has to work with Bear and her team, all the while trying to stay professional. Can he do it? Or will he end up falling for the Navy sniper and mission Commander?

*GIF is not mine*

A/N: Song title is from the song of the same name, Game of Survival by Ruelle

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE! 18+ ONLY. MINORS & BLOGS WITH NO AGE/EMPTY BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of torture (not described), blood, dissassociation, mention of injuries sustained by torture (very briefly glossed over ie. mentions of cuts, bruises, broken bone), fluffy bits, flashbacks, please let me know if I missed anything.

Word Count: 5.1k (I wanted to make you all less mad at me, but I might have done the opposite)

A/N: THIS IS A HEAVIER CHAPTER AND I DO INSIST THAT MINORS FUCK OFF AT THIS POINT. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Masterlist >> Part 14 >> Part 16

===

Bear closed her eyes, tuning out the sounds of fist on flesh echoing through the little cell. Starbursts of pain splintered through her exhausted body, the fight trying to leave her with every screamed word in Urdu, every fist that was thrown, and every kick that landed against her already battered body.

Her gear had been stripped from her, discarded somewhere in the desert, leaving her in just her undershirt and pants. All her weapons were gone. Even the non-weapons that she could have used had been taken. Her belt had been used against her, she had open wounds to prove that. Her boot laces were also gone, having been shredded and thrown on the floor in front of her. She was defenseless, left hanging from her arms, toes just touching the now blood-spattered floor.

Bear was trapped. There were no two ways about it. Since her sacrifice for her team and Jake, she had been here, enduring the fists and curses of enemies that she had sworn to destroy. That sacrifice was 16 days ago. Five days ago, she had turned one of her boot laces into a garrotte, killing three men, before getting not quite a kilometer away. She had been hauled back by her hair, body bruised and scraped by the sand, being dropped in front of the man who had taken charge. He had been disorganized since the start, temper balancing on the edge of a knife.

He had screamed at her. Berating her. And thanks to the limited Urdu she knew, all Bear could figure out was that his boss was dead, and that she would tell them who did it. However, she had put the final bullet in their missing leader’s body as she and her team burst through the doors of the bunker in the basement of al-Hameed’s compound days ago. Not that she was going to tell him that. All she had said was her service number, over and over and over. 175-66-23. It had become a mantra that she repeated, frustrating him even more.

But her team. Shit. Was her team okay? Had they made it back after she blacked out? Had Jake survived? The only reason she was here was because he needed her to buy them time. God, if Jake was gone… no. NO! She couldn’t think like that. Not here, not now. “Think Bear,” she urged mentally, eyes seeing the knife that had been dug out from somewhere. “Think about Jake. What about that one night?”

Distantly, she felt the red-hot pain, but mentally, Bear was back in her office, pouring over files.

There was a knock at her door, making her glance up. It was late. Damn near 2100, everyone had gone home. So who was this? “Come in!” She called out, closing her folder.

The door opened and it was Jake, holding something? “Hey Teddy, hope I didn’t disturb you.”

She shook her head, smiling at him. “You didn’t. Why are you here, it’s late.”

“You’re still here,” he countered, smirking at her as he leaned against the doorframe. “But I brought dinner. Figured you hadn’t eaten yet because you are in the same position I saw you in before I left.”

Bear made a face. Come to think of it, she hadn’t eaten. Like clockwork, her stomach rumbled, making Jake chuckle. “…there might be some truth to that,” she admitted, taking in the sight of him standing in her doorway. She knew she shouldn’t stare, but the plain black tee and dark jeans were doing something for her. Bear gave her head a minute shake before gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. “You wanna sit? I don’t think I’ve spoken to anyone since training this afternoon.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Jake slid into the chair, crossing one foot over his knee as he leaned forward to try and sneak a peek at what Bear was working on.

“Hey!” Bear flapped the closed file at him. “Get your nose out of there! You don’t need to know that!”

Jake sat back with a chuckle. “Okay, okay. I won’t look at… munitions reports?”

Bear stared at him, one eyebrow raised. The look on his face made her burst out laughing. “I-I-I’m sorry!” she wheezed, one hand coming up to wipe her eyes. “God I pity Maverick some days. He only has 12 of you but the shit you pull?” She kept laughing, Jake watching in amusement.

“Okay, okay, okay. Here. Eat something before you pass out.” Jake slid the glass container across her desk, a fork sitting on top.

She looked at him curiously. “What is it?”

“Just eat.”

Bear opened the container and nearly moaned at the smell. The smell of oregano and melted cheese wafted out, filling the air around her. Digging in, she couldn’t help herself as a small groan slipped out. “What is this?”

“My mom’s pasta bake. Figured it was a safe bet since you devoured that pizza a week ago,” Jake replied, smiling at her. In his head however, he was struggling. The sound Bear made? God he wanted to find a way to hear those again and again for the rest of his life. “Plus, it saved my ass more than once.”

“Oh yeah?” Bear asked around a mouthful of pasta. Chewing quickly, she swallowed and repeated herself, making Jake laugh. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing,” he told her. “You just look cute.” Jake grinned as the tips of her ears reddened, spreading down to her neck.

Bear was yanked from her memory by the sound of the cell door slamming shut. She felt the cuts on her body, miniscule in nature, but full of bright sparking pain. It physically hurt her to come out of her mind, but she was thankful for the reprieve it gave her.

The men had left, at one point letting one hand hang loose so she could eat. Someone must have pointed out that she was no use to them if she died because they didn’t feed her. She didn’t want to eat, but Bear knew she needed to. How else would she have enough energy to fight to free herself? So she grabbed the piece of flatbread that sat nearby, using her teeth to tear off pieces as she held it with her free hand.

Not even 20 seconds after she finished eating, one of the men came in and cuffed her wrist back up again before leaving as suddenly as he came in. Left alone to her thoughts once again, Bear felt her thoughts wandering to her team. She hoped that Priya was managing okay. Her second was a natural leader, but under the circumstances of her taking control? That was a whole new set of challenges. And she knew that. Bear had taken control of a spiraling operation after her Commander had been killed, and as the highest ranking member of the group, she became the boss. That had been the defining factor in her promotion to take permanent leadership as the Commander of Seal Team 3.

But was her team okay? Was Jake alive? What about the Daggers? She had more questions than answers right now and it drove her crazy. So like dimming the lights, Bear let those thoughts fade away into a kinder memory, chasing her doubts and fears back behind the curtain where they had taken up a near permanent residence.

In this memory, Bear saw herself on the beach, sitting on the sand and wrapped in a blanket. She had been unable to fall asleep after the day’s training. It had forced her to realize that someone was likely not coming home alive and that realization would always hurt. Operations were designed for minimal friendly casualties while maximizing enemy elimination, and none of the scenarios that she had run today created less than ten casualties on the breaching team. It was humbling, the realization. Her team was her family away from her parents. She had no one else.

She didn’t know how long she had sat there, lost in her thoughts, planning out possible drills and other tactics, until someone tapped her on the shoulder, startling her. In her mind, all she could think was ATTACKER and the other person soon found themself flat on their back in the sand with Bear’s arm pressed to their throat. “Teddy!”

Blinking, Bear looked down and saw Jake underneath her, his green eyes wide in a combination of what looked like fear and something she couldn’t quite make out. She jolted back, still straddling his hips but giving him room to sit up. “What the actual fuck?! Did anyone tell you not to sneak up on me?”

Shaking the sand out of his hair, Jake gave her a sheepish look. “Phoenix might have mentioned it once…”

She just shook her head in disbelief. “Unbelievable… You idiot! I could have killed you!”

Jake made a face before yelling back “BUT YOU DIDN’T!”

Bear just stared at him, before starting to laugh. She knelt back in the sand, her weight still resting on his lower thighs as she laughed until she cried.

“Jeez. Didn’t think I was that funny, Teddy,” he remarked, beginning to laugh with her. “Gotta admit, thought I was gonna die for a few seconds there.”

He was met with a flat stare in such contrast from the laugh that had come from her moments earlier. “If I was armed, you would be walking away with a scar at best,” Bear admitted with a wicked grin.

“And at worst?”

Bear shrugged. “At worst, I would be burying your body on the beach.”

Her nonchalant tone sent a shiver down Jake’s spine at the look in her eyes that accompanied it. Her brown eyes glimmered in amusement that seemed to shine in the moonlight, and Jake felt himself fall just a little more in love with her. “Good to know, Teddy. Good to know.”

Bear only winked at him, before realizing her position on top of him. “Shit. Sorry, I’ll move,” she said, her voice suddenly small.

“Teddy,” he said, catching her wrist, his large hand wrapping around her arm and squeezing once gently. “I don’t mind, honest.”

“But if someone saw us, I could lose my job, Flyboy.”

Jake chuckled at her antics. “Bear. It’s the middle of the night, and we are out in the middle of a random beach on miles of coastline. We’re fine.”

The soothing tone of his voice was enough for Bear to settle back down on his legs, shaking her head at him. “I’m blaming you though. If someone does see us.”

“I’ll take all the blame, Teddy. Jus’ keep sittin’ pretty.”

Suddenly, Bear was thankful for the darkness around them. Her cheeks flushed pink and she hid her face in her shoulder, trying to avoid the intensity in the green eyes of the man in front of her. It was a very significant change from the usual confidence she exuded, and it made Jake grin, having discovered this part of her. “So,” she finally spoke. “What are you doing out here this late?”

“Couldn’t sleep. You?” Jake still had Bear’s wrist in his hand and he let his thumb trace shapes over the back of her hand, reveling in the softness of her skin despite the job she did.

“Me neither,” Bear whispered, her breath hitching at the gentleness at which his hand touched her. It had been awhile since she had been touched with anything but aggression. The Seals weren’t a profession that believed in coddling and she had quickly abandoned hope at ever finding that gentleness again. But here was Jake. Fucking Hangman. An arrogant asshole that supposedly only cared for himself. At least that was the word on base. “Shit,” she thought. “I can’t be doing this.” But she stayed where she was, eyes drifting over to watch the ocean ebb and flow, taking with it her anxiety and worries.

Jake watched her, noticing the shift in her body language, how her shoulders lost the tension that always seemed to be resting there. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

He watched Bear shrug. “Everything, nothing,” she commented distractedly, still staring at the ocean. “Being in charge is hard.”

“That so?”

“Yeah.” She paused, shaking her head a little. “My mom always told me that I was too determined for my own good. That one day, if I wasn’t careful, I’d get hurt. It’s funny how it’s just settling in.”

“And what about your dad?” Jake asked softly, like he was trying not to disturb her. She was warm somehow in the cold night air, the skin under his palm radiating an unexpected heat.

Bear grinned at him. “I don’t have one. I have two moms, Flyboy.”

Jake blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” she teased. “Surprised?”

“A little. But it makes sense,” he admitted. “They anything like Nix?”

Bear hummed. “I don’t know. My mama, yes to a degree. My mom, no. I don’t know how to explain it, but they always warned me that sometimes I flew too high. I just hope they aren’t right.”

Jake’s heart panged with sympathy. “There’s nothin’ wrong with being ambitious. Look at you. You’re incredible, the first female Seal Commander in years, 60 kills to your record. Plus you’re a nice person so…” he trailed off, watching her blush climb up to her ears.

“Stop. You’re just saying that.”

“Hell no. Look at me,” Jake let go of her wrist to turn her face back to his, catching how her face heated and her gaze dropped his, choosing to look at his collarbones. “Look at me. I don’t give compliments often, so this is a little out of character for me, but that voice in there,” he tapped his finger against her forehead, “That voice needs to learn to shut up, because you have done this, you can do this, and you will bring them all back. Trust yourself. I do.”

Bear finally met his gaze, eyes wet with unshed tears. “Fuck you for knowing what to say,” she chuckled, trying to play it off.

“I mean it.” Jake’s gaze was firm but kind, eyes trying to convey the feelings he had for Bear, whether or not they were reciprocated. She needed encouragement and he was more than happy to offer it.

Bear’s head was swimming, Jake’s words mixing with her thoughts. They felt like slipping into cool water during a hot day, a balm to a bruise she hadn’t known was there. “Thank you,” she whispered, stifling a yawn. “I needed that.”

His face split into a familiar cocky grin. “I told you,” he crowed into the darkness, heart seeming to swell as she laughed, head thrown back before she wobbled and placed a hand to steady herself against his chest. She was beautiful, mirth making her eyes sparkle. Then again, she was always beautiful. Even at 2 am in the darkness as the ocean wind whipped her hair around. “Now grab your blanket, my truck’s back there. I have a constellation I want you to see.”

And she followed. They had fallen asleep in the bed of his truck, woken by the sun’s first morning rays, the two of them having been drawn together in sleep. Bear had a glimpse of Jake at peace and it stopped her heart as she took in the gold threading through his hair, the slow rise and fall of his chest, and his warmth. The sun painted him in gold, wreathing his head in fire like a matching crown to the one that opened in her heart as she took him in.

It was simple. It was peaceful. Yet Bear vowed, swore with every fiber that she would make sure that both of them returned home. It wasn’t possible for her to survive without Jake’ gentleness, his kindness.

So in the ever-growing sunlight, Bear memorized every freckle, every detail of Jake’s sleeping face. If she couldn’t have him, then at least she could have the memories. She was drawn from her thoughts at the sound of Jake’s deep voice seeming to crackle through the stillness of the morning. “Y’re starin’.”

Bear only smiled, letting Jake grab hold of her and pull her into his arms. She hummed, wiggling a little before settling and dozing off under the rays of the new day’s sun, letting both its warmth and that of the man beside her lull her back into sleep.

The clanging of the cell door jerked her back to reality. A small child stood in the concrete room, his eyes wide in fear. He couldn’t have been more than eight. He held something out to her, but in the darkness, she couldn’t make out what it was. In broken English, the little boy spoke. “Is key. To the cuffs.”

“What?” Bear asked, confused as to why this child would help her, but even more so at what a child was doing here. If the light was better, maybe then she would have recognized him as the child from the compound that Flare had spotted and pointed out. But the limited light cast his face in shadow, obscuring that detail.

“Soldier.” He pointed at her. “Friend.” Then he pointed out the door where the sounds of drunken shouting echoed down the hall. “Bad men. They hurt my mama.”

Bear’s heart hurt for this little boy. He was too young to know the things he did. Too young to be here. And here he was, trying to save her. “Thank you. What’s your name?” she whispered, watching the entryway closely.

“Amir,” he said shyly.

“Hi Amir. You can call me Bear.” She smiled at him, unable to do much else. “Can you climb on that chair,” she told him, pointing at it. “And give me the key?” Amir nodded, scrambling quickly to the chair and passing her the key. Bear clutched it in her fist, giving him a nod. “Thank you.”

“I go,” he said, pointing at the door.

“Bye,” she whispered, giving him a little wave, which he returned before he snuck out the door and closed it behind him.

Bear began to plan. She had a key to the bars that caged her in, an unlikely and secret ally, and nothing to lose. Her team had no idea where she was. Hell, Bear had no idea where she was, all she knew was that she was getting out, hopefully soon, when the opportunity presented itself. For now though, she shut her eyes and tried to get some sleep to keep her strength up. She was going to need it.

===

Surprisingly, the men let her sleep. Maybe it was because they had been absolutely drunk off their asses the night before, but when they entered her cell, the sun was already high in the sky and her cell had begun to feel like a sauna.

“Who killed him?” One of the men demanded as Bear slowly lifted her head. She blinked away sleep, opening one eye against the brightness in the cell.

“I don’t know.” Bear had been saying those words for the better part of two weeks now. She was exhausted, infection was setting in and it had become harder and harder to fight back. “I don’t know.”

The man cackled, saying something to his friend in Urdu. The tone of his voice made her skin crawl and it didn’t take a translator for Bear to grasp the concept of which he was speaking to her so crudely. “He said you knew. He said the…” the man paused, stumbling over the English wording “…informant was right”

“Who said that?” Bear was intrigued and frightened. Someone knew her moves, her play. Someone had told these men that she knew something about who had killed al-Hameed, and considering it had been her bullet, this was a big problem. That meant that someone was a mole and since only her people had informants out of the teams, it had to be someone on her team.

Oh fuck. The realization was sobering. Betrayal, especially one of this caliber, was nearly unheard of. Her team was loyal and Bear would stake her life on that fact, except now she had and it appeared that she had no more moves to make.

“We ask the questions. Not you,” the man snapped, poking her in the chest directly over a cut and Bear struggled not to react. Her ribs screamed as the man put more and more pressure over the cuts and bruises that littered her torso. She was able to get her foot up, kicking him hard in the ribs and watching with barely concealed rage the look that flashed over his face.

This man wanted to hurt her. Wanted to hear her scream and she would not do him the pleasure. So when he stormed forwards, his fist raised to punch her, Bear slipped back through the curtain in her mind that replayed memories, drawing solace in the steady quiet.

It had been a random Tuesday when Bear found out that Jake hadn’t seen her favorite Marvel movie. “I’m sorry but that’s unacceptable, Flyboy. How can you not have seen it?”

Jake had shrugged. “I don’t know. I just haven’t.” Bear was giving him shit and yet he still had the biggest smile on his face. It was funny watching a Navy Seal lose her mind over the fact he hadn’t seen a movie. “But I’m sure I could be persuaded to watch it, Teddy.”

“I hope so. As far as I’m concerned, this is treason.” Bear was grinning like an idiot, but trying to remain serious. However Jake’s smirk and the sparkle in his eyes were forcing her to reevaluate her intentions. “Tonight. If you have nothing else going on, watch it with me.”

“What time?” The words flew out of Jake’s mouth as soon as Bear finished speaking, surprising the Hell out of both of them. “Sorry. Let me try that again. No, I'm not doing anything. I’d love to watch The Winter Soldier with you. What time do you want me there?” Jake said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck in effort to regain his lost dignity.

Bear chuckled, her own blush rising in her cheeks at Jake’s eagerness. “What works for you?” she asked, shifting her weight to her other leg, before tugging at the straps of her vest, trying to pull it off.

“I can be over around 6?” She knew that he was staring at her, watching as her shirt rode up when she pulled off the gear and it made her smirk a little as she did.

She grinned, shuffling the vest off, and folded it over her arm. “6 sounds great. Bring snacks.”

Jake’s split wide into an excited smile. “Popcorn?”

“Nah. I’ve got some. Just bring whatever you want for snacks, I’ll get pizza,” Bear told him. She was trying to hide her own grin, but was failing to keep the excitement from dancing in her eyes. After their conversation on the beach, she and Jake had become closer, sharing inside jokes and stifled laughter as they met up for coffee on weekends and slowly grew to know the other person. The only thing Jake didn’t yet know was her actual name.

A cracking sound shattered the memory she was hiding in. The pain that erupted in her side told her that at least one rib was broken, but Bear knew that she would prove to be a useless captive. Unwilling and determined to keep her secrets. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t scared. God no. Bear was terrified. Terrified for herself, for Amir. Afraid and worried about her team, if they were coming for her or if they too had discovered this mole within their organization.

“Who. Killed. Him.” The man, she’d heard whispers that his name was Saif, was insistent, demanding answers from the woman who remained silent, eyes glazed over like she wasn’t present.

“175-66-23,” Bear wheezed out, a look of defiance filling her eyes “175-66-23.”

“I warned you.” And Bear watched him flinch as she shook out her leg, taking that fraction of a second to grip the key in her hand before sliding into her memories once more.

She found herself sitting on her couch with Jake, the two of them bantering over the best Marvel characters as the movie sat paused on the TV screen. “Nope. No way. I like Tony. But he is not my favorite!” Bear argued, eyes wide and blinking at Jake, who wore his signature shit-eating grin.

“Is that right?”

“Yes!” She stared at Jake, watching the amusement flicker across his face, noting the smirk and Bear gasped in mock horror. “You’re just trying to get a rise out of me!”

Jake leaned closer, wiggling his eyebrows. “I think I did get a rise out of you,” he told her. He had once again gotten lost in her eyes, watching humor sparkle through them. But he was too late to catch the flicker of smugness before a handful of popcorn hit him in the face. “Hey!”

Bear laughed, ducking as Jake tossed him popcorn at her. A piece hit the end of her nose, making her scrunch it up at the feeling. “Jake! You got popcorn everywhere!”

“And you didn’t?” He fired back. “You started this mess.”

“Oh sure, blame the host,” Bear snarked back, but the look on her face was playful and teasing. She loved the banter that she had with Jake, loved how his face lit up when she challenged him. Bear had gathered that not a lot of women did that right from their first meeting at the Hard Deck weeks ago.

“Well, if the shoe fits…” Jake trailed off, picking a piece of popcorn off of her shirt and eating it. He was having the time of his life and he watched as the look on Bear’s face went from amused to mischievous. She lunged at him, tickling her fingers into his sides, laughing loudly as he shrieked, trying to bat her hands away.

Bear had the upper hand for a good five minutes until Jake snuck his hand under her shirt to tickle her side, laughter rippling from him as the woman before him screeched. She tried to push herself from the couch, desperate to escape his torment. But all it took was Jake’s other hand to grab her hip and pull her back down half under him as he continued his assault.

Her pleas for mercy were broken up with wheezing giggles and Bear couldn’t gather herself enough to fight back against Jake, who was struggling to breathe due to his laughter at the look on Bear’s face. “Ooookay! Okay! Okay! Stop iiiiiittttt!” she finally managed to squeal, shoving her hand in his direction, batting away his hands.

Jake relented, watching as Bear took a deep breath, still giggling. “What?” She said, watching the look on his face soften.

“Nothin’, jus’ you underestimated me,” Jake replied. “You might be a badass Navy Seal, but I have younger siblings and nieces and nephews. I can and will win a tickle fight.”

Bear grinned from her position on her back. She was halfway off of the couch, her lower back on the armrest. The only reason she wasn’t on the floor was Jake’s hand gripping her hip. He was basically holding her in place, and Bear would be lying if that show of strength didn’t make her a little hot under the collar. But there was no way that that little detail would ever be realized. Jake didn’t see her like that. Why would he? So she pushed it away. “Guess I did.”

“Did I hear you right?” Jake asked, giving her a feigned wide-eyed look. “Did a US Navy Seal just say that she underestimated little ole me?” He pitched his voice up at the end, trying to get her to laugh. And she did. The sound seemed to echo inside his mind and Jake found himself wanting to record it. Just so he could treasure the laughter she gave him when so many people didn’t have the pleasure.

“Shut up,” Bear shot back, trying to curb her giggles. “God damn, I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard.”

Jake just grinned at her, his thumb absentmindedly swiping softly along the small patch of skin that had been revealed when her shirt rode up. “You should do it more.”

Butterflies erupted in her stomach at his words and Bear knew that her cheeks had gotten pink again. Something about Jake just flustered her and she had been struggling to hold herself together since that first training session she’d organized. “Laugh?”

“Mmm.” The sound of his hum sent a shiver down her spine as Bear took note of their current position. She shuffled a little, trying to get back on the couch, but her foot knocked against Jake’s knee, sending him tumbling face first into her lap. “Shit, sorry,” Jake apologized, his words slightly muffled against her thigh.

“N-no you’re fine,” Bear stuttered. Internally however, she was screaming. Jake was in her lap. Jake. Hangman. That one blond pilot. Fuck, how long had it been since she’d been touched? “Based on that reaction,” she thought, “Too fucking long.”

Jake, on the other hand, was dying. He had practically thrown himself forwards into Bear’s lap when her foot had kicked his knee. If he had put a little more into the fall than necessary, he wasn’t about to tell. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Bear’s voice was considerably less shaky than it had been moments before, but she knew that her face was bright red from what had just transpired. “I’m sure. We should uh… probably finish the movie.”

He turned his head, from where he’d been facing the TV, to look up at Bear. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

They had finished the movie in that position, Jake laying with his head pillowed on Bear’s thigh as he lay between her legs, while Bear ran a cautious hand through his hair. Unbeknownst to her though, Jake had melted the moment Bear’s hand tugged gently through his hair, carefully picking through the knots that had dried in while they had been goofing off. He was absolutely, irrevocably in love with her. There were no two ways about it. Jake promised himself at this moment, if Bear wanted him, he’d be hers.

The clanging of the cell door pulled Bear once more from her reverie. This time, her breath punched out of her chest as the pain she’d avoided hit her in full force, nearly making her puke. They had been rougher than usual. Something wasn’t adding up, and if she were a betting woman, she would place her money on whoever it was funneling information to them. But she knew that she couldn’t take much more of this. Her palm hurt from the key’s teeth digging into her skin and she vowed to free herself tonight.

===

A/N: Do I need to hide or am I safe? Big big thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s for proofreading and all the love to @dakotakazansky who helped me do some restructuring!

Taglist: @horseshoegirl @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @lavenderbradshaw @roosterforme @bobby-r2d2-floyd @bradleybeachbabe @footprintsinthesxnd @twsssmlmaa @fandomxpreferences @dempy @gizmodear @fighterpilothoe @chaoticassidy @eli2447 @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @djs8891 @rhirhikingston @sisterslytherinog @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak @sgt-barnesveins @taytaylala12 @urmom-999 @formulapierre @pinkpantheris @havlindzk @a-beaverhausen @killcomet @buxkybarnez @topgunruinedme @hangmanscoming @smoothdogsgirl @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby

[bits-and-babs]

dads best friend! santiago…. been thinking about it a lot lately..

Interdickt || Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Reader

-> Rating: 18 +

-> Word Count: 3.8k

-> Your father invites Santiago around for dinner every Thursday, but he’s far more interested in eating you.

CW/TW: Christian household, implied age gap, p in v sex, unprotected sex, voyurism.

You’re not sure when Santiago’s hungry gaze readjusted it’s sharp-shooter focus on your face rather than the plate of food you spent meticulously cooking just for him. Regardless, Santi was utterly shameless in the way he greedily observed your body despite sitting just beside your father.

“It looks delicious, Reinita.” His eyes are set firmly on you as he offers his compliments, making it obvious to you alone that it certainly wasn’t the food he wanted to take a bite of. Heat burns on your cheeks as you settle into your seat, giving a meek ‘thank you’ in return.

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia was a frequent visitor to your house, making himself at home every Thursday at your father’s request. The two had exchanged fire with the Colombian cartels when they served together in the Delta Force while maintaining peace in the Triple Frontier. That was before your father took a career ending bullet to the shoulder and Pope became a Private Military Advisor for the Colombian army.

Hoping to maintain their relationship, your father often asked Santi over on his only day off work for dinner every Thursday. He had never failed to attend, claiming that the food you made was better than anything he could make in his ‘shitty old apartment’.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t put in obscene amounts of effort in the attempt to impress your fathers handsome friend. It wasn’t unheard of for you to spend all week planning what to cook for him, his salt and pepper curls and warm, bronze irises at the front of your mind with every ingredient choice, or while flipping through the pages of your cookbook.

His name for you rings in your mind like an echo in a cavern. Reinita. Little Queen. You know he’d picked it because your father also called you the pet name. But when Santiago said it, it held so much more conviction. It wasn’t affectionate, it dripped like molasses from his lips, the roll of his ‘r’ like a rumble in his chest, the kind that left you weak at the knees and he knows it.

This wasn’t the first time Santiago’s eyes strayed from the plate, eyeing you from across the table with a hunger that food couldn’t possibly satiate, but this was the first time you found his gaze almost savage, branding your skin with a prickling heart that settled in your abdomen.

You clear your throat weakly under the intensity of his gaze, feeling it drag across your exposed skin in the sundress you wore. Columbia was scorching at this time of year, the sunshine almost oppressive. You had worn the summer dress, loose and flowy, to keep cool in the kitchen while you cooked- it wasn’t your fault that it just happened to get Santiago going as a result.

“Say grace,” your father points out, apparently needing to remind you of a lifelong tradition simply because Santiago had rattled you so much with his intense gaze. You hadn’t even realised that you’d reached for your cutlery in the state that he’d left you in!

“Ah-“ you’re quick to correct yourself, despite the soft chuckle from the opposite end of the table. Lacing your fingers, you bow your head in supplication and close your eyes to ensure that Santiago is out of sight, taking a deep breath in. “Father, You are mighty and strong to sustain our bodies. Thank You for the meal we are about to enjoy. Praise You for meeting our physical needs of hunger and thirst…”

You don’t mean to, you really don’t, but when you trail off your eyes immediately flick up to catch sight of Santiago. He’s watching you, the blacks of his pupils fervent with a sinful need and his eyelids heavy. It’s obscene, the way he looks at you, and you momentarily forget yourself, the direction of your praise obliterated.

Caught off guard, you see the way your fathers eyes open in question and you scurry to finish your acknowledgment. “We pray that we will be energized and be able to work for the glory of Your Kingdom. In Jesus’ Name, Amen!”

“Amen,” both men respond as you reach for your glass of water, desperate to just cool down for a moment. The clinking of cutlery being lifted from the tabletop sounds almost immediately, and you’re relieved to have Santiago’s attention focused on something other than you.

The two men eat in silence, comfortable with each other’s company after years of service together. You, however, find the quiet stifling, almost afraid your father will hear the rapping of your heart against the bone of your sternum.

The soft rumble of a moan sounds from across the table, jolting you from your thoughts. Santiago’s eyes are closed, lips around the fork as he hummed in praise of your cooking. Arousal lurches in your abdomen, staring as he chews slowly and settles his focus on you once more.

“Reinita,” he hums, pointing towards the food, “This is your best yet.” You had really pulled out all the stops today, settling for Vatapá. Fish, shrimp, coconut milk, manioc flour, dendê palm oil, and cashews, the tropical flavours paired with steamed rice seemed like the perfect accompaniment to the hot weather that you’d been experiencing, while also being substantial enough to fill both men's stomachs.

“Oh- You’re too kind, Santi, thank you,” you laugh weakly, shifting your own food around the plate as you watch him shake his head.

“Not at all, it’s perfect,” he promised you, his stunning smile practically knocking you breathless. Perfect. It’s all you wanted to be for him, refusing to settle for anything less. Another nervous smile and he releases you from his all consuming gaze, allowing you a moment's respite from the agonising need that had possessed you from the moment he walked through the door.

Instead, his conversation turns to your father’s attention, informing him of his latest mission against the cartels. You had always found Santi brave for his undertaking against Lorea, if a little stupid. Every hit man and his dog would be after him soon if he continued to piss off the gang leaders by picking off their coke ‘dens’. He had always promised to never allow the wolves to reach your door, but even you weren’t naive enough to think he could control them like that.

It’s your turn to ogle him shamelessly while his attention is elsewhere. His stubble has grown out, peppering his jaw with a greying five-o’clock shadow. His curls, coloured in a similar nature, are cropped short, and you long to tell him to let them grow a little- give you something to grab. His skin is tanned with a healthy, olive glow after spending hours out in the oppressive sun on raids, his khaki green cotton t-shirt aiding the overall bronzed look.

It was torturous, seeing him dressed in something even as simple as this. On any other man, a t-shirt is just that. But on Santiago, it framed his form just perfectly, like he’d purposely bought one just a little too small for him so it defined his pectorals in a way that had you practically drooling. His golden chain peeks out from underneath the material, and you can’t help but think about the way you’d always notice it decorating the silvery surgery scar at the nape of his neck-

“Reinita?” Santiago’s voice cuts through your atrociously obscene thoughts, jolting you back to reality. He’s watching you with an arched brow, one you’d imagine him wearing before he pulled you across his lap, lifted your flowery dress skirts and spanked you.

“Mhm- I’m sorry, what was the question again?” You ask, voice a little airy and breathless. You hated the way you couldn’t contain your composure like Santi, could always feel your fathers watchful eyes. Consistently wondering whether he would realise that you so desperately wanted to straddle the lap of his best friend, the person he took a bullet for.

“I said that your father had mentioned a barbecue in a few weeks time, when I have some extra leave,” he mused, noting your nervousness, “That way I’d be able to help you out with the cooking.”

Oh.

It was as though your body had been set alight like barbecue coals, the feast already having started. You could imagine it now, Santiago stood over the grill with his shirt off in the face of the flames. His chain would glint in the sunlight, and he would unhook a tea towel from the waistband of his cargos to wipe the sweat that had gathered on his forehead and chest.

“Ah- It sounds like a wonderful idea!” You return quickly, noting the silence you had accidentally answered his proposition with. “I would love to try your food.”

“I bet you would,” he smirks, lips pulling up to show a hint of his perfect white teeth. He waits until you notice the suggestion in his tone, observes your face for recognition of his secret proposition before follow quickly up with; “It must be difficult to put the effort in on your own every week.”

Nodding weakly, you clear your throat. In a desperate attempt to escape from the scrutiny of your father and the intensity of Santiago’s relentless teasing, you pick your almost full plate off the table and begin to clear up as your father finishes his meal.

“You’ve barely eaten,” he points out, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“I’m not hungry, I’ll have it for lunch tomorrow,” you assert, reaching across to collect Santiago’s empty plate, who in turn attempts to keep it out of reach.

“I can wash my own,” he says, trying to help you but inevitably making your predicament worse.

“That’s not necessary,” you attempt to force his hand and surprisingly, despite your lack of conviction, he extends the plate to you. Laying his plate on top of the others, the soft clink of the plate being stacked is much like a school bell, dismissing you from the table and allowing you to breathe as you scurry into the kitchen and out of the metaphorical frying pan.

The moment you turn the faucet, the sound of the running water eases you into a routine you’re beyond familiar with that brings you a sense of ease. It went the same way every single Thursday. Santi would come over, you would present the meal, then he and your father would drink whiskey in the living room while you washed up. This was custom, ordinary.

The sound of Metallica playing on the radio in the living room spills into the kitchen as the sink fills. The heavy electric guitar screams from the speakers, even all the way down the hall. Santiago’s music choices never seemed to fit with an evening dinner theme, but your father never had any issue in blowing his own eardrums out to entertain his guest.

Filling up the sink with hot water, you squirt in some dish soap. It’s a simple scent of lemon, but the warmth of the running water coats the room in the citrus as foam begins to cover the surface. It smells like home.

Working through each of the plates, you scrape leftovers into the bin before soaking the dishes in the warm water. When satisfied they had soaked long enough, you scrub the plates, running them under the faucet to wash off the remaining suds before leaving them on the draining board to dry.

Perhaps it’s odd, but you find the repetitive action relaxing. Able to focus on each step of the process, it allows your overactive mind to rest for a moment, to block the ever-constant thoughts of Santiago Garcia at bay while you work to get through the mountain of dishes. That is, until you feel the warmth of his breath on your skin.

“Fuck, look at you…”

Your body jolts violently, shocked by his sudden appearance and the skim of his lips against the curve of your neck. The scratch of his beard against your shoulder makes you dizzy.

“Santiago! You scared me!” You gasp breathlessly, the air having been knocked from your lungs at such a fright. His chest is pressed to your back, fingers working their way onto your hips and giving them a gentle squeeze. If the shock left you breathless, his hungry touch was slowly suffocating you.

“I can’t take it any longer,” he groans softly, fingers digging into your hip bones as he peppers the side of your neck with open-mouthed kisses, his desperation apparent in the way he clings to you. “I have to fuck you.”

The words, murmured into the skin that coats your jugular, make your blood run hot. He wants you. Wants you just as badly as you need him. His hands skin up your waistline slowly, squeezing at the flesh there as he continued to kiss and suck at your neck. You should be telling him not to do that, fearing your father might notice any blemishes his affections left behind, but it felt so good to finally have his lips on you.

“Santi-“ you gasp as he splays his palm across the span of your shoulder blades, pushing you firmly against the kitchen counter. The water that had splashed from the faucet onto the counter had gone cold, soaking through the thin fabric of your summer dress and soaking the material in dark splotches that cool your skin against his fiery affection.

You breathe unevenly, nerves building in your stomach as you feel his booted foot kick your ankles apart. Despite his forward nature, Santi’s hands are gentle across your body, his lips pressing gentle kisses against your shoulder as he presses his body against yours. “I’m sorry Reinita. We have to be quick.”

You nod quickly, understanding exactly what he means. The door is wide open, the heavy beat of the Metallica album playing loudly and bouncing off the corridor walls. Your father could wander in at any moment and see Santiago, his best friend of decades, taking his little girl across his own kitchen counter.

Santiago’s hips are pressed into your ass, and you can feel his erection pressing urgently against the curve of your ass. He can’t help himself, choking out when he grinds into you, tightening his grip on your waist in a desperate attempt to hold himself together. He sounds utterly destroyed, the idea of having you at last eating him alive like all those nights you’d lay in bed, too hot for the comforter as you imagined his hands wandering around your body. At some point it has stopped being an imagination, and formed into some kind of prayer, begging to feel that sensation just once.

Cool air hits the backs of your thighs when Santi hikes up the skirt of your dress towards your waist. You fumble to move your arms behind you and grab the hem to hold it in place, not wanting it to get in the way and waste precious seconds. Santiago hums, either in appreciation of your help or your pretty lace underwear, smoothing his palms over the globes of your ass. You can feel his calloused fingertips, weathered from years of serving his country and pulling triggers.

“Good Girl,” he murmurs, hand slipping between your thighs. A whimper sounds from the back of your throat as his fingers sweep over the wet patch in the lace, working to find your clit beneath the fabric. It doesn’t take him long, his fingertip nudging it blindly. It causes your knees to buckle, a moan slipping past your open mouth, jaw having dropped at the sensation.

“Sh sh, you need to be quiet,” he reminds you, chest arching over your back as you head his belt clink. Your mind is on a delay, one hand already reaching across the kitchen counter to grab a dishcloth. It’s damp in one corner, but sufficiently dry enough to use as something to bite down on- to muffle the moans he’d no doubt draw from you.

You have barely any time to establish your makeshift gag before Santiago is pushing your panties aside and releasing a groan of his own, the sound disturbed by him apparently biting down on his knuckle. “Fuck, look at you Reinita. You’re soaked. Did I do that to you? Hmm? Did thinking of me fucking you on your dining table make you this wet?”

The notch of his dick against your entrance has you gasping for breath, nodding in wordless agreement. You can’t even process words right now, let alone speak them with your rudimentary muzzle. Santi grits out a weak moan as he slips inside your pussy. You’re so wet, strung out from his needy gaze all night, that he manages to drive home with little to no resistance, the two of you letting out a shared sigh as he pushes his hips flush against yours.

“Mhmm… Fuck,” Santi holds your waist in a vice like grip, seemingly using you as an anchor not to cum straight away. It takes him a second to move, your walls fluttering around him as they attempt to adjust to his size. When he finds the strength to begin slipping out of you, the sound that rumbles in his chest is almost carnal. “Look at you creaming all over my cock. You- Hgnn, fuck-“

A ragged breath leaves him, suddenly beginning to piston his hips into you with an intensity that feels as though he’s jumped from 0 to 100. It’s ruthless, expelling all the air from your lungs through your gritted teeth into the rough material of the tea towel. It’s utterly debilitating, the way he holds your body down against the cool kitchen counter and fucks into you with a brutal pace.

Each bruising thrust has you gasping for breath, the citrus smell of the washing up liquid so strong you can almost taste it. It’s even worse when Santi rests his palm over your shoulder, using his strength to push you back onto his cock so it hits you even deeper, filling you completely each time his hips snap into yours. You’re sobbing weakly, tears welling in your eyes as he rips pleasure through your core.

“Shit- I need y-you to be qui-et, Princesa,” he grits through his teeth, his mouth much closer to your ear as he leans over you again. You can hear his exertion, every growl and gasp as you flutter around him. Mumbling a muffled ‘sorry’, you sob out again as he presses up against something utterly devastating inside you. It has your knees failing beneath you, and Santi is quick to have to hold you up.

“That it?” He pants softly, focusing intently on that one spot inside you that has you drooling around your temporary gag. You nod quickly, the pitch of your moans heightening to somewhat of a whine. You never thought you’d be thanking Metallica for their ear splitting music, but here you were.

“Good Girl,” he whispers, feeling your spine go rigid as you battle with your oncoming orgasm. “Oh that’s it, isn’t it Sweetheart? That’s where you need it. Come on.”

You whimper, nails digging fruitlessly into the kitchen counter as you slur around the material stuffed in your mouth that you’re going to cum. Santi seems to already know, his hand slipping around your body and rubbing tight little circles around your clit that cause pleasure to spark through your abdomen, everything pulling up tight.

“Come on baby,” Santi urges, and it’s the last thing you hear. The screeching music down the hall fades out almost instantly, the orgasm ripping through your body so suddenly that the world blurs in your vision. Every muscle in your body threatens to snap, a silent cry of bliss caught in your throat as Santi forces you to take his cock at that same pace, bearing down on you at a speed that has white spots appearing like stars in your line of sight.

It takes you a minute to realise you’re repeating something in your cries, the words muffled and distant to your own ears. Pleading and desperate as he continues to thrust into you with quiet groans of his own.

Santi, Santi, Santi-

“Oh fuck,” you hear him groan, his thrusts faltering as he grasps desperately at your hips. “Oh fuck, I’m gunna cum- Hah- Can I-“ He doesn’t even finish his sentence before you’re ripping the cloth from your mouth, telling him yes yes yes.

You didn’t need to tell him twice, Santi’s hips slowing as his body jolts with pleasure. You feel him pulse inside you, cumming with thick spurts and hear the grunts and groans of satisfaction as he slows his pace down to a stop,

Panting heavily, Santi leaves his cock inside you as he attempts to gather himself, and with your legs too shaky to place all your weight onto, you keep your upper body leant across the kitchen counter. Eventually, the exhausted breaths turns to a fit of giggles, the two of you realising the risk you both took.

“You okay?” He murmurs softly into your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple as he slowly eases his cock out of you. You nod, leaning into his kiss before slowly standing up. Looking over your shoulder at him, Santi is rearranging himself, zipping up his jeans and rebuckling his belt.

He helps you smooth down your skirt to look presentable, his hands passing over your sore hips gently. You can’t help but smile as you look up at him, take in his pretty tan and his long lashes. He’s intoxicating, has a far stronger aftertaste to any wine you could have served on the table this evening.

“Can we do this again?” You whisper to him, hoping it doesn’t appear as though you’re begging him. But you are. You are begging him. You’d get right down on your knees on this kitchen floor, his cum sliding down the inside of your thighs as you plead with him to see you like this again. To touch you like this again.

Santiago looks at you as if you’re crazy, and your heart sinks for a second thinking he was about to turn you away, now that he’d got what he wanted from you. But he smiles softly. “Of course we can. I have that barbecue to man next week, remember?”

You smile so wide that it hurts.

It’s then that the two of you hear a shout from the corridor, your father leaning out of the living room door to look into the kitchen and causing you both to jump. “Pope, you’re missing all the best songs!”

He laughs loudly, turning to your father with a grin. Throwing you a wink, Santi calls back. “Coming!”

END

🏷 Tags: @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @crystalchrysalis19 @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @youngr0se95 @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @astroboots @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @wakers-bonkers @ofmortems @hold-our-destiny @xcatnapsx @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @bb-skyrunner @silvery-luna @sebsbelova @Erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @moonnaught @cottagebunny9

[nyxlaufeyson]

Quite Alright

Winter Masterlist - Loki Oneshot Masterlist - Main Masterlist

POV: Second

Ship: Loki x Reader

Type: Fluff

Wordcount: 1,581

Prompt: "Ice Skating"

Synopsis: You teach Loki how to ice skate.

When Stark announced to the team that they were going ice skating, Loki wasn’t sure what to think of it. He could understand what it must mean, but what he couldn’t fathom was why one would want to skate on ice. Wouldn’t that just result in injury?

He swept it to the back of his mind, since he had better things he had needed to do at the time. However, now that they were standing outside of the ice skating rink Tony had rented out for them, Loki wished that he had put a little more effort into figuring out what ice skating was and how to do it. He certainly didn’t want to be made a fool in front of the Avengers.

It couldn’t be that different from dancing, Loki figured, and he was quite good at that. He would simply observe some of the others go onto the ice first before doing so himself. Surely, how hard could it be?

You walked beside him, clearly excited for the expedition. As soon as you entered the doors, a chill nipped at your skin. It wasn’t anything too bad, considering you were wearing a sweater, but it was still noticeable. Loki, on the other hand, barely felt a thing. If anything, he felt more comfortable in the chill given his genetics.

All of you checked out pairs of skates-and these were brand new skates, too, so you didn’t have to worry about foot fungus, thanks to Tony-and made your way to the benches right outside of the ice rink.

“Are you excited?” You asked him, and he feigned a small smile and gave a nod. You narrowed your eyes at him. “Wait a minute. Have you ever been ice skating?”

He thought about lying, but he opted for telling the truth. “No, I have not.” He said, tying the laces to the skates. “But I have no doubt it will go smoothly.” 

You chuckled. “You say that now, mischief, but when you get on that ice you might change your mind. Lucky for you, I happen to practically be an expert. I’ve gone ice skating lots of times.” You finished putting on your shoes, standing up. “Although, granted, it has been a while. But muscle memory, all that jazz.”

Loki stood up to the best of his ability with the skates, and met you where you were standing on the entrance to the ice. He used the railing to help support himself. 

You stepped up onto the ice, wobbling at first until you managed to balance yourself. Some of the other Avengers were already on the ice, while some opted for watching before trying it out for themselves. He watched you do a lap around the rink to get your bearings back. 

After the lap, you circled back around to him. “You ready?” You asked him, and he hesitantly nodded and stepped onto the ice. Immediately, he lost his balance and nearly fell face-flat on the ice. Fortunately, he managed to grab ahold of the railing to steady himself. 

“Norns!” He cursed, surprised at how unstable the skates on the ice were. He may be a frost giant, but that didn’t help him balance on the ice with a small piece of metal lifting his feet off the ground. “How do you people do this without sustaining significant injuries?”

You giggled at his struggles, waving a hand. “Oh, we do. My friend actually sprained her ankle ice skating once. It must have been bad, because she was in a wheelchair for like a month. I had to push her around and everything.”

Loki widened his eyes, and you sensed you hadn’t said the right thing. “Of course, it’s preventable and I’m totally sure it won’t happen to you here today.”

This didn’t seem to calm him down a whole lot, but you didn’t really know what else to say. Maybe telling people stories of bad things that happened doing something while they were doing said activity wasn’t a great idea.

“Just… Follow my lead, okay?” You said, and he nodded after a second of contemplation.  “So, the first step is learning how to glide. You alternate between lifting one foot and another until you’re comfortable.” 

You gave him a little demonstration, and motioned for him to do it. He carefully tried the motions, still holding onto the railing. 

Smiling, you have a little clap. “Exactly! Now, while you’re gliding, the next step is to lift one foot, set it back down, and lift the other. Then you just repeat the process.” 

Since he had to come off of the railing, you gently took his arm to help steady himself. He thought about declining your help, but he was too worried he would end up falling without it, so he let you.

He tried out what you said to do, and he managed to do it. Unfortunately, when you let him go, he fell on his ass. His face turned red, but you just laughed and offered him a hand up. 

You recognized that he was embarrassed, so you offered consolation. “Falling is normal, especially when first learning.” Thor grunted nearby, and you gestured to him on the ground. “See? Point made.” 

Loki took your hand, hoisting himself up. He was still slightly embarrassed, but felt better after seeing his brother take a much more insulting fall. 

“Now, if you move your feet like this,” you moved your feet in an oval in-and-out motion, “you can move ahead on the ice without lifting your feet.”

He did the swizzles rather well, and you smiled. “Perfect. Now that I’ve taught you some of the motions, you need to know how to stop. Watch and learn.” 

First, you ‘stopped’ without being in motion in the first place, just to show him what it looked like. You stood with your feet together, then pushed them apart while skating forward, finally sticking one out sideways and bringing you to a stop. You then got some traction going to show him what it looked like in motion.

You had him practice at a standstill, and after he got that you let him do it after skating a short distance. He did fine, and you grinned at your teaching skills.

“Want to go around the rink now?” You asked, and Loki looked around, clearly skeptical to do so. You offered your hand. “Here, I’ll hold your hand if that will make you feel more stable. Can’t guarantee I can stop you if you start to fall, but I can try nonetheless.”

You didn’t quite understand how intimate an offer like that was to Loki. Like before, he considered declining, but some part of him wanted to hold your hand. So, he took it gently.

Once his hand was in yours, you became aware of the intimacy and blushed. Holding hands while skating was something you had seen couples do countless times, yet it was never something you had experienced. Of course, Loki was not your significant other, but he was your friend. And, you would be lying if you said you didn’t wish to become more than that. 

Loki cleared his throat, and you embarrassedly realized you had zoned out. “Sorry. Got distracted.” You said, very quickly glancing at your hands. “Ready?” 

He nodded, and you both set off to skate. You skated up to and past other Avengers, all of who seemed to be having a good time. None of them noticed you and Loki holding hands. Or, at least, nobody said anything. 

It was a friendly gesture, anyway, even if the both of you wished it was not.

All went well, and you had circled the rink a few times until you met your first hiccup. Tony wasn’t going in the general direction that everyone else was going, and ended up cutting you off. To avoid hitting him, you and Loki had to veer to the right. Unfortunately, in doing so, you lost your balance.

You stumbled, falling, bringing Loki down as well. You sprawled your hands out to try to break your fall, but you didn’t meet the ice. Instead, you found yourself on top of Loki, who had broken your fall. 

Startled, you asked, “are you okay?” He nodded, not seeming to be in any significant pain.

“I used magic at the last second to cushion me. Are you alright as well?” You nodded. Now that it was clear the both of you were physically in check, you became aware of your position.

His eyes glanced at your lips. Your eyes glanced at his lips. You both looked back up at one another’s eyes. The tension was too much to bear, and you slowly lowered your lips down to his, giving him enough time to push you away.

He didn’t push you away, and welcomed your lips with enthusiasm. The kiss was cold, but when his tongue ran over your lips it brought about a certain warmth. 

When it was over, you opened your eyes and realized Tony was standing right beside the two of you on the ground.

He looked to be in a state between shock and discomfort. “Well, I was going to ask if you both were alright, but…” 

Loki flashed Tony a grin, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Oh, I can assure you Stark, that we are quite alright.” 

You chuckled into his chest until you both had to get up so you weren’t run over by the others.

TAGS: (Comment or inbox me to be added/removed; along with what to be tagged for): @michief-dream @iceeericeee

[strawbubbysugar]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @pillowspace I MADE IT JUST UNDER THE WIRE- ENJOY THIS FRANKENFATE AU BIRTHDAY SNIPPET !!!

(Under readmore!)

“Can I come in yet?” Vale sat against their bedroom door, arms crossed, head back as they stared at the ceiling. It was a particularly sunny, warm day, the sort of day that had fluffy white clouds rolling across the sky, high enough that no shadows were cast. If it were up to them, they would’ve been out in their- .. THE forest, helping Sun look for his crown, as they usually spent their days.

However, today they’d been tasked to stay in their room while their unexpected roommate (well, one of them) worked on something secret. They didn’t have a single clue as to what it could’ve been, though with all the banging sounds and the occasional hushed whisper, they weren’t feeling too optimistic.

“June!” They shouted at the door, shutting their eyes and groaning. “JUNE, I JUST HEARD YOU DROP A FULL BOWL.”

“YOU DIDN’T HEAR ANYTHING, YOU’RE IMAGINING THINGS. YOU’RE LITERALLY CRAZY. YOU’RE ACTING CRAZY.” June shouted back, accompanied by the sound of something heavy being dropped back onto the counter.

Vale heard the hushed whispers of Sun, who had asked if he could help- to which June had delightedly agreed that yes, he could! They could vaguely hear June whispering ‘that’s gaslighting, but I’m doing it as a joke so it’s okay. Yeah don’t worry about it big guy.’

They chuckled and rolled their eyes. June was still getting used to this time period, something that still baffled them to no end. There seemed to be plenty of modern conveniences that were so commonplace, so ingrained in daily life, that June barely had the words to describe them.

A machine that washed and dried your clothing for you was simple enough to understand, but a machine that would let you speak to someone far away, that also showed you images of them, as they spoke, as if they were there? That did about a million other things as well, the least of which involving a light brighter than a candle coming from the front of it? The device had been broken upon June’s arrival, and Vale still wasn’t entirely convinced they weren’t pulling their leg about it.

They’d had enough of simply sitting there staring at the ceiling, zoning out in between clangs and hushed whispers. They began to stand up, though they had unfortunately begun to do so the moment the door was opened, knocking them forward after wobbling on their feet.

“Oh, shit! Dude, fuck, sorry!” June gripped under their arms, helping them to stand up, much to Vale’s chagrin.

They dusted themselves off, the only real injury sustained being to their ego as June had watched them faceplant into their carpet, ass over teakettle. “You’re oddly light on your feet for someone who never does put their laces.”

June snorted, grinning their usual lopsided, cheeky smile. “And you’re oddly easy to push over with a door. Were you just sitting there listening??”

“No, I was sitting there awaiting permission to enter the rest of MY house.” They shot back, though their annoyance was undercut by the clear tone of amusement in their voice. “What were you two doing out there?”

“Jeez dude I woulda left you, like, a book or a flower to look at if I’d known you were just gonna sit there.”

“What did you think I’d do??”

June paused for a moment, frozen as they did what June had once called ‘loading’, while they registered what Vale had asked and formulated a response.

“Uh.” They smiled, though a bit more sheepishly now. “Man, I dunno! I thought you’d knit or something!”

“Knit??”

“Something old-timey, yeah!”

“You don’t have knitting in your time???”

“Wh- yeah, we do, but it’s like.. a grandma hobby. I think it’s coming back into fashion though.”

Vale shook their head, once again rendered speechless by June’s nonsense.

“No, June, I didn’t knit. Can I leave the room?? I’d like some fresh air.”

June quickly blocked their way, arms spread out to the sides. Unfortunately for Vale, they did have the height advantage.

“Wait! Wait wait wait. Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Ready to enter my own house??” They scrunched up their nose, eyes squinted in confusion as they placed their hands on their friend’s stomach, pushing them forward.

June didn’t budge, fingers hooked on the doorway to keep steady. “Are you ready for your SURPRISE!” He laughed. “Stop. I’m ticklish.”

Vale could practically hear the sound of Sun registering that information and saving it for later use, even from where he presumably was in the kitchen. Vale cracked a smile and shook their head. “Yes, I’m ready to both see my surprise, and clean up whatever mess you two made.”

“Oh come on, you know Sun was already all over that. I’ve never seen a dude more excited to wash a dish in my life.”

Vale chuckled at the idea. Taking favours from the gods certainly wasn’t something they’d ever do, not in a million years. However, June seemed more than happy to take whatever the god offered. It was more than once Vale had to stop them from agreeing to receive ridiculous, extravagant things in exchange for the two human’s assistance- worried that it would count as them taking the favour as well. However, once Sun had promised to clarify when something was a friendly gesture and when something was a godly boon, June had been allowed to accept as much help as they’d like.

Though Vale still wouldn’t be partaking. Just in case.

June let them through under their arm, grinning with delight and waving their hands in clenched fists at their sides. They’d called it ‘stimming’, once. Vale had tried it and had to admit that it felt nice to get that energy out, but found they preferred to keep their limbs under control. They glanced back to them with furrowed brows, beginning to grow nervous about the supposed surprise. It couldn’t possibly be.. no. It couldn’t. They hadn’t told a soul.

Stepping around the corner, they were greeted by their divine housemate, as he held out his hands in greeting.

“SURPRISE!” He beamed, flourishing his hands as small colourful sparks rained down from his fingers.

In front of him was a cake, lopsided and frosted in a manner that appeared not too dissimilar to the way Vale imagined a raccoon would frost a cake. Dollops of icing littered the edges in what seemed to have started as a pattern, but soon collapsed into complete chaos. The colour was somewhere between grey and blue, a result likely to be due to the berries used that also acted as decoration on the top, dotting their own pieces of frosting. Coming closer, they saw the elegant cursive handwriting, as well as the smeared icing hastily scraped off from previous attempts that had been deemed less than perfect.

Happy Birthday Friend!

Vale blinked several times in surprise, glancing between Sun, who was still beaming, and the cake. “I .. I didn’t tell either of you that it was my birthday, how did you ..”

“I’m the god of day!” Sun piped up. “And it is a birthDAY! Stands to reason that I would know each of them by heart!”

“Oh, I told Sun that if he told me when your birthday was, I’d take his favours and ask him to make dragons real.” June smiled, leaning their hands against the counter. Sun looked to them, eyebrow raised in confusion.

June quickly waved their hands at Vale when they saw the immediate flush of panic on their face, laughing worriedly. “WHOA WHOA IT WAS A GOOF ITS OKAY-“ their hands met Vale’s shoulders, steading them.

“Not funny-“ Vale groaned, head lolling back. “Gods, I felt my heart touch my feet.”

June chuckled, patting their head and mussing up their hair the second they were sure they had a solid footing once again. “Aw cmon, it was a little funny. I asked the baker in town, after he mentioned next week being special last week when we visited.”

“I should really ask him not to give away secrets to strangely dressed newcomers.” Vale muttered, glancing over their two odd companions. They looked over the cake and felt a fondness settle over them like a warm blanket.

These two had really put in far more effort into this cake than necessary. They’d tried so hard on it, and while it wasn’t perfect, it was clearly a labour of love. The sort that sent warm fuzzies to Vale’s cheeks at the thought that their friends would do this for them.

“.. but thank you. Truly. It looks .. delicious.” They smiled warmly at the both of them, though they stumbled over the last word. Delicious wasn’t the first one they’d thought of.

They were surprised once again as they were pulled into a large, warm hug by June, soon followed by a Sun who had spent a good majority of the morning cooling himself down for this. He easily wrapped his arms around the two mortals and gave a gentle squeeze, earning an ‘eep!’ From Vale, and a laugh from June.

Eating the cake would be its own challenge later, but for now, the hug was its own gift, and one welcomed with open arms as Vale melted into their friend’s arms, closing their eyes and basking in the warmth.

[saturnsorbits]

Frills and All

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Smut, Sub!Bakugo, Maid Dress, Spanking, Edging, Rimming, Oral (M - Receiving), Slight Feminisation, Praise. Word Count: 4.6k.

Summary: Bakugo plays dress up, just for you.

‘This what you wanted, ha?' Bakugo pinches the lace trim of his skirt and lifts it to expose the top of a creamy, bare thigh. He arches an eyebrow, eyes widening just enough to show his amusement as you squirm on the mattress, thighs pressing together.

The maid outfit had been a joke.

To start off with, anyway.

That was until it had started to turn into something a little more real every time you'd mentioned it. Each teasing: 'But you'd look so pretty, Katsuki.' had transformed, becoming a catch in your chest whenever you pictured him all dolled up with the cute little pinafore wrapping his waist and struggling to contain his broad pecs.

Said pinafore looks far better in person than anything you could have conjured up in even your wildest daydreams.

It's lined with lace and bars his chest, running an inch or so below his collarbones to cross the swell of his pecs before being forced to curl by the thin straps that loop to tie around his neck. The skirt is ruffled, cinching in around a sinfully tiny waist that only seems to make everything else look that much bigger.

Slowly, he runs a large palm down his side, fingers trailing softly over the material until they reach the edge of a thigh-high sock. He slips a thumb underneath, popping the hem and snickers when the elastic snaps back against his thigh making the flesh jiggle. 'So... You like it? You think I look pretty?'

You nod, chewing the inside of your cheek. Anticipation makes you brave, ignites a spark of confidence in your stomach and encourages you to stand. 'You look beautiful...’ Pausing, you tongue your cheek. ‘Princess.'

He cocks an eyebrow and swallows around the dominance bubbling in his throat. You look ethereal with lust dancing in your eyes and excitement lingering on your cheeks. From where he's stood, he can almost feel it, the quick thrumming of your veins, the heat that is practically bleeding from your body, sinking lower and lower with each second you take to drink him in. It makes his heart swell, his fingers twitching as he struggles not to fall into you, giving you everything without you even having to ask – just so he can sustain that look in your eyes.

Approaching him is easy. You slink forward, closing the distance between you until your chest is almost flush to his. With a tilt of your head, you press in, urging him backwards with steady, but sure steps until his back thuds against the wood of the bedroom door.

‘I think you look so pretty…’ Taking a moment to take him in, you lick your lips before laying the tips of your fingers on the exposed flesh of his shoulder. It’s a delicate touch, barely there as you trail from his shoulder to the valley of his chest and over the clothed expanse of his stomach. You twist your hand as you approach his pelvis and press down firmly with your palm, revelling in the sharp gasp you earn when you finally brush over his cock.

'Yeah?' He's breathless when he speaks.

You nod, humming as your hand finds the lip of his skirt and slips underneath. His skin is warm, almost feverish against yours as you drag your nails up his thigh. 'So, fucking pretty.'

His cock tents the skirt, causing lace to drape at either side of its head. It drools onto the fabric, coating it in thick sticky white as a soft hum breaks his throat with the contact.

The way he looks at you, batting faux-shy eyelashes from under his fringe makes you feel powerful, despite the fact you have to curve your neck and almost tip-toe to look up at him. You should know better when he submits too-easily to your kiss. He indulges you, letting you take hold of his hair and force your tongue into his mouth, swiping at his teeth and nibbling on his lip. You take control of him, but only because he allows it. Leading him towards the bed, you slip onto the mattress before taking his hand and encouraging him to straddle you.

It feels odd, to be perched on your hips like this. His hands rest on your shoulders, core tense and expectant as he swallows down the bubbling excitement in his stomach.

'So pretty, Katsuki...' You purr. Placing your palms on his thighs, you scratch lightly at his skin as you gently, inch your way up and under his skirt. 'So good for me, aren't you?'

He nods, pulse quickening as your fingers itch at the edges of the black, laced thong you'd kindly laid out for him to wear under the dress. 'For you.' The hunger in your eyes makes him feel small, makes him feel devoured even as your touch remains teasing.

'Mmm.' You hum. 'Want me to touch you then, baby?'

He nods, but manages to bite back the whine echoing in the back of his throat as you finally slip a hand into the thong and cup his balls. Your hand is hot, the grip you take on him tight as you roll his balls in your palm and tug. His stomach lurches, abs tightening as he bites back another soft whine.

'Words, baby. Or you don't get what you want...'

'Please...' The words drop into the air wrapped in a whisper. It feels right, achingly so as he slips into a role usually assigned to you and submits, handing over everything to you.

Something new bubbles in your stomach. It's a funny thing: power. Having it feels good, sure, but being given it willingly, by Bakugo Katsuki no less, makes you feel drunk. Hardening your stare, you cup his chin and force him to meet your eye. 'Pease, what?'

'Please touch me.'

A smile curls your lips. 'Good boy.' With one hand still cupping his balls, you wrap the other around the base of his cock. Your grip is loose, providing barely any friction, but he bucks up immediately, giving you exactly what you want. 'That's it... Go on, you wanna fuck my hand, baby?'

He nods, letting the twitching of his hips turn into slow rolls. His cock is drooling, coating your hand and making each thrust glide easily as he grinds shamelessly on your lap.

'Feel good?' Your cunt pulses as you watch him shamelessly hump your hand. The muscles in his shoulders tense, rippling as he rolls his hips and bites back the whines you know linger in the back of his throat. You bite your lip. That's okay, there'll be time to hear all his pretty noises soon enough.

'Yeah...' Breathlessly, he fights the growing burn in his thighs, chasing the bubbling pleasure in his stomach. He screws his eyes shut, lost to the feel of your hands, the skin of your thighs pressing to his. A rope coils in his stomach, threatening to snap, but just before he can tip, falling headlong into mindless pleasure there's an impossible tightness around the base of his cock. He whines.

'There it is...' You chuckle when his eyes snap open, a deep furrow marking out his forehead. 'You were keeping those pretty noises from me, baby.' Cooing, you keep your hand clamped tight around his cock as it kicks and ignore the tension radiating through Bakugo's jaw. 'You know I like to hear you.'

A scowl furrows lines into Bakugo's forehead as he tries to haul in steadying breaths. His pulse sings, burning in his veins as his release slips further and further from his grasp.

'Oh, Princess...' You coo, releasing his cock to sit up and cup his chin. His cheeks squash together, but his scowl soon fades when you press a soft, barely there kiss to his lips for his trouble. He melts into your touch and you smirk, whispering soft into the air between you. 'Now on your hands and knees. Ass up.'

There isn't time for him to pretend not to be enthralled by you as he scrambles off of your lap and presses his chest to the mattress. For all his bravado and bite, he's always been easy to reign in: for you, at least. It's too easy to sink, to lose himself to your charm and let himself go, knowing that you're always there for him. Still, he'd never thought all of that would have extended here – where he was almost too willing to be kept under your thumb. ‘You're too good at this...' He huffs.

'Am I?' You giggle. Your whole body feels wired, thrumming as you watch a man you've seen almost level buildings push his ass further into the air to try and tempt you.

Bunching linen in his fists, he shimmies his legs further apart and bows, curling his back into a near perfect slope. 'Tch. You're getting off on it too, ain't ya?'

'So what if I am? Look at you, Princess… You expect me not to get off on you looking like that?' Whistling low, you let your eyes eat away at the sight of him before rising to your knees. Your fingertips brush his thigh as you take up post behind him, trailing your hand up further and further until you can flip the skirt of the dress up around his waist. You press a kiss to one pale cheek, just below the waistband of his thong.

'You keep callin' me Princess and I'll -.' With his cheek pressed to the mattress, he tries to crane his neck to look at you, but as soon as he catches your eye – his mouth dries up. That thing is back in your eyes, the cold control that burns and makes his cock twitch. His stomach rolls. You look ready to eat him alive.

You arch an eyebrow. Reeling a hand back, you lay a singular hard smack onto his ass making him grunt, but you don't miss the way his eyes flutter in his struggle to keep looking at you. 'You'll what?'

He swallows, but stays silent.

'Are you gonna be good for me?'

'Yeah, yes... Good, I'll be good.' He wiggles his hips, anxious for more of your touch. His entire body already feels strung out and taught, but the promise of your touch stops him from stepping out of line further.

‘Good boy.’ Chuckling, you slip your fingers under his thong and tug it aside, exposing his pink hole. ‘Such a pretty cunt, Princess.’ Your tongue swipes at him, curling just enough to earn a shaky breath from his lips.

Fisting the sheets, Bakugo feels his eyes roll when you prod at him again. A shiver breaks out down his spine, an uncontrollable moan bubbling deep in his chest. 'Fuck... M – more, please.'

'Okay... Princess.' You sit back on your haunches and choose to ignore the huff that breaks from him when you take away your attention. Biting your lip, you reel back an arm and slap him again, harder this time, on his left cheek.

He yelps, but it soon transforms into a dull moan in the back of his throat, stopping the complaint that had been all too keen to leap from his tongue. Trapped in his thong, his cock kicks, growing redder with each second that it's neglected. He's not sure how much more he can take, if his body will allow him to submit to more of your delicate torture, but the thought of your face coloured with disappointment makes him dig deep and squeeze shut his eyes.

'On your back.'

He swallows.

Tilting your head, you bite the inside of your cheek – considering, before plucking at the front of his apron. 'Off.'

Your voice makes him shiver. He thinks about arguing, he does, but somewhere in the haze of your prowess he looses it. The fire he usually wields violently is suffocated, burnt out as he finally, finally lets himself go... After all, if he could give himself completely to anyone, he knows it's you.

'Now, baby.' You snicker as impatient claws at your skin. '… I wanna see those pretty tits.'

Tossing himself onto his back, he leans forward and toys with the bow at the back of his neck, quickly shuffling the top half of the dress to his waist exposing his chest. His gut tightens when you smile and offer him a small nod of approval, making him flame and want to beg for more.

'So beautiful... So pretty for me...' Slipping your hand behind his knees, you push up. It's an awkward manoeuvre to curl him over, forcing him to plant his feet almost right beside his head, but its worth all the trouble as soon as you're able to lay your eyes on his face. His cheeks are pink, the blush there running all the way down his neck and onto his chest, where his nipples have already pebbled underneath the sheer, black laced bralet that digs soft into his flesh. A dusting of hair, blonde and thick runs underneath it, between his pecs before thinning over his stomach framing the muscle perfectly.

'Please...' He sounds broken when he speaks. His usual gruff tone is weak, soft around the edges as he settles into his new position, pliant and awaiting.

You reward his desperation with a long lick against his hole that has his squirming. In this position, you can watch as his cheekbones darken, as pleasure swirls in crimson iris' and his mouth drops open. Eating him out with a new fervour, you wiggle your tongue inside of him and delight as a trail of uncontrollable moans slip from his mouth and dance into the air. Reaching around his hip, you raise your eyebrows, teasing as you slip under his thong, take hold of his cock and squeeze.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck...' Even if he wanted to get away, he's not sure he'd be able to. His thighs shake, pleasure zipping through his body as you continue to suck and lick while working him. Your tongue feels like heaven carving him out, the strange feel of you stretching him eclipsed by the violent bubbling in his stomach that has him white-fisting the sheets to try and contain himself.

'Look at me.' The lace is burning your hand, but you don't care. Watching him come undone is reward enough. His cheeks puff out, lips pulling back over his gums as he tries to choke down more and more air in his fight to maintain control. He's a vision. A machine of raw power reduced to a whining mess all because of your tongue.

It's a struggle, but he manages it. Although, he quickly regrets it. If he had thought you where beautiful before, it has nothing on how you look now. With blown eyes and a subtle grin, you steal his breath right from his lungs. To be at your mercy, he thinks, is an honour indeed.

'That's it... Good boy.'

'Can -.' The words stick in his throat, but he's nothing if not determined as he refuses to screw shut his eyes. You asked him to look after all and you're right, he's good. He can be good. He can: for you. 'Can I cum... Please?'

There's a burst of pleasure that wraps around your lungs when you notice the soft glow of tears beading on his lower lashes. His desperation is golden, glorious as comes apart by your hand. Even so, you can't quite help yourself. You squeeze the base of his cock experimentally.

'No, no, no... Please. Please, I've – I've been good. I -.' He hiccups, a singular tear wriggling loose from his lash line to drip down onto his cheek. Something squirms in his chest, burning right through his skin. The possibility of being edged again makes his limbs feel weak, makes his head spin and his cock bob pathetically.

'I know.' You sooth him with a soft hand on his hip, before lowering your head to press a gentle kiss on his ass. The muscle is warm and tense, making it almost impossible not to scrape your teeth against his skin and suck a pale bruise into the flesh.

He hisses. There's something inside of him that preens, that gets excited at the prospect of a purpling mark left on his skin by you. He wonders if it'll burn. If he'll accidentally knock it on the edge of a table while at work and instantly be chubbing in his pants. If the other pro's in the locker rooms will see it. If they'll get jealous.

Reeling back, you peck at the mark and smile. 'I know, I know. I'm sorry.' You're not. 'You've been so good for me. You can cum, Princess.'

There's barely three seconds between you burying your tongue back inside of him and his cock kicking in your hand. With a violent quake, he cums, letting the most beautiful series of moans loose from his chest as he rides out the high.

'That's it.' Working him through his orgasm, you twist your wrist to angle his cock until sticky white is coating his chest. It drips, thick droplets trickling over the material covering his pecs and running down the grooves of his stomach. While his ruined bralet bares the majority of his release, there are strings of white painted on his cheek and neck. His cum decorates him, making his skin shine as he blinks himself back to reality.

'Fuck.' Bakugo huffs, a sharp laugh catching in his throat. His tongue pokes out from between his lips, catching some of the cum littering his cheek before pulling it back into his mouth to taste. Behind his eyelids, his eyes twitch upwards, the taste of his own release infesting his mouth, but before his eyes can flicker open again there's a new weight on his shoulders.

Leaning over him, you let his hips back down to the bed before covering his body with your own. Your hands grip his shoulders, keeping him still as you lick a line up his chest, collecting cum on your tongue as you go. You swallow and smirk, groaning as his release slips down your throat. A second lick is laid on his jaw, curling just under his cheekbone before you press a kiss to his mouth and get to taste him on his own tongue. 'Feel good, baby?'

'Real fuckin' good.'

Snorting, you reach over to the bedside table and collect the small flannel you'd laid out earlier. Squeezing it in hand, you wipe him down carefully and remove the bralet. Making sure to clean every inch of him, you lay back over him and press another kiss to his mouth.

He moans, basking in the weight of you. Ignoring the ache in his shoulders, he lifts his arms and wraps them around you, holding you close as his breathing begins to level out again. 'This fuckin' dress really do it that much for ya, ha?'

You chuckle and kiss his cheek. 'You really do it for me...'

'Fuckin' cheesy bitch.' Bakugo rolls his eyes, but he doesn't shun the peppering of kisses you lay on his cheeks.

'You love it.'

Sometimes, he feels like he's won the lottery with you. He doesn't know what he did to deserve it, you, the love and adoration, the challenge and fire, but he knows he'd fight anything that ever attempted to part you from him. 'I do.'

'Love being my good little boy, too... Don't you?' Mischief creeps into your eyes as your hand dances down his stomach and brushes just over his lace-covered cock.

A gasp bullies it's way out of his throat as his cock begins to swell beneath your hand. With still shaking thighs, he wriggles beneath you, trying and failing to catch his breath.

'Don't you?' You punctuate your sentence with a particularly firm squeeze of his balls.

'Yes.' Bakugo yelps, shoulders bunching up around his ears. 'Fuck, yes.'

You kiss him for his honesty. 'You think you've got another round in you, Princess?'

He nods so quick his neck hurts, but the promise of you touching him again, of you making him submit again is too much to pass up. Rolling his hips, he groans when it causes you to tug gently at his balls.

'Words.'

'Yes... Please. Can...' He chokes, spreading his knees wider he thrusts higher into the air. 'Want -.'

Licking your teeth, you lean off him just enough to take hold of his cock with your other hand before beginning to fist him slowly. Each glide of your hand is smooth, eased along with the thick pre-cum that has already started to leak from him again. 'What do you want, baby?' Shuffling down his body, you reduce yourself to your elbows at either side of his hips. Bakugo's cock has always been one Hell of a sight. It's long, thick in all the places that matter and leans, ever so slightly left. The shaft is pale, a touch darker than the milk of his skin making the purpling veins that run from the base and along the underside stand out vibrantly. If you look close and focus, you can swear you can see his pulse, the steady thumb of his excitement that makes the head redden and weep. Lowering your head, you kiss his tip.

'Fuck... More -.' Back bowing, a pool of molten lava spills into Bakugo's stomach as he reaches down to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes across your face, fingers curling until he can almost, almost ease your mouth down and then...

You laugh.

The sudden rush of air over his cock makes him shiver, his hips twitching as desperation claws at his chest and demands that he beg for more.

'Oh, baby.' Pulling further away you loosen your grip on his cock. 'You know that isn't how this works.'

Whining, he loosens his grip on your cheek again choosing instead to cup your jaw and bring your eyes to his. He wets his lips and pouts. 'Please.'

There's a layer of faux innocence that coats the apples of his cheeks when he stick out his lower lip. It makes your heart squeeze. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that he's playing you, know that he's acting like this just because it will get him exactly what he wants, but you don't care. Seeing the Bakugo Katsuki pout and plead will always be your kryptonite. 'You want my mouth that bad?'

'Please...' He tries again, lowering his eyelids to half-mast for good measure. 'Want your mouth... Really, really want your mouth.'

You don't have it in you to deny him, he has been good after all. Granting him this small relief is the least you can do. 'Okay, because you asked so nicely...' Letting your tongue loll out of your mouth, you drag the point of the muscle from the base of his cock to the tip collecting pre-cum as you go. You place another kiss on his head when you reach it and then, take him into your mouth.

'Thank you, thank you, thank you... Holy shit. Your mouth... I – thank you.' Bakugo doesn't think he's ever been more thankful in his life. Words babble past his lips as you suckle at him, lighting up all of his nerves as he tries to keep his hips still. He hasn't been given permission to move and the thought of you stopping to punish him for attempting to fuck your mouth makes a cold chill break out across his shoulders.

If you hadn't of been wet before, you are now. His pleas are music, a soft chorus that makes you leak into your underwear as you begin to sink lower on his cock. Taking him whole is out of the question. He's far too big for you to consider attempting to deep throat him, especially after the last time. Instead, you bob taking the first third into your mouth while your hand clamps firm around his base, preventing any premature endings. You're far from finished with him after all.

'More.' He begs, voice still weak. 'Please.' Balls pulling up, he grits his teeth. He'd be cumming now if it wasn't for your vice-like hold on his cock, he just knows it and yet, there's a rush that comes with the denial. His body convulses, stomach flipping as his balls pulse again and again. 'I – I –.'

'Nah-ah-ah.' There's a twinkle in your eyes when you watch a flush take his face again. It's almost enough to make you do it again, edge him and make him writhe, but before you can have more fun there's a hand snaking back around the back of your head. You squeal when you feel the dull pressure of his hand slip down your jaw and wrapping around your throat. His fingertips dig into your flesh, press to your pulse point and squeeze.

'You've had your fun now.' Pushing up onto his elbows, a grin creeps across his face as he slips back into his role all too easily. The shift in dynamic is energising, brings the hair on his arms to rise as he shuffles onto his knees. 'Let's not forget who's really in control here, Princess.'

He reclaims the pet name like he was born to call you it. Your cunt pulses, soaking through your underwear and leaving a wet patch on the bed underneath. Before you can squirm, or even try to wrestle back a slither of the control he'd let you have, Bakugo's large palm is wrapping your waist and pulling you close so he can flip you back to the mattress.

Towering over you, a new feral smile on his lips, he collects the ribbon of his apron and re-ties it around his neck, forcing it to strain across his chest again. 'Now...' He purrs. 'On your hands and knees. Ass up.'

You comply with a new need surging through your body, putting yourself in the very same position you'd forced him into moments before. So, why you don't pre-empt the smack he lays against your ass is beyond you. Squeaking, you curve your spine and moan; a shock of pleasure zips down your spine. 'Katsuki...'

'What.' He chuckles, laying another, softer, slap on your ass. The fat jiggles making him feel feral as he watches you squirm. 'No more Princess, no?'

You're not given time to respond before a broad, lace-trimmed chest is pressed to your back and he's dripping under his skirt and taking his cock in hand to press it to your entrance. Your slick drips from you, soaking his tip.

'Now, you're gonna take everything I've got for you like a good little girl.' He leans down, whispering soft into the shell of your ear and making your breath catch. 'And I think you owe about three orgasms, at least.'

The stretch has your eyes rolling back in your head as his cock bullies inside, but there's no denying how perfectly he fits. Your cunt moulds to him, squeezing, desperate for every inch, every hard thrust and all of the frustration you'd build in his chest.

One of his hands wraps around your hip, his fingers rubbing tight circles into the sensitive bud of your clit. The other keeps your head down, cups the back of your neck and presses you into the mattress with such force that it's almost pathetic to think that you ever had the upper hand at all. His hips snap back into you, sending you jolting forward and he croons in your ear as he feels your cunt begin to tighten around his cock, signifying your already approaching end.. He growls. 'Tell me - tell me you think I'm pretty now, baby'

You don't, you can't. Your throat fills with a whine as your body submits to his and the next thing you know, you're cumming and cumming and cumming. He doesn't stop, fucks you harder as your vision clouds.

Bakugo groans and bites at your ear. 'Thats one. Two more to go, Princess.'

-> Masterlist

[jadlz]

Today on my tbs server, we discussed what it might have been like if Damien had actually shown typical affects of the Traumatic Brain Injury he sustained on the show, so I whipped up this quick drawing of some of the ideas we came up with! Details below the cut

1. Rollator! For those who don't know, a rollator is a type of walker that contains a seat so you can sit down when needed. For this version of Damien, we discussed him dealing with dizzy spells, fatigue, seizures, or fainting spells, all of which would make having a rollator very important.

2. Service Dog! Bruce (named after Batman) is a big, black Newfoundland service dog, one specifically trained for detecting seizures and fainting spells. He alerts Damien when he needs to sit down and is trained to find someone to call for help in case of emergencies. Otherwise, he sticks close to Damien's side and makes sure he stays safe.

3. Adaptive Clothing! We discussed how Damien might have trouble with coordination and motor skills post-TBI, so he is wearing some clothes specifically designed to make dressing easier. His hoodie has a magnetic zipper, so it can be zipped one-handed. His pants are stretchy and have a snap and zipper closure on the hip to make dressing easier, though we also talked about him wearing skirts bc they're easier to wear. His shoes are styled after BILLY brand shoes, they have a zipper that goes all the way down and around the toe, so he can just set his foot in them, then zip them up, without dealing with sliding or laces.

4. In his bag, I included migraine meds and noise cancelling headphones for sensory needs. I imagine he could also carry sunglasses, chewelry, or anything else he might need on the regular.

Thanks for reading!

[sotwk]

I've always thought that the reason for Tolkien elves losing interest in sex after having the kids that they want is a by-product of his Catholicism. My mum was raised Catholic and she says that she was raised to believe that children were the thing that redeemed sex and that ideally sex wouldn't happen at all. (Idk if that's a universal experience but it was hers) So it makes sense that Tolkien's elves, as 'higher' more spiritual beings would be less sexual beings and so would not partake in sex after they'd had their kids. (Which is why I ignore that particular titbit of Tolkien lore😉)

Ooof! I'm quite familiar with Catholic teachings on sex, and it sounds like the values your mom grew up with were quite extreme! (Religious values and beliefs run across a very wide spectrum, but let's not invite debates on that!) That sounds a lot more like something Mrs. Kim from Gilmore Girls would say. LOL.

I admit I lean more towards the puritan, "higher being" interpretation of Elves, especially the Calaquendi who have seen the Light of the Trees. There has to be something that distinguishes them from the other Middle-earth races, and temperance when it comes to carnal needs and urges (i.e. sex, food), is one of those characteristics. So yes, Elves are less interested in sex than Dwarves, Hobbits, but especially Men, but even their appetites vary within their race.

When it comes to the SotWK AU's interpretation of Thranduil and his Elvenqueen wife, Maereth, here is a rundown of my take on it:

(My headcanons are mostly guided by what was written in the LaCE, because I'm a Type-A nerd who likes rules and manuals, but these are just MY interpretation of it. It's not hardline LaCE compliant either, and regardless, my takes are neither canon nor law!)

Thranduil and Maereth are descendants of Calaquendi, but had not made the journey themselves. Technically, Maereth is closer to the Light of the Trees and arguably more "blessed" in that manner, since her mother was born in Tirion (Valinor), as opposed to Oropher who never completed the journey.

Thranduil was always more free-spirited ("as wild as one of Araw’s Kine", Oropher described him in my fic "The Crown") than the average Sinda, and over the years became even more alike the Silvan people he ruled over.

Silvans are culturally more sexual than the Sindar or Noldor, not necessarily in the sense of being promiscuous, but rather that they take more pleasure in the act itself as way of bonding with their partners, not just for the sake of begetting children.

The Silvans do not lose interest in sex even after thousands of years, and are able to retain monogamous relationships with their partners because Elven bonds (platonic, familial, romantic, etc.) are as enduring as their physical immortality.

This is what helps the Silvan/Greenwood population endure through the millennia, throughout the "Mirkwood" dark ages, and into the Fourth Age and beyond in Eryn Lasgalen. They keep having sex, keep reproducing, and their population is sustained even through attacks and wars.

Oh, and culturally, the Silvans also love children and celebrate the process of raising them as a community. That's a key factor in their population growth too.

Thranduil and Maereth are, foregoing more eloquent terms, absolutely bananas for each other. Epic, epic, love along the vein of Professor Tolkien's love for his wife Edith, and its parallel romance--Beren and Lúthien. Could you imagine Lúthien replacing or loving anyone other than Beren? (I guess you can imagine anything in fandom, but I hope you get my point.) Well, it's the same with Thranduil and his Elvenqueen. It's a rather unpopular take on his love life, but that's how it is at least in the SotWK AU.

So yeah, they never tire of each other and never stop wanting each other, in any way, by any definition. They naturally stop begetting children after Legolas (their 5th), but the lovemaking definitely continues.

Sorry for the delay in this response, Anon--I hope you're still able to see and read this. And I hope the uncalled-for infodump makes it better, not worse! LOL. Thank you for the Ask!

[luminous-letters]

whoops im the person who requested the dorm leaders with an s/o with portal magic and just saw the char limit of 3😭 anyway can u do it with Malleus, Leona and Azul? thankss

will do, anon!

The magic of portals. The magic to bend reality, to compress space into the shortest length possible. And to cross through that path from one place to another like it was nothing. Truly, a coveted power.

But do not be hasty with its usage. For usurpers and swindlers alike would like their hands laced around such a treasure, a priceless gem...

Leona always wondered how you could appear anywhere, anytime. One moment he'd see you picking flowers in the botanical garden, then after literally a minute, he hears from Ruggie that you got into trouble at the dorms— again.

It took him a hot minute to understand how you were moving from place to place at essentially the speed of light.

"Portal magic, huh?"

"I see you've managed to piece it all together."

You expected him to use it for his own good, as a convenient treat for himself. But you've misjudged Leona yet again.

He was respectful and knew your boundaries. He didn't ask for you to open a few for his own benefit. Why would he do that if he could just walk by himself?

It's not too big of a hassle to walk. And he was sure that a magic like that would mean that you'd accumulate blot much faster than most.

He was caring, although it wasn't blatantly obvious. Occasionally, he'd send a few of his dormmates or Ruggie to come check up on you.

And ever so often, he'd tell you to watch your use of that power. Lest you fall into blot. Unlikely at first glance, Leona didn't want to wish that same experience on anyone. And he most certainly didn't want you — his darling — to suffer that same fate.

A magic that could open portals? Fascinating indeed, moreso that it was his dear darling that beared this wonderful boon.

How cruel of you to keep it a secret. And from your beloved too, out of all people. He couldn't help but feel offended. But of course, his forgiveness was quite easy to avail.

"You magic would make transportation a lot more...sustainable. So if you don't mind—"

"No—"

"—But! I only require your services on Sundays! A good deal, no?"

You swiftly declined.

But Azul Ashengrotto wasn't one to give up so easily. From tiny gestures, to sweet dates and honeyed promises. He courted his way once again into you, like your first encounter with him.

From deliveries, to transportation. He could even charge a fare for it.

"Azul, see, this is why I didn't want you to know in the first place."

Oh. Oh.

He might've been a tad lost in his thoughts of business for a second. But, if that is what you desire you need not worry any further. He wasn't one to give up easily, but he was also a man who knew when to end a pursuit.

As an heir to the Draconia throne, Malleus had seen many magics far and wide. Exotic and strange some, and a few that could rival his own.

But yours was strange, even for him.

Naturally, he wanted to explore more to this power. For this sort was rare, even for someone like him— who can exist longer than a nation's rise and fall.

Questions formed in his mind, and his curiosity grew. He wanted to experience your magic himself, maybe he can properly measure your power if he did so.

And you were eager to share it with him. Truth be told, Malleus was one of the people you trusted the most — next to Grim, of course.

He's never found something he could properly use this word for, mostly because grand magical feats were almost elementary to him and his people. But now he knew. This experience, with you, was so magical, enchanting, wondrous.

He felt a surge and rush as he passed through the portal, he crossed through bended reality. What a feat.

The thirst to know doesn't end there. His actions were indeed worthy of berating, but he was a glutton for wisdom. Anything that could potentially help his future rule of Briar Valley was welcome, and he would endlessly pursue that knowledge with all his might.

After a daybreak to sundown's worth of time had elapsed, Malleus' hunger was sated — for now — he would stop with the queries and constant poking. Again, for now.

In the meantime, why not stop by Diasomnia? Lilia plans an exotic dish that hails from the Scalding Sands.

[angelmavmurdock]

*Lock & Key: Part Seven - B.B.

WARNINGS: anxiety, angst, smut if you squint.

A/N: P.S. sorry for the long wait, I was in London :’). Enjoy!!

-

"The mission has been moved up a week." Admiral Bates told you and the team the next morning.

You and Rooster shot each other a look. You were sitting on your own desk and Rooster was sitting alone in the one across from you. His brows were furrowed in more confusion than anything else. Your heart rate rose. You both turned to the front, catching Phoenix's eye on the way.

Bates passed the lesson back to your Dad who stood in front of the classroom, cracking his neck side to side before clicking on a presentation. You leaned forward, leg shaking quietly beneath the desk.

"We only have one week to complete your training on what will be the hardest mission you will ever have to pull off. I expect you all to be on your A-game." Your Dad spoke, looking around the room.

"No more fights." He looked to Rooster and Rooster kept his eyes straight on, his jaw clenching.

"No more stupid, childish comments or language." He looked to Hangman at the front.

"You are the best pilots in America. Act like it."

You all felt as if you were getting a telling off like you were still in school. But it was true, not everyone in the team was acting the way the should. Your Dad thankfully moved on quickly from the subject, back to the mission and began explaining your task for the day.

Everyone in the room felt as if this mission would be impossible. And as your Dad was saying, it was going to take at least 3 miracles for it to work successfully with no one getting hurt.

The tension in the room was palpable, everyone was so focused on the mission and what they had to do that you were hardly breathing.

"If either team misses the target, the mission is a failure." Your Dad stated.

You ran a hand over your mouth and glanced quickly to Rooster, who looked to you as well, before you both turned to the front.

"After this, there's a steep, high G climb to avoid hitting this mountain."

"A steep climb at that speed? You're pulling at least 8 G's." Hangman commented, twirling a pencil in his fingers.

"9. Minimum." Your Dad countered.

Everyone simultaneously exhaled in exhaustion just thinking about it.

"This is coffin corner. Assuming you avoid crashing into this mountain, you'll climb straight up into enemy radar while losing all of your air speed. Within seconds, you'll be fired upon by enemy SAMs."

You bit your lip. You couldn't believe this mission. How were any of you going to make it out alive or without screwing it up.

"You've all sustained G's before but this...this is going to take you and your aircraft to the breaking point." Your Dad said.

"Sir, is this even achievable?" Phoenix asked, leaning forward.

"The answer to that question will come down to the pilot in the box."

Your Dad looked to you. Then to Rooster. And down at his feet, before dismissing everyone to get ready for tarmac.

Shit.

-

You and Bob were paired with Rooster for the run through of the mission. As you walked with them out to tarmac, Bob decided to go ahead and check the jet before take-off.

You and Rooster slowed your walking pace. You were silent, but the business around you was loud. The constant shouting from different people doing different jobs, and the hurriedness of everyone and every thing was making your anxiety skyrocket more than usual.

"You alright?" Rooster asked you, stopping to look at you.

You looked up into his brown eyes, noticing the concern laced in his voice and plastered on his face. You nodded, looking to Bob then back to him.

"I just have a weird feeling about this."

Rooster cocked his head, "What do you mean?"

"Uh..."

You could feel a lump rise in your throat and the waves of nerves were making you feel ill. It was one of those feelings you had in your gut that was either just your overthinking getting the better of you, or something weird was going on.

"I have that...that gut feeling, you know?" You pressed a hand to your stomach to calm it.

You were going to cry. You could feel it now. Why was this happening? You never got like this moments before take off.

"Hey, hey, you're fine." Rooster attempted to calm you, placing his helmet under his arm.

"I'm fine! I am. I just need to chill out." You huffed a breath, trying to hide your evidently upset face from Bob who could still see you.

"y/n, look at me," Rooster said softly.

The use of your name caught your attention, almost startling you. You felt a few tears roll down your cheek as you looked up at him. His brows were furrowed and his lips were parted. He swapped his helmet to go under his left arm and then he lifted his right, his gloved thumb brushing gently over your skin to wipe away the tears that had escaped your eyes.

You immediately calmed and you didn't dare tear your eyes from his.

"You're going to be fine. We've got this. I've got you. You understand?"

You didn't realise how close you were and how low his voice got until you could feel the fan of his breath on your skin. Your breath caught in your throat when you attempted to say something.

"I've got you." He repeated, his thumb caressed your cheek again, sending a shiver down your spine.

That time wasn't just for the tears. Your lips parted as you stared into his dilating eyes, your body involuntarily moving closer to his.

Both of you cracked out of your trance at the sound of footsteps behind you. You darted away from him and looked behind you, watching as Hangman, Cayote and Payback made their way outside.

"Let's get this party started!" Hangman exclaimed, smacking his helmet.

You looked to Rooster who gave you an encouraging nod. You reciprocated and you both went your separate ways to your jets.

"You've got this." You whispered to yourself as you neared the plane.

-

"Holy shit!" You exclaimed, as you, Bob, and Rooster had finally made it up and out of the mission in time and perfectly executed.

"We did it!" Bob laughed behind you.

"Oh my god," You exhaled, letting your body relax a little.

Your whole body ached from the tensing you were doing and the insane amount of G's you had pulled only moments earlier.

"I can't believe it." You said, flying up beside Rooster.

He held a thumbs up to you, "Told you, Locket."

You grinned, "Couldn't have done it without you, Bradshaw."

He chuckled and you waited on more information from your Dad. The sky was clear and now, it was quiet. No one was grunting down the comms or shouting at each other, it was peaceful. You did it.

But the quiet was soon interrupted when out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of the jets spiralling down.

"Guys! Maverick, do you see that?" You panicked over comms.

"It's Cayote." Your Dad responded.

"Shit." Rooster cursed.

"I'm going after him." Your Dad announced.

"Oh my god." You exhaled.

You knew something was going to happen. You tried to keep your breathing under control, focusing on only that. You couldn't let yourself think about your Dad or Cayote getting hurt.

"Cayote, come on!"

Your dad was toning him, trying to get him to wake up from blackout.

"Cayote, pull up!"

"Pull up!"

"Cayote, come on!"

"Pull up!" You and your fellow pilots screamed down the comms as Cayote plunged below deck level.

It went silent.

"Bob? What's going on?" You asked, your heart banging in your chest.

"He's up!" Bob exclaimed, watching Cayote pull up and over the hill.

Everyone collectively sighed in relief and you spoke into your comms.

"You alright, Cayote?" You asked.

"I'm good. I'm okay." He responded.

"Thank god."

"Good. Good. That's enough for today." Your Dad spoke to everyone.

Everyone got into formation to fly back to base, letting your hearts settle and your breaths get back to normal.

"That was close." Hangman commented.

"Too close." Your Dad sighed.

Everyone took a beat of silence, acknowledging how bad that situation could've been. That was the level of the mission. Near death. Just the amount of G-force could kill you, never mind the actual dog fight we could have to get into if we failed.

A noise sounded throughout the comms, startling you.

"Bird strike!" Your Dad shouted.

You gasped, seeing the swarm of birds heading in your direction - and fast. You jolted the jet away, but still catching some.

"Shit!"

You exclaimed, the sirens in the jet sounding and too many red lights beeping for you to tell which one was which.

"Both engines are on fire!" Bob shouted.

"Climbing!"

You pulled up, out of the way from everyone else. Your heart was racing but you weren't thinking about anything else other than getting the jet back to normal and keeping yourself safe.

"Shutting off left engine. Extinguishing fire!"

You pressed the extinguisher and more red lights and sirens sounded.

"Right engine's out!" Bob exclaimed.

"It's still spinning! Try to restart it." You told him.

You felt a jolt in the jet, "Locket, it's on fire, go up!"

"Travelling up."

You pulled up and tried to get things going again, but none of the engines were budging.

"Oh my god." You vaguely heard your Dads voice over the comms but you couldn't think about him right now.

"We're on fire! We're on fire!" Bob shouted.

"Shit!"

You kept trying to extinguish the fires but nothing was working.

Engine fire, right, the jet announced to you as if you didn't already fucking know.

"Extinguishing right engine! Come on, dammit!" You screamed.

"y/n, Bob, punch out, punch out!" Your Dad shouted over comms.

"There's warning lights everywhere! Hydraulics failure!" Bob announced.

The joystick went loose under your grip, "I can't control it!" You panicked, not able to gain any sort of grip on the control.

"We're going down, Locket!" Bob screamed.

"You can't shake it, eject! Eject!" Your Dad shouted.

"Eject, eject!" You repeated.

You grappled for the ejection knob, your sense of direction and coordination all over the shop. Your hands struggled for it before grabbing it and pulling.

---

Rooster sat alone in a classroom, his fingers fiddling with his dog tags he had taken from around his neck. His heart hadn't stopped pounding since the bird strike hit. And now he was sitting with the worst feeling settled in his stomach, churning away, as he had to wait at base for any sort of news on you and Bob.

He wanted to go after you when everyone was up in the air, but Mav's clear and threatening instructions told him not to. Maverick didn't even go after you. He had to follow protocol for once in his life. Rooster didn't know why Maverick wasn't allowing himself or Rooster to go, because both of them would have done it without a second thought.

The room was silent and empty, but Rooster's mind was filled with everything that could have possibly happened. He could feel the burning in his nose when he thought of the worst thing that could have happened.

Surely not, he thought. Not you.

He couldn't handle someone else getting hurt, let alone you. He wouldn't let it happen.

Just as a tear threatened to escape his eye, Maverick walked slowly into the classroom. Rooster sniffled and looked up at the man he once thought of as a father figure. Rage filled him from the inside out. Maverick stood with a dishevelled look on his face and a slumped figure, hinting to Rooster that something bad had happened.

Rooster's body shifted from rage, waiting to hear what Mav had to say.

"y/n and Bob are getting kept in hospital for more check-up's but they're okay. Nothing severe." He said.

Rooster's body relaxed and he sighed in relief, looking down at his dog tags and running his thumb over the indents.

He nodded, "That's good."

Maverick watched Rooster for a few seconds. The way he was sitting, staring down at his hands and not wanting to look up. It broke his heart.

"I've never lost a wingman." Rooster spoke.

Mav swallowed, "You're lucky. You fly long enough, it'll happen."

Rooster nodded then scoffed, lifting his tags and putting them back around his neck.

"Easy for you to say." He started, tucking the tags beneath his navy t-shirt.

He still didn't look at Mav. The years of anger and resentment were boiling beneath the surface, ready to blow at any moment. Maverick knew it was coming.

"No wife or friends. Only y/n to mourn you when you burn in." Rooster said, finally looking up at Maverick.

Maverick was now the one averting eye contact, not wanting to fuel any sort of fire that was already burning.

"Just...go home. Get some rest." Mav said, turning around to walk back out of the classroom.

Rooster stood abruptly, the chair he was sitting on sliding back from him and screeching across the floor.

"Why did you pull my papers from the academy?" He raised his voice.

"Why did you stand in my way?" He pointed a finger at Maverick, despite his back being turned.

Maverick stopped in the doorway, turning his head back, "You weren't ready."

"Ready for what? Huh? To fly like you?"

Maverick turned around fully, facing the man that was now taller than him by a few inches. When he looked at Rooster he could just see Goose.

"No. Ready for trusting your instincts. Don't think; just do. You think up there, you're dead. Believe me." He retorted.

Rooster was up close to Mav now, not letting him get away with anything.

"My Dad believed in you. I'm not going to make the same mistake." Rooster said in a hushed voice.

Maverick inhaled sharply, taken aback by what Rooster had just said. His jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists, fingernails digging into his palms.

Just as he was about to say something to Rooster, Admiral Bates appeared at the door. Neither Rooster nor Maverick knew how long he was standing there for.

"Maverick..."

---

A knock sounded on the door of your hospital room, waking you. You grumbled slightly, rubbing your eye with your knuckles and forcing yourself to look to the door.

"y/n? Honey?"

The familiar and comforting sound of your Dads voice relaxed you, and you smiled when your eyes focused on his figure. You shifted, sitting more upright in the semi-comfortable bed.

"Hey, Dad." You smiled.

You winced as you relaxed into your new position, your spine aching. Your Dad closed the door behind him and walked to your bed, sitting on the edge of it. He had changed into casual clothes, his signature leather jacket in hand.

He seemed tired, which you weren't surprised at, but something about him felt off.

"How are you?" He asked, resting a hand on your ankle.

You yawned, shrugging slightly.

"Exhausted. My back hurts a lot, obviously, but the pain killers are doing their job."

He nodded, "Good. Hopefully you'll be back in business soon."

You smiled, "I've gotta be."

Your Dad flashed a smile, but it faded quickly. You studied his face for a moment. He wasn't looking at you, only at his hand that was now rubbing your ankle.

"Dad, what's wrong?" You asked, furrowing your brows.

He sighed, and ran a hand over his face. Dread began to fill you from your stomach. Your cheeks began to burn. Something bad had happened.

"Ice just passed away."

The news knocked the wind out of you.

What?

"What? Are you- are you serious?" You asked.

He nodded, finally looking to you. His eyes glistened with tears and you could feel your eyes begin to sting.

"Damn it." You let your head fall back, and the tears fall.

Ice wasn't family by blood, but he was still family to you and Dad. He was your Uncle Ice. The guy you used to go to for lessons and advice if you couldn't ask your Dad. The guy who would sit up for hours just telling you stories of him and your Dad at Top Gun all those years ago.

You had watched him suffer through cancer all that time and you knew he wasn't going to get better, but the thought of him dying was one you never, ever, wanted to think about.

"Dad, I'm so sorry." You cried, looking back to him.

He shook his head and shuffled up the bed, wrapping his arms around you. You lifted your arms around your Dads back, ignoring the pain in your limbs as you moved. You both cried onto each other, hands gripping your backs as you came to terms with the grief.

"He wanted the best for us, sweetheart." Your Dad said, brushing a hand over your hair.

You nodded, sniffling and pulling away from him. He wiped his nose and looked to you with a weak smile.

"What're you gonna do now he's gone, huh?" You laughed.

"No one's gonna be saving your ass."

He laughed and shrugged, "I guess I gotta behave a little."

You grinned at him, "Never."

He smiled back and placed his hand on your shin, rubbing your bare skin up and down. You hated seeing the tortured look on his face. He had gone through so much already, and he was hoping for a fresh, new, start at Top Gun, but this was hurting him badly and you could tell. You hated seeing your Dad like this, and you're not sure if you've seen him this upset since Carole passed.

You put your hand over his, leaning forward and ignoring the screech of pain in your back.

"I'm your wingman, Dad. Always have been."

He nodded, and you saw a tear drip down his face.

"Always will be." He replied in a whisper.

A knock at the door startled the two of you. You both looked up as the door opened to see Rooster walking in timidly, his head poking in the door before his body. His mouth dropped a little when he saw that you and your Dad were obviously having a private moment.

Your Dad cleared his throat and tapped your leg before standing up from your bed. He leaned towards you and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

"Bye, hun. Text me later." He said.

You nodded and sat back into a comfortable position in bed, watching as Rooster opened the door for your Dad, letting him past with nothing but a nod. You could feel an odd tension between them as your Dad nodded back to him and left the room.

The room went silent when Rooster shut the door. Your heart started beating ever-so slightly faster under the hospital gown and you attempted to control your breathing. You had no idea why you kept getting like this around him. Why your body reacted to him in such a way. You hadn't felt like this around a man since...- well, him, in high school.

He stood at the other side of the room, almost like he was afraid he'd hurt you if he even got close.

"Rooster?" You piped up.

He was wearing a black crewneck jumper with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and jeans that complimented his thighs. He looked darker than usual.

"A-are you okay?" He asked.

You just stared at him, watching his hesitant expressions. It was a good few seconds you two were just looking at each other, not sure how to react in the situation.

Until you broke the tension, holding a hand out to him. You saw him gulp, his Adams apple bobbing. He moved towards you slowly, and gently accepted your hand. You felt how warm he was, and you nodded for him to sit on the bed. He sat on the edge, not wanting to take up too much space. He gripped your hand tightly and you did it back.

"I wanted to go back for you." He whispered, looking at your hands.

You nodded, "I know. But that would have been stupid."

He smiled a little. Your heart broke seeing him so quiet and sad. You intertwined your hands, your fingers slotting perfectly between his. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, like this was the relief he had been waiting for.

"I've only hurt my back. I'm hoping I'll be fine by next week. I'm not missing this mission." You told him.

He tensed and finally looked up at you.

"You're not going back up there."

You cocked your head back in shock, "What?"

"You're injured, y/n, I'm not letting you fly like this."

"I won't be this bad by next week, Rooster."

He rolled his eyes, "But you'll still be injured. What if you go up there and pull those insane amount of G's and your back gives out? You know what it feels like up there and its a lot of weight. There's no way you can do it."

"You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do." You scoffed.

"I don't care. I'm telling you not to go up."

"Rooster-"

"Would you stop calling me that!" He snapped.

You gasped a little at the volume of his voice and the harshness. He immediately closed his eyes, realising how sharp he sounded. You felt your nose sting again. You really didn't want to cry in front of him again. Not today, at least.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, contrasting his previous volume.

He dipped his head down and brought your joint hands to his forehead, pressing your hand directly onto his skin. You watched in slight shock as he held tightly onto you, and you felt his body shudder. He was crying. And it was going to make you sob if he kept going.

"I just- I thought that something bad happened to you." He stuttered quietly, his face shielded by your hands.

Your brows knitted together and you felt a tear drip down your cheek. Your heart broke for him.

"But I'm fine." You said, matching his low volume, your voice shaky.

He shook his head, "But what if you weren't? What would I have done?"

You sniffled, more tears beginning to fall from your eyes.

"You don't have to think about that, Brad, okay? You don't." You cried, shaking your head.

He moved your hand down his face, sobbing into it, his lips messily pressed against the back of your hand. You burst into your own set of tears watching him.

"I'm okay, Brad, I'm okay." You repeated softly.

You opened your palm and cupped the side of his face, catching a few of his tears on your fingers. You swiped your thumb over his cheek as he did to you just that morning. His long, dark, eyelashes clumped together as he clenched his eyes shut, as if he was trying to stop crying.

"Look at me," You whispered shakily.

He held your wrist, not wanting you to let go of him. And you weren't going to. His eyes lifted to yours, teary and tired. Your stomach dropped and fluttered. Even like this, he looked at you the same way he always did. With the dark stare that felt like he was staring into your soul and reading your darkest secrets.

Your hand stilled on his face as you looked to his lips. You swear you didn't mean to. It just happened. And when you looked back to his eyes, they were on your lips, and your stomach fluttered even more.

Your thumb moved before you could think about it. It slowly slid to his lips, and your eyes focused on what you were doing. You pressed the pad of your thumb against his bottom lip, and swiped it along to the middle. His lips parted, and you pushed your thumb gently into his mouth. His tongue met your thumb before he closed his lips around it, only licking the tip of it. Your core pulsed under you, your own mouth dropping open and your eyes falling heavy with lust.

The hand that stayed on your wrist pulled your hand away from his face. His eyes were blown out, and with his other hand, he reached towards you. He pushed back some hair from your neck and moved closer to you.

You lifted your head to make some contribution to the effort, and his hand cupped your face. Your breath quickened as he closed the space between the two of you. And when his lips touched yours so delicately and gently, you hummed in relief. As if you had been waiting your whole life for this kiss. You relaxed into him, and moved into it.

His lips slotted between yours and softly kissed you, taking his time to savour everything. You held onto his forearms, not able to reach forward to hold onto anything else. His arms were strong under your hands, and you felt safe wrapped in him.

His masculine and fresh scent enveloped you as he intensified the kiss, moving closer to you on the bed. You licked your tongue slowly into his mouth, tasting how familiar he was to you. He hummed, intensifying the kiss with his own tongue, and his hands gripping the nape of your neck. Your hands gripped his forearms, digging your fingernails lightly into his skin.

His lips and tongue began to move from your lips, down your jaw, and to your neck. You moaned, moving your hands to his hair. He slid his hands down, one of them resting on the front of your upper stomach, and the other going around to your lower back for support.

His lips sucked at your skin, licking over and kissing any skin he could get.

"Bradley," You moaned breathlessly.

He groaned against your skin and switched sides, moving kisses up to your ear where he sucked and bit your earlobe slightly. You tugged on his hair, feeling the bristles of his facial hair tickle you.

"Touch me," You whispered to him.

"I don't want to hurt you, honey." He whispered back, kissing the side of your jaw.

"You won't, I'm fine. I need you." You moaned.

He groaned, moving his face from yours to look at you. You stared at him and brushed a hand over his messy hair. He was so fucking pretty. You missed him so much.

"You need to recover." He told you.

You scrunched your eyebrows together. Why was he being so nice? Could he just not care about you so much for a while? You wanted him. Needed him.

"I want to, though." You whispered, almost embarrassed at how desperate you were being.

He smiled and kissed the palm of your hand that rested on his cheek.

"I can't tell you how much it hurts me - physically and emotionally - to wait but I think we should. You need to recover." He smiled softly.

You sighed, knowing he was right. He dipped his head and ghosted his lips over yours. Your breath caught in your throat and your whole body stilled. You closed your eyes in bliss but his were open slightly to watch your reaction. He lightly pressed his lips to yours, his bottom lip encased by yours.

He gripped your hip tightly and you held onto the back of his neck like you were savouring every second. He pulled away slowly, and your body followed until your lips parted.

Another knock came at the door. You wiped your nose and groaned, and Rooster sat back at the end of the bed with a blush and a smile.

"Jesus Christ, how many people are coming today? Come in!" You responded.

Your Dad walked in to both you and Rooster's surprise. He awkwardly looked between the two of you and then turned his head to you.

"I need to talk to you..."

"No, it's fine." You interrupted, looking to Rooster.

He nodded at you then turned to your Dad, "I was just leaving."

Your Dad nodded and stood by the open door. Rooster stood slowly, not sure how to say goodbye to you when your Dad was watching. You noticed the slight bulge in his jeans and clamped your lips shut.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" He said to you.

You smiled, "Sure."

He nodded and turned around to walk out the door. Your Dad stood with a curious look on his face as you both watched Rooster leave the awkward room.

"Could you not have waited until he left?" You asked.

Your Dad smirked, "I don't even need to talk to you about anything. He was just in here alone with you for too long."

You scoffed, "Dad! That's so rude!"

He laughed, "I love you, get a good rest. I'll come back tomorrow morning."

You shook your head and ran a hand over your face, "You're insufferable. Goodnight."

"Night, sweetie."

You shook your head and giggled as your Dad left the room. You slid down into a comfortable sleeping position, a pillow behind you to support your back. You fell asleep almost straight away, with thoughts of Bradley - and only Bradley - in your mind.

-

Taglist:  (If your tag has a strikethrough it means I couldn’t tag you.)

@mak-32 @anolddayslover @alana4610 @n3ssm0nique​ @daryldixonstorm @livychan @luckyladycreator2​ @justatiredhuman​ @surely-sherly​ @marvelsvalhalla @im-your-possession​ @honey-leclerc @wherearetheavacadosat @welpthathappened​ @edgypickles​ @kylpkfbe @lillizxzz @lilpeekabooze​ @daisyhollyxox​ @piceous21​ @hey-its-kayla-claire​ @shrimping-for-all @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @khaylin27​ 

[my-castles-crumbling]

Chapter 7- Clandestine

Guys. I am not being dramatic when I say that I suffered from so much Writer's Block during this chapter. I know it's not amazing, but that this point I just needed to put something out there. Please please leave notes and comments and kudos, I need encouragement. CW: Walburga is in this one, guys. Nuff said? If not, transphobia, dysphoria, child abuse, unsafe binding, misgendering, deadnaming, all of those things.

The dream was always the same, now. His mother and father, backing him into a corner, wands raised, jeering at him.

Screaming his old name.

Repeating insults and promising horrible things, choking him with frills and lace.

He would always wake with a scream.

Barty and Evan swore he was cracking with the pressure of exams. Barty suggested drugs. Regulus chucked pillows at him.

-

“We have a plan, Reg,” Sirius reassured him one warm day in May.

It was true. They had a plan. That was all Regulus could remind himself as the days continued to warm.

A month at home. Then, he was to go to Dorcas’s and Sirius was to go to the Potters’.

A month. He could do that. He’d done it before. He had Sirius.

“I still don’t understand why Mother and Father agreed to my going to Cas’s house at all,” Regulus murmured back, not meeting Sirius’s concerned eyes.

That was how Sirius usually looked at him now- with worry and concern. He hated making Sirius worry, hated making anyone worry, but It didn’t help that he was a mess, with deep circles under his eyes and constantly wincing when he moved because of how tight he kept the bandages.

Sirius suggested, once, that he loosen them, but he refused. He hated the feeling of being without them. The nausea. The cold chills. And they kept him grounded, somehow. A reminder that he could fight against his body. Even though he felt, some days, like he was losing. Losing against everything, really.

“I…I think they’re just thankful that you want to be friends with a girl,” Sirius suggested gently.

Regulus mulled that over. He’d always rejected associating with girls, always pushed so much to not be grouped with his girl cousins, that his parents were probably rejoicing at the idea of him spending time with a pureblood girl. As if maybe Dorcas would have a good influence on him.

“Well, if they think she’ll make me more girly, they have another thing coming,” Regulus chuckled humorlessly. Dorcas was fierce and passionate and intelligent and relentless and bold. But she rejected bows and dresses almost as much as Regulus did.

“Yes, but they don’t have to know that,” Sirius grinned, knocking Regulus with his shoulder.

-

It was strange, how the days seemed to pass faster and faster as it got warmer. It was as if they were trying to run away, like they knew Regulus was grasping to them for dear life, and they would do anything to escape his hold.

The idea that he would only have to be home for a month sustained him. It kept him from completely freaking out. He felt the panic underneath his very skin, but he didn't let it break free.

Admittedly, he got sick of the way Sirius and his friends kept looking at him- like he was going to burst into tears or have some sort of fit. It made it worse. Like they thought he was fragile. Girls were fragile. He was not. He was...he could be...strong. He didn't want to worry anyone.

He was terrified, too, that if he became a burden, people would be less likely to indulge him. That they would see him as an inconvenience and stop helping him.

That was the only problem with the happiness that came with being who he was. He was petrified to lose it. And he needed people's help, at least for now, to continue.

He hated needing them, but he did need them. He needed Sirius's old uniforms and Pandora's biology know-how and Dorcas's haircutting charms. He needed them to call him but his name and remind him he wasn't crazy.

So he held the nerves and emotions inside, fearful of being too much, and reminded himself over and over again.

Only a month. Only a month.

-

His parents still had no idea he was called "Regulus" at school- that he was in the boys' dorms and was accepted as a boy there. He'd managed to hide his original letter from Hogwarts. So, he and Sirius decided he would avoid leaving the train for as long as possible when they arrived. That would stop anyone from referring to him as “Regulus” in front of his parents, and stop his parents from using his old name in front of his friends.

So as the train squealed to a stop and students piled out, he sat in the window, watching those he knew reunite with their families.

Dorcas ran to her exhausted-looking grandparents and hugged them eagerly, allowing her siblings to surround her and embrace her as well. She looked so thrilled, so relieved to see her family. The children were dressed in threadbare clothing but they still looked happy. Their smiles and rosy cheeks somehow made up for their mismatched outfits and array of obvious hand-me-downs.

In stark contrast, across the platform, Barty walked up to a very smartly-dressed man. It was clear this man had money- the way he held himself just oozed affluence. The man, Barty’s father, looked down on him with obvious distaste, gesturing towards Barty’s Slytherin tie. Regulus inhaled a bit as Barty visibly deflated, shrugging and making some sort of halfhearted comment back, only for the man to turn quickly and lead his son from the station. Anger riled a bit in Regulus’s stomach.

He then spotted Evan and Pandora walking slowly and waving goodbye to friends and towards Regulus on the train, looking around for their parents. Regulus realized only a moment after Evan and Pandora, themselves, that their parents weren’t there. His chest constricted as he saw a very meek-looking house elf walk towards them. They exchanged a glance before walking toward the elf, who they seemed to recognize, and the three of them walked towards the Floo connection in the back of the station wordlessly.

As they disappeared, Regulus took a moment to control his fury. Their parents didn’t even come for them. As they returned from their first year of Hogwarts. They sent the house elf. He wanted to punch the wall. He realized with a pang that he wasn't the only one of his friends who was in for a difficult summer.

In an effort to distract himself from this thought, he turned his head to watch someone else. Anyone else. And of course, his eyes found James Potter. They did that a lot.

He was walking toward a tall, handsome man with dark hair and glasses, who was grinning from ear to ear; and a shorter, chubby woman with tan skin and kind eyes, whose hair reached all the way down her back.

It was clear, very quickly, that the man and woman were Potter’s parents. Their features, their warmth, their laughter…even if they weren’t both hugging Potter, it would have been easy to see.

And then Sirius approached, waving a bit hesitantly. And in one fell swoop, the woman pulled Sirius in her arms, making him grin and blush a bit, as the four of them began talking quickly to each other.

And Regulus felt the insane urge to join them. To place himself in the middle of their four-way embrace and just drink in the obvious warmth there.

He felt the slightest tinge of jealousy seep through his body as he watched Sirius so easily meld into their little family, so easily receive love.

While he waited on the train alone.

-

“How was your first year, Regina? I trust you did well?”

The question at dinner that night hit him hard, the name stabbing white-hot, even more than usual after not having heard it for a year. He resisted the urge to upend the table.

What should he say?

“Regulus is top in his class, Mother,” came Sirius’s cold-but-proud voice from across the table.

Regulus fought back the urge to smile at Sirius’s pride. It was true. He’d aced every single one of his final exams.

But there was a beat of silence as it seemed Mother and Father were trying to decide how to react to Sirius’s statement.

Finally, Mother said, in a voice filled with cold fury, “Regulus?”

It was clear what she meant. She did not mean to address him. She meant to ask what Sirius meant by the name. Why he was still using it.

And suddenly, Regulus felt as if he was at a crossroads. He could submit to his parents for the summer, like he had been terrified to do. Play their games, allow them to scare him and control him. Or…

He looked at Sirius, who was looking back at him, that same sympathetic expression on his face. And all at once, he felt a stab of anger and bravery strike him.

He pasted an angelic smile on his face. “Yes, mother?” he asked politely, as if responding to his name being called.

Sirius’s mouth popped open and he grinned.

Regulus felt a moment of triumph and pride.

But then both he and Sirius yelled out at once, an invisible spell striking them both in the face.

“Do not use that name in my house,” Mother growled, chin raised and eyes flashing. "And if you dare embarrass our house with this little...illness anymore, Regina...your father and I will have to resort to more drastic measures.

Fighting back the sense of for guilt getting Sirius hurt but unable to be scared, Regulus just slammed his silverware down and left the room silently.

-

Was it better to get something you’ve yearned for for so long only to have someone try to rip it away from you again? Or just not get it at all?

This was the thing Regulus contemplated constantly over the next few weeks.

His parents were ruthless.

They seemed to still believe he only acted like this at home, that it was still a phase- an act of rebellion- and they had the chance to change it. It was as if they’d made an agreement to come down even harder on him this summer, to try to physically stomp the fight out of him. Like they’d agreed that, if they tried hard enough, they could exorcise any evidence of masculinity in him. Like a demon.

If he dared insist he was a boy, he was locked in his room. If he had the gall to correct anyone on his name, he was hit.

He was refused multiple meals for point-blank rejecting the dresses Mother bought him and had spells shot at him for continuously washing the makeup off his face when she wasn’t looking.

But this year, it was different.

He remembered, last year, the place he had been in. The shell he had become. He had been so tired, so hopeless, so frustrated. He’d tried to fight, but he’d had no idea who he was or how to be who he was. Despite Sirius’s best efforts, he’d never been given a true chance. The fight that had left him and the numbness he had felt had been like a trickle of water into his lungs, slowly drowning him without him even realizing.

But after a year at Hogwarts, a year of living, he couldn’t feel like that again. He couldn’t force himself back into that box. He knew better.

So he found it easier and less scary to fight and take the pain, because he knew it was better this way. Better than the way he reacted when submitting to their expectations or being someone he was not.

So, really, having gotten to be who he was for just a little while gave him the fight to remember who he was when he was being hurt and questioned and screamed at. When they tried to force him to forget.

-

After three weeks, though, it still took a toll.

He survived.

He lost far too much weight from the meals he wasn’t given.

He had layers of magically hidden bruises from his Mother’s wrath.

He winced and groaned as he pulled the bandages around his growing chest tiger still. He had heat rashes, now, and his skin was on fire.

He hated his body.

But he kept quiet. He didn’t allow anyone to see him in pain. He felt like that would be admitting defeat.

He also knew that if he showed his pain too much, Sirius would try to do more for him. And part of him was scared that Sirius would get sick of that. That he would leave him alone. Like he had when he'd gone to Hogwarts the first time.

Only twice did Sirius catch him crying. And both times, Sirius's startled look sent them both into waves of tears.

They survived together.

-

He’d stressed for days about going to Dorcas’s with long hair. He tried not to let it show, but he knew Sirius knew.

At Hogwarts, he cut it regularly. Dorcas knew a charm. But Mother and Father had taken both his and Sirius’s wands, and hidden anything sharp. They’d insisted he would do well to grow it out.

Instead, he worried.

But Sirius snuck into his room the night before they were both due to leave and led him to the bathroom, sitting him in the tub and taking a pair of scissors out from his pocket.

“Where’d you get those?” Regulus breathed, hardly daring to speak in more than a whisper. Mother and Father had been a lot more vigilant about checking to see if they were sneaking into each other’s rooms- they thought that Sirius was a bad influence.

“I sent Procyon to James and asked for a pair. I didn’t tell him why,” Sirius murmured, gently sitting on the edge of the tub behind him and snipping away.

Procyon was the family owl. But he was usually locked in his cage when not in use. “How–”

“Remus taught me how to pick locks the Muggle way,” Sirius cut him off, a smile in his voice. Snip. “It took a few nights of trying, but I finally got him out. Good he got some exercise, it’s not like Mother and Father use him often.”

Walburga and Orion preferred Floo calls or in-person meetings. Something about the post not being trustworthy.

“So they didn’t catch you?” Regulus asked, trying to hide the emotion in his voice.

Snip. “Don’t think so. Hold still, you’re squirming.”

But Regulus had to turn to face Sirius. Again, he was risking being caught and subsequently punished. Just for him. “I…thank you. For doing that.”

Sirius studied him for a moment, then smiled softly. “You’re worth it, Reggie.”

And Regulus turned away, not sure how to respond to that, instead just focusing on the feeling of the cool metal brushing his skin.

-

Let it be known that Sirius did not gain his dramatics in a vacuum. Walburga Black was known to be vindictively theatrical in her own special way.

Or maybe she was just pissed about his hair. Either way, she waited until the morning to tell them: Regulus was only allowed to go to Dorcas’s if she deemed Dorcas and her grandparents “appropriate.”

Regulus panicked. There was no way. Dorcas was the farthest thing from what his parents could count as appropriate- her fiery personality was far from ‘ladylike’ and she certainly would never refer to him as anything other than “Regulus.”

And the worst part was that Regulus had no way to warn her. Sirius had left before him for the Potters, and he was the best at coming up with plans. It all happened in a matter of moments. One second, he was packing, and the next Walburga was insisting she needed to make sure that Regulus would finally be around a 'good influence.' That she no longer would just be sending him through the Floo, she would be apparating him and meeting Dorcas and her family properly. Without leaving much time for argument, she dragged Regulus out the door.

-

Dorcas’s house was small. Especially for a family of seven. As they approached, Regulus took in the run-down lawn and obviously old exterior. The lawn was not cut and the paint of the house was peeling. He felt a pang of guilt as he thought back to the obnoxiously expensive way his parents had decorated their own house.

Walburga didn’t hesitate and rapped on the door firmly, sending birds in the tree nearby flying away.

Regulus’s heart hammered as they waited. He started picturing all of the things Mother could say to completely mortify him. Yes, Dorcas knew. But they had never discussed what she was going to tell her family. And she had never seen Regulus around his parents. The way his mother treated him. Maybe she saw him as a boy now, but after Walburga was through? Things would change, he was sure.

The door opened slowly. “Hello, can I help you?”

It was Dorcas. Thankfully, she looked decently put together. (Not that Regulus minded- he’d seen her in her pajamas enough to not care. But he knew his mother would judge.)

Walburga still looked down her nose at Dorcas, of course. And then…“Yes, is your mother home?” she asked snootily. Regulus blanched. He had told her. Told her that Dorcas was raised by her grandparents. Why was she so insensitive–? “My grandmother is here,” Dorcas answered simply, not allowing her expression to change.

Regulus tried to shoot her an apologetic glance even as he wanted to strangle his mother.

Dorcas left, only to return with the older woman from the train station. “How can I help you?” the woman asked politely.

With no introduction, Walburga started in. “I’d like to talk to you about my daughter before I leave her with you. I want to make sure your home is….appropriate for Regina.” Walburga spoke in almost a snarl, not bothering to keep the accusation out of her voice.

Daughter. Her. Regina. He fought back a gag. His hands shook. He felt goosebumps all over his body, as if his own skin was trying to reject the words. He studied Dorcas’s face, searching for disgust there, his heart pounding with fear and anticipation.

But Dorcas spoke up, confidently, her expression seemingly warm, but Regulus could detect a hint of fakeness. “We’re very excited to have Regina. We’ll make sure she’s very safe here.”

Regulus’s mouth popped open audibly, and he felt tears form in his eyes before he could stop them. Hearing his old name come from Dorcas’s mouth was worse, somehow. Why was it worse? His brain reeled and he felt his stomach roil, but then Dorcas threw him a sharp glance, tilting her head just slightly at Regulus’s mother.

His visibly pleased mother.

And it clicked.

“Yes, Dorcas has told me all about Regina,” Dorcas’s grandmother agreed brightly, also throwing Regulus a meaningful look. “She’s always welcome and safe here.”

Regulus blinked. He looked back and forth between the two adults, who seemed to now be in some sort of stare-off. He decided to go for broke and really sell it. “Cas promised to teach me how to straighten my hair,” he murmured, trying to make his voice sound high-pitched and excited, while simultaneously holding back his breakfast.

Walburga looked at him for a moment and Regulus knew he had her. As protective of her reputation as she was, Walburga would never outright ask if he was introducing himself as Regulus in school or telling his friends about his ‘problem.’ That would be admitting in the first place that he wasn’t the 'perfect daughter.'

So all she could do was…

“Alright. Lovely to meet you, then.”

And that was that.

-

Please please leave comments and kudos and love and read the WIP here!

Credit to @betweendyingstars whose beautiful fanart partially inspired a scene in this chapter, though their version of Sirius and Reggie are older.