#Like why is knuckles standing on a bucket??

[veltana]

Breaking point

✦ Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~2,5k

✦ Rating: Explicit

✦ Warnings/tags: Dub-con (proceed with caution if this might trigger you), pwp, smut and a bit of fluff at the end, possessive/protective!bucky, degredation (slut, fuck doll, cum-bucket), grinding, choking, spitting, pussy slapping, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, pet name (sweetheart).

✦ Summary: Bucky is done with you going out with losers.

✦ Note: This used to be called I will kill them if they touch you but I never liked that title so I renamed it! Also, you guys didn't know what you were voting for, but it was the banner for this story! Please reblog and comment! Asks are always welcome 💚

Masterlist | AO3

"Please don't scare this one away as you did last time," you beg and look at Bucky's reflection in the bathroom mirror. He makes a face where he's leaning against the door frame behind you and then sighs when you give him a look. "He wasn't worth shit if he didn't wanna fight for you," he points out.

Now it's your turn to sigh and you cross your arms, glaring at him. "He isn't supposed to fight for me on a first date. We're supposed to have a good time and hopefully fuck." Bucky's mouth hardens, and he looks away. He doesn’t like that, at all.

Ever since you became roommates he's been very protective of you, helping you with the smallest things, driving you everywhere you need to go, even if you can drive yourself. Sometimes it's overbearing but most of the time it's nice to have someone care for you like that.

Unfortunately, recently he's picked up a habit of intimidating the people you go on dates with. He stands behind you when they come to pick you up, and his large frame and cold stare make many of them cower. A few have turned around right away, others have asked if that's your boyfriend or something, thinking it was some type of open relationship/cuckold situation.

"Don't say shit like that," Bucky says through gritted teeth. "I don't wanna think about you fucking other people." You can't help the teasing smile that cracks your face. "Makes you jealous?" With a huff, Bucky pushes off and leaves you to continue.

Two hours later your makeup is done and your hair fixed to perfection. You sit on the couch in shorts and a t-shirt, with a glass of wine, waiting until the last minute to put on the skin-tight dress. While scrolling on your phone, Bucky sits beside you with a beer. "So where's the loser taking you?" "Don't care,” you shrug. “Honestly, my priority tonight is to get laid. The previous ones were a little too… bland. But he seems promising." "What do you mean, bland?"

Putting your phone down you look at him, "You don't wanna hear this anyway, you'll just get mad," you point out. "I don't get mad," he defends. "Pfff, you're such a liar, I can see it in your eyes whenever I mention another guy." "Because you deserve the best and all I've seen is trash."

Irritated, you put your glass down too. "Why don't you pick for me then? Who would James Bucky Barnes deem worthy of fucking me?"

The grip on his beer is so hard his knuckles whiten and his lips are a thin line. When he doesn't answer you lean back and start to count people off.

"Well, Steve seems a bit too sweet for my taste but I mean I would not mind trying a slice of that all-American beefcake," you muse. "Sam is so charming and funny! That quick tongue would probably work wonders, if you know what I mean," you wink and watch as Bucky's eye twitch, his jaw clenched hard.

"Tony," you continue. "Well, he seems a little self-absorbed but maybe he's a really selfless lover. Won't hurt to check!" "Loki is so handsome," you bite your lip. "I would surrender my body to him in a heartbeat! But I've heard that he leaves people high and dry and that would be awful."

Tilting your head, you say, "Do you think Thor and Jane would be up for a threesome? I can just imagine eating her out while he fucks me from behind and then we could-"

With a slam he puts the bottle on the table and grabs your face with his hand forcefully, silencing your tirade of words and squeezing your cheeks so that your lips pucker.

The grip is close to bruising and it's an instant pull in your lower stomach. His eyes are black with anger, something you've never seen directed at you before. "No one," he hisses. "Not one of them is fucking you, I will kill them if they touch you."

His hand releases you and grabs your neck instead. You're shocked, and instantly so horny it hurts. Opening your mouth to speak he squeezes harder, making a wheezing sound come out.

"I'll give you a chance to stop this. Tell me right now you don't want this and we'll act as if nothing happened. Otherwise, I'm fucking you into this couch until you can't remember your goddamn name." When he finishes his grip lightens. The rush of blood makes you euphoric and boneless. You want to give yourself to him, let him do whatever he wants. "Fuck me," you whisper.

The kiss is more teeth than lips and the hold around your throat hardens again. You try to keep up with him but it's impossible as he pushes his tongue into your mouth, claiming every inch, making you lightheaded with the lack of oxygen. You gasp for air as he pulls away, releasing you. His gaze is brimming with lust and want now, all signs of anger gone. Then he pushes you down onto the couch.

"You're a kinky little slut, aren't you sweetheart?" he mocks and leans in over you, spreading your legs with his. All you can do is nod and try to wiggle close so you can press your center against his clothed cock. It's clearly outlined in his sweatpants and you hope it's as big as it seems. "If I put my hand down your pants, are you gonna be wet for me?" "Yes Bucky," you whine.

The throbbing is almost unbearable and his smirk is downright sinful. "Come on, rub yourself on me, show me how much you want it." With another whine, you brace yourself against the couch and lift your hips. He doesn't move a muscle to help as you struggle to find the right position.

"That's disappointing," Bucky smacks his lips and frowns. "Thought you wanted this." "I do Bucky, I do, please I'm trying," you tell him desperately. With effort, you get into a good enough position to grind your cunt on his cock through the layers of clothing. It's not nearly enough to curb the ache.

"Useless," Bucky sighs and grabs your legs. "Do I have to do everything?" He pushes your knees up towards your chest, folding you in half and pushing his cock right into your core.

"Sorry," you moan. His mean words have only made you needier and you move yourself against him with abandon. Bucky is motionless above you, not making a sound or saying a word, just staring at you chasing your high. Your movements turn unsteady when you start to come close.

If you were of sound mind you would notice the glint in his eyes but instead, you’re barreling towards your climax. Until he suddenly moves away.

Gawking you stare at him and he just smiles wickedly in return. "Take off your clothes, spread your legs" he instructs and you quickly pull your pants off and discard your t-shirt and underwear, spreading your legs as best you can on the couch. Bucky takes in your bare body, moving his hands slowly down your thighs until his palms frame your pussy.

"Fucking shaved for him too,” he notes with a snarl. You're not sure why that upset him. "Sorry!" you say, just to be safe.

"I don't need your hair curled, your make-up done or your whole body shaved. I will fuck you anyway, sweetheart, no matter what you look like because you belong to me," he growls before he spits on your cunt, sending a rush through you, making you moan and spread your legs even more.

For the first time, he touches you properly, letting his fingers spread the spit all over your pussy before shoving two of them into your soaked core. He pistons them in and out, putting his thumb against your clit and making colors burst before you.

"You want to come on my fingers, you fucking slut?" When you nod frantically he instructs, "Open your mouth, stick out your tongue." A second after you do spit lands on your tongue and droplets on your face. It nearly tips you over.

"Swallow it," he orders and watches you as you do, some form of approval shining in his eyes for the first time. "Who do you belong to?"

The question is too complicated to understand, you can't focus on what he wants. "I don't…" is all that comes out.

"Wrong answer," he says and removes his fingers, making you shout in disappointment. Sharp slaps land on your wet cunt and you instinctively try to move away from it, but he grabs your legs, pulling you back. "Don't you fucking run from me."

"I'm sorry," you cry, looking pleadingly at him. "I'm- I'm yours James, yours to do what you want with. Please, please, please let me come!"

With a huff he pushes his fingers back in, pressing the tips into your g-spot and getting his thumb back on your clit. His unbothered state makes you feel so small and insignificant, heightening the pleasure coursing through you.

As it climbs, your body shakes, your legs trembling from being held open. "I'm- I'm- don't stop!" you beg. Closing your eyes you focus on the feeling of him, his other hand still gripping your thigh hard. You hope it bruises.

"I can feel you, slut!" Bucky's voice is the cherry on top of everything. "Come on my fingers, do it, come for me!" he commands and of course, you do as he wants. With a scream you convulse, almost pushing him out with the sensation flooding you. Bucky is talking above you but you're not sure what he's saying because all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears.

A hard tap against your cheek makes you open your eyes. "Don't pass out on me, I'm not done with you yet." "Wouldn't dream of it," you smile dumbly, and it earns you a smile in return. But it quickly passes as he pulls off his tank top and pushes down his pants. The cock is just as big as you hoped.

He rubs the head against your soaked center, sending overwhelming sparks through you, making you twitch. When he notches the head of his dick at your opening your blood freezes. "C-condom?" you stutter.

Cocking his head he asks. "Do you really want that? Doesn't a slut like you want to be filled up with cum?" "Y-yes, but, Bucky…" you gnaw your lip.

"I want to fuck my little cum-bucket raw, make sure you feel me running out of you for days," he gives a light thrust, almost pushing inside, giving you a taste of heaven. For a second you look at each other and Bucky presses in just a little bit more. It decides it for you. "Please fill me with your cum Bucky, I need it so bad!" you whine and he chuckles before shoving his fat cock into you without mercy.

Quickly you wrap your legs around his hips, meeting his hard thrusts that are sending your body into overdrive. "Feel so fucking good sweetheart, your cunt was made for me, wasn't it?" he groans. "Yes it was," you answer breathlessly.

He grabs your face. "Those other losers are never going to satisfy you." "No, Bucky, only you!" "That's right, you're my fuckdoll now, sweetheart," he says before he leans down to kiss you. It's much sweeter this time and you grab his head, carding your fingers through his hair, feeling your chest fill with another type of warmth.

When he pulls back he says, "Beg me not to come in you." Your cunt clenches and your second orgasm is suddenly a lot closer. "Bucky, please don't… I can't get pregnant," you make your voice small and frail.

In response his laugh is cruel. "Yes you will, your purpose in life is to be bred. I'm going to cum in you every day til it sticks and then everyone will know who you belong to." "Please, pull out," you beg and reach down to rub your clit, feeling the climax shimmering underneath your skin.

"Such a bad liar, sweetheart," he chuckles. "Are you going to come on my cock? Are you gonna claim me just as I claim you?" "Yes! I just need- harder!" you pant. "Fucking hell," Bucky grunts and does as you demand.

The climax rips through you with little regard for your sanity. The sound leaving your throat makes it raw and a second later Bucky moans your name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. It's almost good enough to feel him finish inside you that you come again, but you’re too spent to do more than shudder.

Then he kisses you again, sweetly, caringly, and pushes his arms in under your body to hug you close to him. "So perfect," he whispers against your mouth. The cums start to trickle out onto the couch but neither of you care, too caught up in each other's lips.

"How are you doing sweetheart?" he asks when he comes up for a breath. "I feel a little high," you confess. "Haven't been fucked that good in a long time."

There is something in his gaze that shifts and he leans his forehead against yours. "I'm sorry. I just… I couldn't take it anymore… I like you so much." "Lucky for you I get off on that stuff," you smile. "And if I had said stop I trust you would have."

He hugs you so hard you can hardly breathe. "Of course, I fucking would." "You can make it up to me by going tender the next time," you smile. "Next time?" "As many times as you’ll have me." He laughs into your skin. "I don't think you're ready for that!"

Suddenly the sound of the doorbell jerks the two of you apart. You stare at Bucky with wide eyes. "My date," you whisper, horrified.

With a smirk, he raises himself on his arms. "I should make you go on that date with my cum running out of you, maybe even let him get as far as spreading your legs just to see that you’re already claimed."

With a groan, you cover your face with your hands. "Don't tempt me," you tell him before wiggling out from under him, finding your clothes, and hastily pulling them on.

Opening the door just a crack, you understand you look a mess by the way your date eyes you. "Sorry," your voice is small. "I wasn't feeling great and then I fell asleep on the couch." "Yeah, you look terrible," the guy notes before handing you one of the ugliest bouquets you've ever seen. Quickly stepping away he says, "I'll call you." but you know he won't. "Great, I'll see you around," you respond before closing the door.

Bucky takes the flowers from you and shoves them in the trash before grabbing you around the waist and kissing you again. "Didn't you say he was promising?" "I have no clue what you're talking about," you answer with a completely straight face but then start to giggle as he swoops you up and carries you to his bedroom.

[extraemopossum]

This is really funny to me for some reason

[princessbrunette]

just imagine beings jjs innocent gf and youre really inexperienced and it makes you so insecure and like hes not stupid he notices how you tend to pull back when things get heavy but he thinks its because you dont wanna go farther when its like you DO but you want him so bad its overwhelming and you dont wanna disappoint him but one day he reassures you its okay and to ease you into it he sits you on his lap and talks you through your first orgasm while you cum so prettily around his fingers :(

omg working yourself up to near tears because you want him to bad :( attending a lil pogue get together at the chateau, everyone getting drunk around the fire with music playing and it’s sm fun but all you can think about is how badly u wanna pull jj away from everyone and have your way with him… you just don’t know how :(

you haven’t done this before! so you don’t even know how to propose the idea, eventually the blonde picking up on your shaky and hesitant vibe when you ask him to come inside with you to get more ice from the freezer, even a few people wolf whistling as he lets you lead him by the hand inside.

he’s standing there shucking ice into the bucket, turning and looking at you when you slowly approach him with a softness to your expression you only gain when you want a kiss. so he stands to his full height and brings you in with cold hands on your cheeks, allowing your lips to meet.

mostly due to you, the kiss gets hot and heavy quickly, tongues needily dancing over eachother as you blindly found the couch, JJ pulling you onto his lap. your heart starts hammering like it always does and you pull away, a little panicked and frustrated, dropping your head to his shoulder with a sad sigh. “sorry.” you whimper.

“why? hey?” he lifts your chin with his knuckle, brow creased in concern. you don’t say anything, just climb off his lap— and you don’t miss the way he tugs his tshirt down a little trying to hide the bulge that had formed between his legs. after a slightly tense silence, he chooses his words carefully. “babe… y’know me, i don’t wanna come across like some pushy asshole but… am i doing something wrong? i dont wanna scare you, like— we can totally move at your pace it’s just… it seems like you want it and then you pull away and im just a little… confused?” he turns his body to face you, keeping his body language and voice gentle as to let you know you’re not in trouble with him.

you blink up at him tearfully through your lashes anyway as if he had yelled at you, letting a long sigh through your nose. “i… i just panic. i want you so bad it hurts but… dont know what i’m doing, just get so overwhelmed ‘n embarrassed and—” you start working yourself up and he shuffles closer, cupping your jaw.

“hey. look at me. that’s… what im here for, you know? to teach you stuff? we can take it really slow like…” he places a hand on your thigh, watching for your reaction, seeing the way your lashes flutter needily and breath catches in your throat. poor thing, so touch starved. “really, really slow.” he whispers, rubbing the skin there, fingers dipping a little up your skirt. “you okay with this, hm?” he tilts his head, dotting kisses down your jaw.

“mhm.”

“atta girl… you wanna stay right there or do you wanna sit on my lap?”

“on your lap, please.”

“polite, i like it.” he grins, pulling you up and getting you situated as his hand disappears up your skirt, tongue finding yours once more.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Fem!reader Isekai in Lookism ?

Anon, so sorry I'm answering this exactly 3 months later. You're my last request from May and I was soooo close to deleting it because I have had exactly zero ideas. Then I got partly inspired by @honeyhotteok fic here and now I'm running on less than 3hrs sleep in work and it's your fault. Oh yeah, and I've completely twisted the ask as well. It's not even close. So all that wait was for nothing 🙇🏻‍♀️

Adventures of YOUR part time job in the Lookismverse

G/N. You work the graveyard shift in a convenience store. You meet bizarre characters on different nights. Part 2

There's something wrong with people your age these days.

Everyone seems to be either in a gang or up to some shady shit. Seriously what is going on. Is this all a big joke that only you aren't in on?

Just the other day you swear you saw a group of guys in boiler suits punch through some walls across the street. Like what the fuck? What did the wall ever do to you? And then someone apparently called Tabasco starts chanting something about Burn Knuckles and oh my fucking god it's 11pm please shut up.

Oh course you never said that, you still have some sense of self preservation.

And how does anyone even have the time for all this. Between school and this part time job, you barely have enough hours to sleep.

You miss Daniel, the coworker who you haven't seen for a good year but used to gossip into the early morning with. He always seemed a bit nervous and fidgety when you voiced your concerns and observations, but you just assumed he was a nervous and fidgety kinda guy.

There would have been some fun stories to share. Instead now you work the graveyard shift on your own.

.

.

Case in point, the guy standing in front of you looks like one bad conversation away from a mental breakdown.

And really you're not in the habit of checking out customers but he cuts a striking figure. Every exposed inch of skin besides his face inked, and (you silently ask for his forgiveness for the objectification) the biggest chest you have ever seen. What even is this guy eating? What is this guy injecting? Lifting?

The question is almost out of your mouth but then you see the look in his eyes and slam your lips shut.

Nevermind. You ring his purchases through and tell him to have a good night.

.

.

You're restocking the shelves when you notice a guy with a scar across his lip and nose, dripping blood from god knows where all over your freshly mopped floor.

Which is alarming in itself but come on man. Look at the floors. You're making it so fucking gross.

He notices you watching him, gives you an apologetic look and says he'll take care of it.

He makes a quick call and in comes 26 guys, one after the other and they line up in front of him.

You know it's exactly 26 because you counted all 26. And you've also watched all 26 pairs of dirty shoes trample over your previously nice clean floor.

The blood drippy guy asks politely for the mop and bucket and you think this must be some sort of prank because why the hell is this even necessary. 26 guys to share your one solitary mop and bucket and to clean a goddamn floor that you managed in 10 minutes.

"Get out." He blinks at you, taken aback by your tone. "Or I'm calling the police."

.

.

"You can bring your pups in!" You call out to the emo teen lurking outside.

Health and safety be damned because look how fucking cute these dogs are!

He hesitates but then the rain grows heavier and all three rush in.

You miss the suspicious glance he gives you, too fixated on how adorable the dogs are. You don't even mind their wet fur or muddy paws because look at these little babies!

And huh, this guy must really love them too with his, you squint, God? Dog? hoodie on. D'aww that's so stinking sweet.

.

.

Damnit, you knew these two would be trouble the moment they stepped foot into your store.

The tall blonde just gives off a distinct creepy vibe and the shorter one has his entire eyebrows shaved off.

Shaved. Off.

You couldn't help but stare when you put their purchases through and noticed some regrowth and stubble. Is this a trend you missed out on? Either way you're glad because there's no way you're shaving off your own eyebrows.

They converse in Japanese, not even saying a word to you. No thanks or anything, which is fine you suppose. But then they pay you in fucking yen.

They're out the door by the time you see the cash and fuck. Your boss is going to go apeshit when he finds out.

.

.

"What do you think, sweetheart?"

A new blonde guy addresses you tonight and for crying out loud, you just want a quiet shift.

What do you think of his white suit? With the garish LV logos? That it's tacky as fuck. That anyone with any sort of taste would never ever wear that. You keep your actual thoughts to yourself and instead just say it's fine.

That does nothing to subdue the blonde. He does stop talking to you though, and just mutters bitterly under his breath. You catch the words blind and tasteless.

His partner smirks at your response.

And isn't that a whole other kettle of fish because it's currently 2am and you're indoors and who the hell wears sunglasses right now. You think he's a douche of the highest calibre.

The smirk is wiped from his face when he asks for cigarettes and you ask for ID. He doesn't have it on him.

"No can do. No ID, no sale."

He leans aggressively into your space, and reveals his eyes peering over his sunglasses.

My god, what is up with this duo? One with the tacky suit, and this one with the ugly black contact lenses.

You don't budge and the guy is dragged out by the blonde cackling.

Ugh. That laugh gives you a headache for the rest of your shift.

.

.

You really wish customers would stop involving you in their conversation.

This one, who looks exactly like how you would imagine a SoundCloud rapper that has their mother following them and no one else, asks you to listen to his music.

He insists that he's good as the blonde girl rolls her eyes.

You listen to about 10 seconds and make up your mind.

He's wrong. He's very wrong. You want to suggest he gets checked out at the doctor because clearly his ears aren't working properly.

Instead, you mention you like Duke Pyeon, he's more your taste. Has he heard of him? It's the wrong thing to say though because this guy looks angrier than you've ever seen anyone.

"Don't start Vin, I've seen you listening to his music." The girl scoffs.

'Vin' shouts in indignation and storms off with his friend trailing closely behind.

.

.

"Can I help?" You ask with your customer service voice and customer service smile.

He has been standing in front of the hair dyes for a good ten minutes as his friend looks increasingly bored and you can't blame him.

"No thanks, I'm just browsing," he responds and you tell him you'll be just over there if he needs anything.

You kill some time playing on your phone, look up, and both of them are still in the exact same spot.

The one with the H on his neck looks about ready to tear his hair out.

"Come on bro, just pick one!"

"No Warren, this is important. I need it to suit my new aesthetics."

You shrug and return back to your kitty kat restaurant game.

.

.

"Cool glasses," you tell the guy walking around the store and he looks affronted at first before realising you're being sincere and gives you a small smile instead.

You wonder if you can pull off orange tinted glasses too or whether you'd just look like an idiot. It's probably the latter you decide when you ring up his energy drinks.

"I'm a boxer," he offers, as if you're judging the amount of caffeine he's going to slam down.

"Ok?"

"I need it for my training."

"Sure."

You've seen weirder purchases and weirder combinations. The people coming in looking frantic and buying a single plunger or pack of toilet paper never fails to make you chuckle.

To be honest the amount he's buying is a bit nuts, and you wonder if he's going to drink it all in one go. You probably wouldn't sleep for a year if it was you.

"Enjoy your training," you say, heaving and handing over the bag of 19 cans.

.

.

A mute blonde gestures at you

You try to use some sign language, but he looks at you as if you're crazy. At least you think he does but you can't see his eyes.

Somehow you're able to decipher he's lost his dogs. Four. Golden retrievers. And he asks if you have seen them.

(Huh. Do you have telepathy? Do you have the gift?)

You tell him no and he sprints out.

You spend the rest of your shift trying to move things with your newly discovered psychic powers.

Spoiler: you have zero powers. Zilch.

.

.

You think you might be having a stroke.

Because on what planet did this K-pop idol think the disguise would work. Cap and mask on but tufts of pink hair poking out and dressed completely in white.

It's like he's asking for attention and for people to ooh and aah over who that could be.

As he leaves, you shout that you can't wait for his next album. He turns around in complete shock that you recognised him, as if you solved the world's hardest puzzle.

It's a good job that DG has such a pretty face because what an idiot.

.

.

You hear two voices mention the words Daniel Park and your ears perk up, wondering if it's about your old colleague.

Nah. You're just being silly. It's not an uncommon name at all and too much of a coincidence.

"I haven't seen Daniel in ages! Have you heard from him, Zoe?"

"No," you see her friend shake her head from the corner of your eye.

The brown haired girl tilts her head in thought, "I wonder how Zack is doing too. I haven't seen him in so long."

"Ohhh~ you miss him!"

"O-of course I do! He's a friend!" She blushes bright red and you chuckle to yourself.

'Friend', sure.

For the rest of the shift, you reminisce about how you used to tiptoe around your feelings with your boyfriend, Taehoon, too.

[chiriwritesstuff]

Meet Me at the Farmers Market! - 1. Jealousy, Jealousy

Farmers Market! Joel Miller x Confident! Plus Sized F! Florist Reader

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: What does a Contractor do in his spare time? Sell his wood carvings at the Saturday Farmers Market, of course! A Grumpy x Sunshine Joel Miller series collective of one shots, Updates every Saturday!

Rating: M

Word Count: 1063

Warnings: Jealous! Joel Miller, Tommy is a meddling little shit, Reader likes to ogle her too-hot market neighbor (I mean, who wouldn't?!) no outbreak! Verse Joel Miller, everyone has asses that just. Don't. QUIT!!!!

Summary: Tommy thinks y'all should stop dancing around your feelings for each other and just date already.

A/N: Hello there!

This is completely a self-indulgent fic! I was completely blown away by all of the interest in this series, and I want to thank every single one of you who has liked and reblogged my series masterlist so far!

This isn't going to be in a linear format or have continuous chapters, but will be more of a short-story format between the lives of Joel and his Sunflower. Hope you all enjoy!

Divider by the lovely @saradika

"You know, I think you guys should date."

As Tommy helps you unload a basket of baby's breath from your van, you look at him and ask, "Is that right? Pray tell, Thomas Miller, Why do you think that?"

"Well, for starters, you're crazy about him," he replies, waggling his eyebrows. "I can see how you stare at him like he's the finest cut of meat at Whole Foods. I should get you a drip cloth for all that drooling you be doing," he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest.

You roll your eyes and shove a bucket of single-stemmed roses into his chest. "Oh please. I think it's more concerning that you just compared your brother to a piece of meat," you say as you place a checkered tablecloth on your foldable table, preparing for the morning market.

"His head is definitely full of it," he laughs. "Besides, I think he's crazy for you too."

You laugh and reply, "All he does is complain that my tent is encroaching on his 'walk space' and how my bouquets attract all the bees. I don't think he's said one nice thing to me since I started vending at the market."

"Don't you know that the more you hate, the more you love?" he teases. "I know my brother," Tommy says, motioning towards your grumpy, yet attractive, next-door vendor. Joel, in his green flannel and almost too-tight jeans, it's criminal, really, how nice his ass looks in them - finally acknowledges the two of you with a roll of his eyes.

"Tommy," Joel yells across the way, "I could use some help, once you're done flirting with little miss Sunflower over there," he says, placing his crate on his table with a little more force, mumbling to himself as he calls for Sarah.

"See? He's jealous. Thinks I have the hots for you," Tommy appraises your form, whistling. "I might have mentioned how you looked really nice last week, you know, in your denim cut-offs. And he might have mentioned that you had an - and I quote - ass that just doesn't quit."

"He did not!" you reply as you playfully whack his arm with a towel. "Come on, help me with this sign so you can go back to Mr. Grumpy Butt over there. Wouldn't want him grumbling about how I stole his brother…"

"He's a big boy, he can manage. He only has those little critters that he carves, and you have buckets of flowers. I'd like to think that my services are better utilized here, don't you think? I mean, look at him!" Tommy motions to Joel, who has stopped setting up his stand and is openly glaring at the both of you, his hands clenched and knuckles turning white. "I'm doing you a favor, honey bee. He's just shy under all of that grumpy ass attitude. Just ask him out, see where it goes." Tommy crinkles his eyes at you as he pats you on your head.

You swear you see Joel looking at the both of you as Tommy winks at you and heads back to his 'Reclaiming Miller' stand.

"What kind of a business name is that?" you think to yourself, chuckling as you close the doors of your van.

Later, as the market comes to a close and you place the final empty bucket into your van, you walk over to Joel's 'Reclaiming Miller' stand as he folds a tablecloth.

"Do you need a hand?" you ask sweetly.

"I got it," he replies with a grunt, dismantling his fold-up table and propping it against his truck. "It's funny," he adds, glaring at you, "that Tommy is nowhere to be found when I need help but magically appears once your van rolls in," he shakes his head. "Why don't you put him out of his misery and just ask him out?"

"… sounds like you're jealous, Mr. 'Reclaiming Miller'."

"Trust me, I'm not," he replies, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel as he tries to accommodate the Texas heat. You try very hard not to ogle the veins that run down his arms, swallowing as you try to remain indifferent to the very hot, grumpy man in front of you. You had a crush on Joel ever since you started the Saturday markets, approaching your new neighbor with a small bonsai tree as you introduced yourself. He took it from your hands carefully, inspecting it with a bit of wonder in his eyes. "Your tent is three inches off from your marker, by the way," he replies as he places the bonsai off to the side of his display table. "You might want to get that checked out, don't want to get a fine or anything like that." You decide then that he's one of those vendors, the ones who are sticklers for the rules and complete nightmares to those around them, but yet…

He is rather nice to look at, you think.

"… why would I ask someone I'm not interested in out on a date, Joel?" you reply, approaching him. "I mean, he did tell me that you thought I had an 'ass that just doesn't quit'," you say in his ear, tiptoeing up to his broad form, "is that what you really think, Miller?" you tease, his Adam's apple bobbing. "What if I want to ask you out? What would you say? Would you say yes? Because I think I would like that if you did."

But then, to your surprise, he smiles.

"… I thought we already got past dating, Sunflower," he replies as he kisses you, soft and sweet. His hands grab your hips as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. His hands travel to your ass, squeezing them as he groans into your kiss.

"Besides," he adds, "You know damn well how much I appreciate this ass." He winks, slapping it for good measure.

“Yeah, yeah, Miller. I'll see you at my place later?” you say as you head over to your van. “It's your turn to choose the movie tonight, if it's a good one you might just get laid” you tease.

“Oh baby girl, I'll get mine regardless, don't you worry,” he replies hungrily, waving as he enters his truck. “You just wear that thing I like, and I'll make it worth your while, promise.”

“You better!”

[eldritch-ambrosia]

“What?” Merlin finally asks, his voice dripping with annoyance from across the king’s chambers. 

Arthur fumbles with his parchments, averting his gaze and raising his eyebrow at a page that was most certainly not upside down, heat rushing to his cheeks, 

“Hm?”

“Arthur!” He says warningly.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well then, stop watching me!” Merlin rolls his eyes, leaning back down to grab for the sponge he had thrown in his frustration. “I’m doing my job, aren’t I?”

Arthur scoffs. “I’m not-”

“I can feel your eyes burning into the back of my skull, you prick.”

He wavers.

“I’m just… thinking.”

“Oh well don’t hurt yourself,” Merlin grumbles, scrubbing a particular part of the chamber floor harder. A wine stain that they both know won’t come off clean, from years prior, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. Trying to clean or trying to annoy Arthur though, he couldn’t really be sure. 

He finally sighs, tossing the sponge back into the bucket, and stretching out his back. “What are you thinking about?”

He considers not answering. He’s the king, he can demand anything he wants from his servants, including leaving him the hell alone. Though that didn’t usually seem to work with Merlin and there were some conversations he couldn’t avoid forever. 

“Why didn’t you accept the position on the council?”

Merlin turns to him fully now, head tilted in confusion. “What?”

“You could be in your own chambers right now. Large, lavish chambers,” he emphasizes, placing his parchment back down. “Dining and drinking wine and preparing for bed. Instead of… this.”

“My knees are getting a bit worn for this part, to be honest.” He says, standing and curving his back slightly, the crack of his bones echoing awkwardly through the chamber. “But I couldn’t do that to whatever poor fool would end up getting this job instead. I wouldn’t want to punish someone with your dirty socks and poor habits.”

“Hey-!”

“And then who would help Gaius? I am still his assistant, even if you seem to forget that. You’re telling me that you want Gaius to train someone entirely new to take over after him?” He crosses his arms, tutting disappointedly. “I didn’t know you could be so cruel.”

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair. It was just like him to throw off a serious question about himself with some long winded complaining or stabbing at Arthur’s character. 

Now, though, he knew why.

Merlin shrugs, drying off his hands with a spare cloth, his eyes scanning the room. He always did this before it was time to get Arthur ready for bed, a final once over of a job mostly well done. 

“You asked.”

“Because I wanted an honest answer. Not your usual prattle.”

“I am being honest.” Merlin insists, though his voice wavers.

Sighing, Arthur finally pushes forward. “Is it because you want to stay by my side? Because you and I can’t be parted?”

“What?” His head jerks, his knuckles gripping the cloth tighter.

“If that is the reason, we can still be together when you’re a council member! Hell, you’ll be a nobleman so you can stay near me without having to serve. Get off your feet for a while.”

“You’re talking nonsense, Arthur.”

“I know, Merlin.” He says gently, standing. “I know.”

Merlin’s eyes are wide as he swallows hard, and Arthur is sure he can see him shaking. “I don’t-” His voice cracks. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s okay,” Arthur says, approaching his servant as if he were an anxious cat and not his closest friend. “I heard you and Lancelot talking in the training room a few weeks ago.”

He considers what Arthur’s said, his eyes darting back and forth before they settle on the king. “And you’re just… fine with it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say fine with it. I wish you’d have told me, at the very least.” He stops, only a few feet in front of the other man. “But, I suppose, yes. I’ve thought a lot about it and I don’t think we should be parted either.”

“Really?” He asks, blinking owlishly. 

Arthur nods, reaching a hand out to his shoulder. “I want you by my side, Merlin. Whether that’s as my servant or as my advisor, you will always be the person I turn to first.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly, though his eyes are still shining. “I don’t want you to do this just because you feel bad. And what would the other advisors say? And the knights?”

“They’ll have to go through me then. And I don’t think making an enemy of the King of Camelot will really go well for them. Do you?”

“An enemy?” Merlin smiles and Arthur feels his whole body sigh in relief. “Do you really mean that?”

“I do.” A pause hangs between them, a familiar and comfortable silence. Merlin brings his hand up to Arthur’s, gently holding onto where the king’s hand rests on his shoulder, and Arthur can’t help but think that to stay here, in this moment, would bring him utter peace. 

He’d never admit that, not to Merlin, or anyone else for that matter, but he could accept it for himself and that would be enough.

“Is, um, there anything I have to do to… move forward?”

“For your job, not at all. I’ll take care of everything.” Merlin nods, grinning softly. “But for us, can you tell me? I don’t want to know just from overhearing you and Lancelot. I want you to tell me the truth. Please.”

Merlin’s grin widens, his grasp on Arthur’s wrist tightening. “Okay. Let me just…” And he leans forward, tilting his head down ever so slightly, pressing his lips to a startled Arthur’s.

The king freezes, heat rushing to his face, and he can feel his chest tightening as Merlin pulls back.

“I love you,” Merlin murmurs in the air between them and Arthur can see it in his eyes. Which means that Merlin can see the absolute shock in his in return. Merlin’s face falls. “What?”

“You… what?”

“I… You said you knew!” Merlin accuses, attempting to pull back but Arthur’s grip on his shoulder tightens. “You shouldn’t be… I mean, you know that! Obviously, you know that, right? Why else would you have said all that?”

Arthur’s red in the face, sputtering and feeling like an absolute idiot. “I know about your magic, Merlin! I had no idea-”

“My what?!”

~~~

I know it's been done before but I'm a sucker for this trope. The only way I'm okay with miscommunication. Whatever you think happens next, it absolutely does :)

Hoping to write more Merlin blurbs to motivate me to finish my multichapter fics because writer's block is a bitch.

[britcision]

Technically it’s not Wednesday anymore and technically I should only be writing the next chapter, not several chapters down the line, but Jazz grabbed me by the throat so y’all get a rough draft on something that’s gonna be like, 2-3 chapters away 👀

Maybe 👀

Enjoy!

———————

Dan’s lips curled into an unpleasant snarl, pointed fangs suddenly more prominent.

“Oh, really, Danny. Did you think this was going to work? Some stupid illusion and I’d fall to my knees, sobbing for reconcilliation? Or did you bring me the real thing so you could watch me kill her in front of you this time? It might not stick but I’m sure I can try.”

Part of Danny nearly lunged forward, Obsession throbbing down to his core… but he held it in check. After all, this wasn’t the Jazz Dan had known; she wasn’t just a teenager anymore.

And she certainly wasn’t impressed.

“Daniel James Fenton, you know better than to talk about someone when they’re standing right in front of you,” she snapped, her hip cocked out and arms folded in an entirely done big-sister posture that only got scarier with age. “If you have something to say, say it to my face.”

And Dan… froze, for a moment. And Danny knew he’d been right in that second, that microsecond of hesitation. Of inactivity.

Sure, Jazz might be well past six feet tall herself now, but she looked like their mom enough to make his Vlad severely uncomfortable. More than that though… Danny had never gotten over the thought of her dying. Dan had broken the world about it.

And he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye.

It was covered up a moment later, in bluff and bluster as he scoffed and glared in her general direction.

“What, are you going to psychoanalyze me? Tell me how sad and tragic I am too? Give me a break, I’ve got some lovely coping mechanisms,” he snapped, aura flaring in a burst of green fire.

But Jazz had never been scared of Danny’s aura, and frankly? He was the Ghost King. Dan’s was a drip in the bucket by comparison.

She marched straight up to him, ignoring the flames completely, and grabbed him by the chin. Forced him to face her, even as his eyes widened, face freezing.

Danny had never heard her voice so cold.

“Is that supposed to be scary? Am I supposed to be impressed, Danny? Honestly, I’d like to say that must be the Fruit Loop’s influence, but you’ve always been a drama queen.”

And then she twisted him into a headlock, all 6’9 mountain of muscle like he was still a ninety-pound twink, and noogied him.

“You’re such a fucking dork, Danny.” She sounded almost fond now, exasperated, a tone Danny was painfully familiar with. Even knowing she wasn’t talking to him-him, the cringe was automatic.

Dan sure as hell had no idea what to do about it, panic flaring madly across his face and his aura, trailed by a lacklustre attempt at anger.

“Get your hands off me,” he roared, turning intangible and going to jerk himself away… and then Jazz’s eyes flashed teal and she reached after him, her own hand changing to pull him straight back into the noogie.

Something about that broke Dan completely, his entire body suddenly limp and held up only by Jazz’s continued grip on his head. He seemed almost catatonic, completely zoned out… which Jazz completely ignored, grinding her knuckles into the top of his head.

Danny was pretty sure he knew why though; it was the one thing which had always been able to calm him down, back when he was approaching his twenties and the possibility of Dan started giving him panic attacks. Jazz had snapped him out of it in a much gentler way, but it amounted to the same reminder.

Jazz was his big sister. His beloved mentor, his voice of reason, his rock. And after living in Amity Park for almost twenty years, directly on top of the Fenton Portal, she was liminal as hell and about one near-death experience from a halfa herself.

There was just no way he was ever going to lose her, until she decided she was good and ready to move on. It wasn’t possible, and a little thing like dying wasn’t going to slow Jasmine Fenton down.

If it happened before she graduated, Danny was pretty sure she’d rise before Finals Week even if she died the night before.

(And given her self-care habits, he did occasionally worry about it actually happening… but she promised her ghost-envy days were long behind her and she’d never get that bad.

Belief: pending.)

Danny wasn’t actually fully sure if her ghost-grabbing abilities extended to anyone else or if she could just always wrangle him, but he and Dan were the same person; enough so that it sure as hell worked on him.

Dan wasn’t going down without a fight though - Danny was almost a little impressed with how quickly he fought past the blue screen (it might have been Vlad’s influence, given the sudden haughty tone) as he began to shove at her arms, quickly working up to a shout.

“Get your hands off me! Do you have any idea who I am! I am the great destroyer, breaker of worlds, and you will not treat me like a small child!” He bellowed, struggling viciously against her grip.

If they were in the real world, it’d probably have worked. If he had access to any of his ghost powers, it wasn’t a fight Jazz could possibly have won.

But this was a dream, and either Nocturn had a damn good idea what’d happen to him if anything happened to Danny’s big sister in his realm… or he just plain liked Jazz better.

(Most people did. Danny was fine with it.)

Because the more Dan struggled, the more Jazz began slowly increasing in size, getting bigger and bigger until she entirely dwarfed him and had him cuddled like a doll under her arm. Watching him struggle at this point was just a little embarrassing, actually, and Jazz finally took pity on him.

And settled him on her hip like an unruly toddler, grinning down at him.

“Now, do you think you’re ready to actually talk to me?” She asked him gently - and if she found the sight of this full sized man so relatively tiny as funny as Danny did, it didn’t even show.

Dan glowered up at her.

“You may be favoured by the fool who runs this domain, but you will never be my equal in anything but dreams,” his snarled viciously, his anger apparently stoked by indignation.

(Danny made a note. Still definitely some Vlad tendencies.)

Jazz just chuckled softly, bumping him up to give him a kiss on the forehead.

“Oh, baby brother, you know that’s never going to be how it works,” she said brightly, then paused, glancing around. “Uh… Danny, we never talk about this again, alright?” She asked, squinting down at him.

Mildly offended that he was about the height of her ankles, Danny raised both hands in immediate surrender.

“Dude, I am not letting anyone try and get freudian on me for Jumbo-Jazz. My lips are sealed from self preservation alone.” And he’d have to make sure to emphasize to Nocturn just how valuable his own silence would be. Vital to survival, even.

Apparently satisfied, Jazz nodded, sitting carefully cross legged and settling Dan in her lap, her chin on top of his head.

“So… you told me about your future once, y’know?” She said slowly, while Dan struggled and once more surrendered to the indignity. “And Danny told me some more later. And, obviously, we all actually know that taking over and destroying the entire world isn’t actually a healthy way to process grief…”

“Fucking spare me,” Dan growled, looking about a minute away from taking a bite out of her hand.

Jazz ignored him.

“But… in spite of all of that…” she paused for a moment, leaning back and smiling down at Dan, who couldn’t quite help craning back to look at her… if only to know where the next attack was coming from. “It’s… really sweet to know that you’d break the world for me, Danny. I just really wish it hadn’t broken you, too.”

And once again, Dan froze… and for the first time, Danny could feel a crack in the impenetrable wall around his core. Between all of the performative rage and theatrics and what he really, truly felt.

Even his rally only managed to produce a vaguely sulky “I’m not broken!”

Jazz sighed softly and turned him gently in her arms, lifting him to hug tightly to her chest. She might have been shrinking now, either by Nocturn’s will or her own, but she held him close anyway.

[sweetandgentlecreature]

Can I request a jealous or possessive Sy, thanks!

Hey girl!! Of course! Why not a little bit of both, while we’re at it? I have a lot of thoughts about Sy being the jealous type, and his possessiveness goes hand in hand with that. Thanks for all the sweet comments you leave me, I really do appreciate them all! ❤️❤️

It’s the Little Things: Jealous!Sy Drabble

Warnings: grumpy-bear energy, navigating jealously and possessiveness in an established relationship, with a little something sweet (ha! Fic jokes) at the end

Sy is not a perfect man. He's been through all of the training, all of the boot camps and exercises, two tours and everything in between. None of it could have prepared him for life outside of the job. You've never asked him for perfection, and why would you? After all the shit he's done, everything he's seen, you were glad to have him this way. Flaws and all. It sure beats the alternative. He could've come back an emotionless robot-type, or worse. Not at all.

Nights like tonight make you thankful to have him back. The bar is crowded, almost shoulder-to-shoulder, but that's pretty normal for small town nightlife. When the beer's this cheap, you get used to it.

He watches you from his seat in the corner booth, basking in the glow of the neon lights and twirling a bottle cap between his fingers. His buddies are piss-drunk, talking over the noise of the crowd."Man, did you see that blonde with the tits? Could that skirt get any shorter?" "How could I miss her? One stiff breeze and that'd be all she wrote."

Sy never understood it. Why get married to someone if all you want is what you can't have? Their poor wives deserved better. He'd scoff and just shake his head, then flick the bottle cap their way to shut them up.

About that time, you'd make your way through the crowd to take a break from the dance floor. Relieved to have your presence as distraction from the current conversation, he welcomes you with open arms and sits you on his knee.

"Havin' fun?"

You smile and nod eagerly. "Yeah. The girls went to the restroom, so I'm taking a break." When you notice that the bucket of beer is empty, you stand again. He tries to protest, to pull you back down onto his lap, but you brush him away. "No, babe, you stay. I'll go grab us another bucket and I'll be right back."

Sy digs his wallet out of his back pocket and hands it off without protest. Drinks are always on him. He hates to see you go, but good lord, does he love to watch you leave. Things are good...until they aren't.

All it takes is for one drunk bastard to spoil the mood. You're standing at the bar, waiting on your drinks, when a harsh smack on your ass gets your attention. It takes you by surprise and you whip your head around, ready to scold your bear of a man for being so crass. A stranger meets your gaze and grins down at you maliciously, drawing you in against his chest. His grip is iron-tight, but before you can speak, he's gone.

Bottles crash to the floor. The crowd circles the commotion and you fight your way though to get to the source. Sy's got him pinned against the bar as he wails on him, each bunch landing with a sickly crunch on the drunk guy's face. You try to scream over the crowd to get his attention, but it takes Sy's friends and the bouncer to pull him away. It's safe to say that you're no longer welcome in that bar, but good riddance. You wouldn't want to go back anyway.

Sy trembles with rage. His eyes are dark, his knuckles are split and bleeding, but he's otherwise alright. He'd seen it all from across the bar. That poor bastard didn't stand a chance. When he sees you now, he grabs you up in both hands and holds you out to look you over for injuries. He didn't mean to start a riot, but when it comes to his woman, Clayton Syverson doesn't mess around.

"Fuck, baby, are you alright? C'mere, let me look 'atcha," he scrambles over himself, searching you for signs of distress. When he meets your eyes again, he relaxes a bit. You're not hurt, but you sure are pissed.

"What where you thinking?! He could've hurt you! What if he had a knife, or a gun?! You're not bulletproof, you know!" Taking his fist in your hands, you hold it gently and brush your thumb over his knuckles. Nothing's broken, but it'll be sore for a while. Sighing, you shake your head at him. "Come on. Let's go home."

The next morning, he's up making breakfast. His hand is wrapped, thanks to your doing, and he pops a chocolate chip into his mouth as he flips another pancake on the skillet. You slip in behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. You kiss him on the shoulder, running your hands along his chest as you hold him close. It's quite the juxtaposition to the events of last night, but you don't mind. It'll be one hell of a story to tell the grandkids someday. "How's the hand?"

Sy holds it out and flexes his fingers, wincing a bit at the twinge of pain. Sure, maybe he's not bulletproof, but he'd do it all over again to protect his girl. That, and the sex afterwards was pretty damn great.

[i-am-a-l0st-gh0st]

This one is inspired a bit by one of my ocs backstory but..

The reader is a transmasc person, who tries their best to hide it, trying to seem as if they were a cis man - mostly due to the overwhelming dysphoria they get. Sure, they got the top surgery but... Not the bottom one. The biggest issue was - they were having terrible periods, and I mean TERRIBLE - To the point they can't stand up from the bed, squirm in pain and vomit anytime they move. While they were able to hide it from lyney long enough, saying stuff like "I ate something bad" and other stupid excuses, lyney got clearly very worried and concerned as the same thing happened each month, even when the reader didn't seem to even eat anything close to bad. Now, the reader doesn't know how to avoid the truth, as they're crying from the immerse pain, unable to hide their misery from lyney any longer.

Boys don't cry- Lyney X transmasc!reader

I would say i'm sorry, if thought that it would change your mind. t/w- periods, vomit, headaches, cramps, dysphoria summary- As shown above

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Taglist form!

You'd been together for almost 5 months and each month you'd managed to avoid telling Lyney you were trans but for how long? Avoiding it forever was out of the question, you couldn't keep getting you period and telling him you were sick.

The only thing you could concentrate on was the unbearable feeling of needing to be sick. If you stood up you might puke everywhere... And the cramps didn't make it any better... You clutched you stomach trying to make them go away... If only that worked... Your train of thought was lost as your boyfriend walked into the room.

"Dear... This happens every month... I know for a fact it's not food poisoning. Your my boyfriend... I need to know what's wrong with you."

*Boyfriend*. You loved being called that but for some reason it stung... Tears began to form in your eyes, emotions all over the place. Lyney was shocked to see you so emotional. He hugged you tightly, rubbing your hair, bringing you close. He wanted to help... But you couldn't tell him... He would think differently of you... He would see as what you were before you were a boy.

"I'm fine Lyney, just a little sick."

"A little sick? Sweetie you can't get out of bed. I need to know what's up with you."

Lyney was stubborn... Almost as stubborn as you, he wouldn't give up. Not until you were feeling better. The cramps slowly started to get worse, causing tears to well up in your eyes. You tried to turn away from Lyney hiding your face. In response he grabbed you chin forcing you to look at him.

"Mon amour... what's wrong." His face had lost its charm and had turned, not stone cold but almost there.

"Lyney... I...I.."

"Take your time sweetie."

You couldn't tell him, he would see you as girl. You worked so hard to build a life a male. It was all going to crumble now... You felt your cheeks heat up with the feeling of vomit... You quickly got up and ran to the bathroom pushing Lyney out of the way. Knuckles turned white as you gripped he toilet bowl waiting for it to happen.

"Sweetheart! What's wrong!" Lyneys voice had become increasingly worried.

You couldn't avoid the truth any longer... It was right in front of him. He'd have to find out sooner or later.

"Lyney... I'm trans..transgender. I.. I've only gotten top surgery not bottom. So I still get my... Period."

"So that was it? Honey I still love you. You know I don't see you as any less of a man. If anything I see you as more of one. What you go through sounds painful..." His voice had calmed down now. "But why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I was scared you'd leave me.. and this dysphoria gets really bad."

"Oh mon amour... I would never leave you... Now let me take care of you."

Lyney grabbed you hand leading you back into bed, he grabbed you a heat pack placing it on your stomach. He put a bucket close to your bed, just incase you needed it.

"Anything else?" You swear you couldn't love this man anymore.

"Cuddles?'

"Anything for you, my love."

Taglist

@pandragonsoul @atsukawolfcat @keeyisbored

[queer-irritator]

Impure Thoughts (Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader)

Prompt: It’s a boiling hot day and the reader wears next to nothing.

Content warnings: Adult language, smut

Takes place in Clemen’s Point. Fem reader physique, neutral pronouns. Continuation of Bloody Knuckles, but not necessary to read it first.

Despite how cold the nights can get on the lake, the days can be brutally hot. Unfortunately today was boiling hot, and sticky from humidity. Days like this make you want to do nothing all day. Not to mention, the clothing options in stores all had far too much fabric. That’s why you’ve taken to making some undergarments of your own. You took an older pair of drawers and cut off about ¾ of the pant leg. You were currently finishing up hemming the bloomers, keeping the signature ruffles on the edge. You also added another layer of lining to make your new shorts more opaque. You cut off any loose threads, closed your tent flaps and tried them on. You sure weren’t used to seeing so much of your thighs exposed… but, then everyone else around camp walked around in their underwear. This was just shorter. You took a deep breath and assured yourself it would be fine. The camp was like family, no one would care what you wore. You exited your tent and tied up the flaps. 

“Oooh, you got some short shorts there, (y/n)!” Tilly was the first to see your new garment.

You turned around to face her, “I know… but it's just so damn hot. Does it look bad?” You asked her. 

“No, not at all! I just think you might have some of the boy’s eyes on ya.” Tilly let out a giggle. 

You blushed lightly. There was only one person here you’d want to look at you in that manner. You shifted your stance awkwardly, “You think so? I think of most of them like family.” 

“Yeah,” Tilly agreed with you, “But men will be men… especially the ones that haven’t seen that much skin in years.” 

You chuckled a little, “I’ll just give ‘em a good slap across the face.” 

Tilly laughed with you, “There you go!” She headed off to work on some laundry. 

You glanced around to see who was in camp at the moment. You started to feel a little self-conscious. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself of the countless times you’ve seen the men walk around without a shirt when it gets this hot out. You tugged on your sleeveless chemise slightly. You were just going to go about your normal routine, which started with filling wash basins. You bent down to pick up an empty bucket and felt the back of your shorts ride up slightly, exposing the bottom of your ass cheeks slightly. Standing up straight again helped the cloth cover yourself again. This is something you’ll have to get used to. 

You made your way across camp, carrying the empty pail. You definitely felt more eyes on you than normal. As you passed Dutch’s tent you saw him do a double take at you out of the corner of your eye. 

“Excuse me, (y/n), but are you TRYING to give the men in this camp a heart attack?” Dutch’s voice boomed throughout the camp. 

You stopped and turned toward him, “If the men can’t control their own thoughts then that’s their fault. It’s hotter than hell out here, Dutch. You don’t say anything when Charles or Sean parade around without a shirt.” You protested his sexism. 

Dutch sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I do not have time to argue with you right now.” 

“Well, I do.” You stated, placing the pail down and crossing your arms.

Dutch was searching his brain as to why he had agreed to take you in, “Just… ONLY on hot days, understood?” He gave in, having too much on his mind to stand and argue.

“Yes, sir.” You said, laced with as much sarcasm as you could muster. You picked up your pail and headed to the lake to fill it up. 

Arthur was listening to Charles tell him about a lead on a stagecoach carrying a lot of money when he spotted you on the shore of the lake, bent over and filling up a pail. He could see the distinction between your upper thighs and the roundness of your ass. He shifted his feet as he could feel blood starting to head south. 

“Arthur? Are you listening to me?” Charles snapped Arthut out of his filthy thoughts.

“Yes, I am! Go on…” He lied.

Charles turned his head to see you walking back towards camp, immediately noticing your new bottoms. Seeing the full bucket in your hand, he could imagine exactly what was holding Arthur’s attention.

“Unbelievable…” He looked back to Arthur and shook his head slightly, “Come talk to me when you're done thinking with your pisser.” Charles said as he walked away. 

“I- I wasn’t thinking with my- !” Arthur turned to call at Charles but he was out of earshot by now. He let out a sigh. Why the hell were you walking around like that? God only knows what the other men were thinking about when they saw you. He walked over to Pearson’s wagon where you were emptying the pail of water into a wash basin. 

You heard his footsteps approaching you and you turned your head to greet him, “Hey Arthur.”

“Don’t you ‘Hey Arthur’ me… what the hell are you wearing?” He questioned you. You bent down to place the now empty pail on the floor, “Somethin’ I made because it’s so damn hot.” You replied to him.

He clenched his jaw as he felt his cock jump in his pants. Getting to see you bent over up close was nothing compared to earlier. 

“You can’t just walk around like that.” Arthur told you as he ran a hand down his face.

“And why not?” You turned to look at him, getting fed up with all the men telling you what to do. 

“‘Cause… the men ‘round here are gonna get… impure thoughts.” Arthur lowered his voice for the last part of his sentence. 

You sighed and had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, “Frankly, Arthur, I don’t give a shit.” 

“Well…” He was trying to think of a way to convince you to cover up without outing his jealousy. “Ya just need to cover up…” He spit out, “I’ll find ya something.” He put a hand on your upper back and led you to his tent and let down the covers for privacy the second you both were inside. 

You sighed and leaned on his cot, arms crossed across your chest in defiance. You looked around his space, it had a lot more space than your tent. His wasn’t even a tent, it was a tarp over the overhang of his wagon. He had a flower, a carton of cigarettes, and a photo on a crate near his bed. 

“Here.” Arthur handed you a pair of pants he’d been digging in a chest of clothes to find. 

You took the pants and immediately set them down on his cot next to you, “I’m not gonna change, Arthur. It’s too hot.” 

You met his gaze as he sighed and noticed a flush over his cheeks and a sheen of sweat on his face and chest. He even had a few more buttons of his shirt undone today. Your eyes continued down his body until you noticed an unusually large bulge in his pants. It made sense now as to why he was so desperate to get you to cover yourself.

“Arthur?” You called to the flustered man, looking strictly at your face. 

“Yeah?” His throat sounded a little dry.

“Are you the man in camp having “impure” thoughts about me?” You decided to tease him.

“No, I’m just trying to look out for you is all.” He deflected, now avoiding looking at you entirely. 

You pushed yourself off his cot and took a few steps closer to him. You placed a hand on the side of his face gently and turned his heat to meet your eyes once again. 

“That’s too bad. Because you’d be the only person I’d want to be havin’ those thoughts ‘bout me.” You rubbed your thumb against his cheek softly. 

“...Really?” He took a moment to respond to you, unsure if what he had just heard was correct. 

You nodded at him, “Mhm… You gonna kiss me, Arthur Morgan, or do I have to?” You teased him. 

Arthur placed his hands on your waist and closed the space in between you and gently kissed you. 

You closed your eyes and sighed happily into the kiss, you moved your hand to the back of his neck and deepened the kiss and parted your mouth slightly.

Arthur slid his tongue into your mouth and tugged your body closer until it was flush with his. You could feel the pressure of his clothed erection against you which caused your face to flush. You reluctantly broke the kiss and instructed Arthur to sit on his cot. He obeyed and sat so that his back was resting against the wagon. You climbed on top of his lap, legs on either side of him and kissed him again, your hands on either side of his face. Arthur’s hands found their way to your ass and he began to knead your flesh. 

This caused you to moan into his mouth and grind your hips down on to his strained erection. Arthur’s grip on your ass tightened and he began to plant kisses down your neck. You moved your hands down and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and explored his torso with your hands. 

One of Arthur’s hands left your ass and slipped in the front of your shorts and found your clit with ease. 

You gasped at the feeling of his hand in your pants, it was like all your fantasies were coming true in this single moment. You fumbled with the buckle to his gun holster and then groaned in annoyance when you found he had another belt buckle to get through. 

“Too many fucking buckles.” You whispered, more to yourself than to Arthur, but it earned you a chuckle from the beautiful man beneath you. You worked on his belt buckle while Arthur’s fingers began to rub you in lazy circles. 

You leaned your forehead on his shoulder and moaned softly at the sensation. You wanted to make him feel just as good, so you got his belt off and ripped open his pants and shoved your hand down them and found his cock. He was definitely gifted, just the right length and the most girth you’ve ever felt. He let out a groan of pleasure, he spread around the wetness you were producing and easily slid two fingers inside you. It was like a competition of who could make the other person feel the best. 

You moaned, louder than you mean to, when you felt his fingers inside you. You began to kiss him sloppily, and open-mouthed as you grinded down on his digits. You also began to stroke his length, earning a muffled moan from Arthur. 

You broke the kiss and straightened your back, causing Arthur’s fingers to hit your g-spot. You moaned and started to move your hips faster, speeding up your strokes as well. 

“Yes, please, Arthur, right there!” You could feel yourself getting closer to your release. You started to apply more pressure to the head of Arthur’s cock on each stroke. You could feel his body start to tense up. 

“Gonna make me cum with all your dirty talkin’” Arthur grunted.

“Can’t help it. You feel so good.” You blubbered, starting to feel incoherent from all the pleasure.

Arthur used his thumb to rub your clit at the same time. You used your free hand to clasp onto his shoulder as your orgasm peaked and washed over you. 

“Holy shit.” You moaned as you rode yourself through the pleasure. 

You unknowingly had tightening your grip on Arthur’s member and he began to thrust his hips up in time with your strokes. Arthur moved both his hands to a death grip onto your waist as he moaned with his own climax. 

“So fuckin’ good, darlin’.” He praised you as he used one hand to move some hair that was sticking to your face with sweat. His cum had splattered onto his own naked torso and onto your white chemise. 

You sighed in contentment and leaned all your weight against Arthur, feeling exhausted. 

Arthur stroked your head and mumbled all sorts of nonsense at you. 

“Don’t know how long I’ve been wanting that… Better than I could have imagined too.” He kissed your head.

His words made you smile, “Well, now I’m yours so we can do it whenever you want.” You told him, your subtle way of confessing your feelings. 

“Sounds perfect.” He switched from stroking your hair to rubbing your back, “But I’m the only one who gets to see you in these, okay?” He said, a hand resting on your ass. You blushed and nodded, “Alright.” You assured him as you straightened up and slid off his lap. 

“Give me the goddamn pants.” You finally gave in. 

Arthur gave you a smile as he gave you the pants that were next to him and you slid them on. 

“Looks like you need a shirt too.” He observed, a stripe of cum was already drying on your shirt. 

“Mmh, everyone’s definitely gonna know something’s up when I come out in your clothes.” You took off your shirt and grabbed one of Arthur’s button ups and put it on. 

Arthur shrugged slightly, “Pretty sure the whole damn town knew I was sweet on ya.” He cleaned up himself and buttoned his shirt and pants, followed by his belt and gun holster. 

You smiled at him, “I could say the same thing.” You said, giving him a kiss.

[pearbunny]

the bucket list ✘ [eleven.5]

series masterlist | prev | next [ ❀ spotify playlist ]

summary: Fly to Korea. Check. Buy a bouquet of flowers for a stranger. Check. Have said stranger come along with you to accomplish your bucket list? Well that wasn’t on the list, but falling in love was. 

pairing: han jisung x afab!reader

genre: 18+ [MDNI] strangers to lovers, non idol au, crack, fluff, angst, comfort, eventual smut. 

general warnings:  tourist!mc, adult themes including but not limited to: suggestive content, nudity, cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of death in later chapters, overarching theme of mental health, eventual smut.

word count: 1.2k

chapter content: more of jisung and mc connecting, main reference to Alien by Han of Stray Kids , angst: overarching theme of loneliness, comfort.

author’s note: this one's a lil bittersweet.

You were winding down from the day, Jisung and you took turns taking showers. When you’re done, you find him on the living room couch, scrolling through his phone. He’s researching a simple cocktail or two to make for the dinner you plan to host tomorrow. 

“I can’t decide what to make for the dinner party,” Jisung sighs, rapidly scrolling through the browser page in frustration. He sets his phone down when you sit on the coffee table in front of him. 

You take his phone from his hands and place it behind you, out of his reach. You smile sweetly, tilting your head to the side to give your best pleading face. “You said you would let me listen to one of your songs.” 

“Oh,” Jisung clears his throat, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck. “Yeah, I did say that.” 

You try to fight the pout that wants to form on your face. “You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

Jisung quickly shakes his head, “No it’s not that. I’m just,” He pauses and sighs loudly, “I’m just kind of shy.”

You give him a small smile, taking one of his hands and squeezing it gently. “You don’t have to be shy.” 

Jisung gives you a lopsided smile and with your hand in his, pulls you onto your feet and leads you to his room. “Mmm, yeah. I kind of do.” He pulls out his chair for you to sit in it. 

You sit down in the comfy plush seat and stare up at the large monitor above his main one. Jisung stands beside you, leaning forward with his weight on his desk as he moves his mouse to pull up a folder titled “finished?” 

In that folder, aptly named with a question mark, are a bunch of files that read similarly to “Close Final 1.AIFF” “Close Final 2.AIFF” and “Close Final for real this time.AIFF”. His mouse hovers on one that’s titled, “Alien.AIFF”. 

Jisung nervously cracks his index finger knuckle with the thumb of the same hand, “Would you like the lyrics up too?” 

“Is it fully in Korean?”  You look at him with curious eyes.

He chuckles and nods, then pulls up a document with the lyrics. It’s in Hangul, with a couple of English lines. He highlights the whole document and pastes it into google translate on another window. He places them both side by side for you on the monitor mounted on the wall, the audio file on the main monitor placed on the desk.

Before you can read the lyrics, Jisung swallows the lump in his throat. “I’ll be out in the living room.” He quickly slips out and closes the door behind him. 

Jisung is shy despite you telling him there was no reason to be. Sharing his music with people was like letting people inside his mind and if he was speaking honestly, he wouldn’t wish that on anyone. It was a complete mess in there, half thought out ideas abandoned for another one as soon as it was thought of, to-do lists that never get checked off even when he’d done them, random one off memories that he had no idea why he could recall the details of because it was so miniscule and not at all important. Like the person’s drink order at a cafe in line before him that had still appeared on the screen when it was his turn. 

Then there were pockets within his mind that were just… gray. Devoid of color. If he focused on those parts too much, that lack of color would spread and eventually, darkness would consume it. 

But there was also light: family, friends, fond memories to look back on. 

There was even a spot for you. Now alone in Jisung’s room, you notice his headphones are unplugged. You plug them in, preferring to listen to music that way to feel completely immersed for your first listen. You press play.  The song fades in, a gentle swell that opens up to piano chords sometimes accompanied by guitar chords. In the back, there’s a sound akin to scribbling on paper. Over it, a distorted voice in English recites a quote you vaguely remember. 

“The only thing predictable about life is its unpredictability. Anyone can be anything. You can be everything.”

Immediately after, Jisung’s voice, higher pitched than you’re used to, is accompanied by drums and cymbals. It’s now when you remember that you have english lyrics pulled up for you. As you listen to the song, you read the lyrics. You don’t expect Jisung to show you such a personal song, but thinking back about what you know about him, it makes sense. The lyrics sound true and you find yourself relating to it. Everytime you hear him sing, “I’m an alien on this earth,” there’s a tug at your heart. It’s loneliness, it’s camaraderie, it’s empathy. His delivery helps you understand what he’s saying, all the emotions behind it. By the time the last chorus plays, you find yourself humming along. 

Outside, Jisung can hear your humming and it makes him smile, heart pounding in his ears along with the soft melody and vibrato of your voice.

Once you’re done listening, you join Jisung in the living room. You stand in front of him as he sits on the couch and take him into a tight hug. 

Jisung stills for a moment, not really expecting that reaction, but eventually, he melts into your touch, wrapping his arms around you. 

You stand in silence for a while, stuck in that position, aiming to be there for him for as long as he needs it. Eventually, Jisung stands up and takes your hands in his once more. Just like before, he leads you to his room, but this time, he walks you to his bed after turning off the lights, getting under the covers. You join him, laying your body on his firm yet comfortable mattress, settling in close to him.

You’re facing each other, the only light in the room coming from his monitors. With your back to them, it casts a lovely shadow over you as Jisung’s eyes hold yours. Looking at him, the light illuminates his face, highlighting the beautiful brown of his irises. 

With a tilt of his head, he places a soft kiss on your lips. You smile into it, so hard. You know that at this moment, you need to cherish every single second with Jisung, so you engrain it into your mind: the soft whirring noise of Jisung’s PC, the soft hum of a TV you assume someone forgot to turn off in the apartment next door, the now dimmed light that allows you to see Jisung in the dark of his room. 

There isn’t much of an exchange of words between you, but you both decide there isn’t anything that needs to be said. With what you’ve shared with each other – your losses – comes a loneliness so similar to each other that each other’s presence is comforting.

Perhaps that's why he showed you that song. 

Because you’d understand. 

And you do. 

So, you cherish this feeling, too, because you know that it will all end eventually. 

ending author’s notes: :(( i love them and i'm so happy they found each other, Jisung needs mc as much as she’s needed him. Hope you're all doing well!

taglist

@burningchaosdeer, @bat-shark-repellant, @jisunglyricist, @captivq, @lixiel0ver, @channieandhisgoonsquad, @dalamjisung, @laylasbunbunny, @beanebabyy, @leyknowsbin @vixensss, @hyunfilms, @cutiespaghetti, @hanjisunginc, @kubuwu, @raehawthorne, @leeknowyah, @lifeissteph, @thesunsfullmoon, @bbokari711, @sunnyhonie, @aalexyuuuhm, @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad

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[808airsoftbros]

My Girlfriend is a Mafia Boss Pt.III (Shen Xiaoting)

Author: To check out more of my stories you can take a look at my Masterlist

Xiaoting’s POV

Once I’ve gathered all of my best guys into my office, I briefed them all of their mission, and their objectives. At first, they were surprised to find out that I’m hiring them to kidnap a simple boy for the sake of his safety.

“Are you sure this is necessary, madam? He’s just a boy,” One of my men questioned.

“I’m paying you all to do a job, not ask questions. Is that understood?” I sternly asked and he nodded.

“Welp, as long we’re getting paid, who cares?” One of the men mentioned and I grinned.

“Good, that’s what I like to hear from you, but remember I want him alive, and if I find a single scratch on him, I’ll deduct half of your shares,” I warned and they nodded.

Leaving my office, I looked at the photo that I took of Y/N while we were eating at the restaurant yesterday.

I don’t know what came over me when I first saw him at the grocery store, something about him drew my attention, and I felt the need to protect him from all dangers of society.

Please forgive me, Y/N, but this is for your own good...

Y/N’s POV

Yet another boring shift at the store as it was very slow because it wasn’t a busy hour as mostly everyone was working.

Taking this free time to work on the back stock, there was little to do there as the shelves were full and I didn’t want to cram them or else I’ll look ugly.

Anyway, I sat in the back out of camera range going through Instagram on my phone to pass the time.

That was until I heard multiple footsteps walking inside the back but I paid no mind as it was probably my co-workers... Or so I thought.

Glancing up, I got a glimpse of a group of men wearing trenchcoats and sunglasses and they were walking around like they were searching for something or someone.

“Fan out! Once you’ve got visual confirmation of the package, call us, and will converge to your position!” One of them ordered and they split up.

Shit looks like they’re seeking something and they do not look friendly at all. Hiding behind one of the shelves in the warehouse and I see a man examining the area.

“Hmm... No sign of the target here, moving on,” The man confirmed and left me alone making me sigh in relief.

Peeping out of the shelve to make sure the coast was clear, I quietly get out of the shelve and head to the nearest fire exit.

Unfortunately, the fire exit was closed to two of the thugs keeping a sharp eye out, so I needed to create a distraction or find some sort of weapon.

Looking around the warehouse for any objects I could improvise as a weapon, I examine the tool drawer and grabbed the hammer.

“Yes, now I might stand a chance,” I said to myself.

“Hey, stop right there!” I heard a man bark and I turned around to face the man.

“You’re coming with me!” He said and I swung the hammer at his head.

The impact of the hammer made him crash into one of the shelves making all the can goods collapse onto his body.

Making a run for it, I was stopped by two more thugs this time armed with brace knuckles.

“Hold on, we cannot hurt him, not even a scratch, you heard what the boss said, right?” He asked and he sighed.

“Fine, but this better be worth all of the trouble!” He replied.

The boss? Who the hell are they talking about? I didn’t do anything to anyone so why are they sending thugs to kidnap me?

Anyway, I swing the hammer all over the place and they backed away at a safe distance and I continued to run.

“Stop him!” One of the men yelled.

Bursting through the fire exit, the fire alarm automatically went off grabbing the attention of everyone including the thugs pursuing me.

Fucking hell, I gotta lose them or else God knows what’s going to happen to me if they catch me.

Taking the car keys out of my pocket, I unlock the car, got inside the driver's seat insert the key into the ignition switch but the damn rust bucket wasn’t starting.

“Start you pile of shite!” I yelled as I kept turning the key.

However, it was no use as the windows busted open as the thugs swung a baseball bat at the window and dragged me out of the car.

“Enough games, kid... Tie him up,” He ordered and the men tied my arms and legs.

They carried me to their van, opened the back doors, and threw me in the back. I started to fear for my life as it was over and I wondered what I did to deserve this.

Hearing the engine turn on, we were on our way to who knows where, probably someplace that is far from civilization.

“Good call sabotaging the engine. Otherwise, we would have to charge the boss more,” I heard them.

“Haha! Piece of cake and easy money grab,” He replied.

Damn, so that’s why my car wouldn’t start in the first place because one of them must’ve done something to the engine.

About twenty minutes later, the van stops, I heard the men step out of the vehicle and open the doors.

One of them dragged me out of the back, untied my ankles allowing me to walk, and they harshly pushed me signaling me to get moving.

Following the group of thugs to what appears to be a luxury mansion surrounded by a garden and a security gate.

The leader goes up to the gate and hits the doorbell, the security camera focuses on him and the gates open.

Greeting us, was another group of men dressed in all black, wearing security earpieces, and sunglasses as one of them held a briefcase.

“Hand over the package,” The guard ordered.

“Nu-uh, money first,” The thug replied.

The guard holding the briefcase comes forward, unlocks the hatches revealing millions of won to verify it was all legit, and closes it.

“If that’s enough assurance, hand him over, and will take it from here,” The guard ordered and the thug pushed me towards them.

The guard hands over the briefcase full of money to them and shuts the gate in front of them.

“This way, Mister Kim,” The guard directed and I followed him.

Walking through the garden, it was well kept, and surely whoever the owner is, must be hella rich.

Once we reached the entrance, the standing guards opens the door for us, and we walk through.

I was mesmerized by how fancy this place looked, chandeliers, maids working in the mansion, and of course a staircase.

We walked up the stairs, passed by many doors that lead to all sorts of rooms I assume, until we reached a double door.

The guards opened the door, gestured for me to go inside, and I did what they say as there were no escape routes.

At first glance, it was a huge office, there was a fireplace, bookshelves, and even a large window giving a view of the garden outside.

“Please have a seat,” A feminine voice said.

Taking a seat in front of the strange dark figure sitting in the shadows, I was deeply unsettled as to what this woman has planned for me.

“I hoped my hired bodies didn’t leave a mark on you bringing you here... Did they?” She creepily asked and I gulped.

“N-No, I’m perfectly fine,” I answered.

“Great, now that’s out of the way, next would introducing ourselves, but won’t be necessary in this case... Right, Y/N?” She asked as she came into the sunlight revealing her figure.

“N-Noona?! Y-You did this?!” I exclaimed and she giggled.

“Yes, I did, but it was the only way to keep you from harm's way of my rivals, it was my fault to drag you into this situation, I should’ve known that those scumbags are always watching me and I was certain that they about you so I’m taking responsibility for my mistakes by bringing you here for protection.” She explained.

“W-Why from them? What are you?” I frantically asked.

“Because... I’m the boss of the biggest mafia clan in the entire country! Many want me dead so they can take my place and have all of the power to themselves. I have enough manpower to start my criminal empire and not even the government can’t stop me since they’re so easy to bribe.” She answered and my eye widened.

“N-No way! You’re lying!” I accused and she scoffed.

“Ever heard of the notorious criminal, the Death Angel?” She asked and I nodded.

“Y-Yeah, it’s all over the news,” I answered.

“Well, you just so happened to be talking to her~,” She replied as she reveals the tattoo on her chest and it’s the same one that I saw on the news.

“I-Impossible...” I softly said and she sighed.

“Right, I’m sure this is a lot to take in so will things slowly but for now, I promise you will be safe here as long as you do exactly as I said, understand, darling~?” She asked and I gulped.

[kamalaism]

Why? (1000 words) by kamalaism Summary: Drunk in a bathtub.

The air is hot, stuffy in here. When the denim jackets of the dancers aren’t itchy against her skin, it’s there - brushing, teasing, stifling until she can’t take it any more.

Mary’s sigh is exaggerated, her red lips pouting, as she makes her way off the dance floor. Slip. Slide. Step.

So much for that.

Amused, her friends are waiting on her. She pulls herself to sit atop the wooden table they cluster around, the dark cloth beneath her crinkling as she wiggles.

Sirius offers a steady hand to stable her, clammy cold against her hot skin. There’s no calluses from long hours of Quidditch. It’s like a bucket of ice dousing her. 

Words are slow to form, syrupy, “Where’s James?”

He doesn’t stand in the group, not shooting that sparkling smile to Sirius, not looming beside Remus, not with an arm around Pete’s shoulders.

Suddenly, she is acutely aware the feeling of his eyes on her back had long since disappeared in the crowded room. The hairs on the back of her neck are settled. She doesn’t want them to be.

Sirius, the gall of that man, offers her a sharp glint of teeth, “Missing your lover-boy already?”

Oh, she could strangle him, if that wouldn’t scratch up the long pale neck of his she’d helped him dress to accentuate for a certain Italian.

She settles for cracking her knuckles anxiously, the pop too loud in her ears, “Jealousy isn’t pretty, Siri. Where is James?”

The bastard leans dramatically on top of Pete, using him as an arm rest. His mouth opens as if to speak something infuriating, before Peter shoves him off with little care.

Squawk.

Sirius is on a pile of gangly limbs on the floor, tugging at Remus’s trouser leg to crouch steadily. Peter pays no mind, an absolute angel, “I think he went to the bathroom, Mare.”

Remus interjects, “Ten, fifteen minutes ago.”

She’s up before he even finishes the sentence. Her heels click clumsily against the floor, and as she sorts herself out, she narrowly avoids impaling one of their’s toes. The shoes all look the same, details blurring - she can’t tell who’s.

Offering a lazy wave, she marches.

”Hey!”

Oh, it was Sirius. When’d he get back on his feet?

Shouldn’t she be doing something? Oh, wait, yeah.

Ehh… She’ll apologise later, since it’s him.

The steps are daunting, and her knees scraped. Absently, her hands tug her pink patterned skirt down, nails digging into her palms when the tight, thin material refuses to budge more than an inch.

Stumbling down a hall, she barges the bathroom door open with her body, taking a minute to blink.

It’s not locked….?

Her eyes had automatically averted to the ceiling, what someone insane as Sirius would call prudish. Taking a breath, she counts the tiles for a moment, working up the courage.

No one had cried out in alarm. Her ears prickle. It doesn’t even sound as if someone is breathing in here. But, the boys said James was here.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Mary freezes. Her head swings to the steamed windows. The movement makes her topple.

She falls sideways, hip banging first against the side of the bath before sending her lurching in.

Shutting her eyes as she waits for the impact, they reluctantly open as she realises she’s fallen onto something soft.

What a strange bath.

It’s warm, but in the way of an autumn breeze that carries the last ray of summer, not oppressive.

Its soft, like the jumpers she steals, fluff against her skin with that wondrously woody scent.

It’s wrapping around her waist in an embrace.

It’s wrapping around what-

“Mare.” A deep voice rumbles, and she’s close enough to feel the vibrations in his chest. He snuggles closer, messy hair flicking her cheek.

”James.” She sighs at first, bewildered, but the more she thinks, the more sideways it seems - a warmth grows in her chest. It branches, tickling all her sensitive spots until she’s curled over giggling, “James.”

It really isn’t that funny. His laugh echoing in her ears, his large frame following the curve of her back with not an inch between them, his callused hands supporting her fluttering stomach, begs to disagree.

“James, what are you doing?” She asks between peals of laughter, punctuated by a snort.

”Sitting in a bath,” is his deadpan response. His glasses have been discarded to the other end of the bath, where his ankles cross over hers. She wants to see those dark eyes of his bare.

Mary turns, blinking slowly as they come face-to-face. Her nose brushes his, with his head tilted down from when it was resting on her shoulder. He doesn’t move it.

The dark brown really is beautiful, too blackish to be called hazel but with those bright flecks that can’t be anything but. She counts fifteen of them, at least.

They could make a game out of it. Out of staring into his eyes…

He mumbles, looking a tad sheepish, his lips stretched wide, “Sorry… for…” James makes a vague gesture on her stomach, tracing a faint circle, fingers barely lifting.

It’s only sensible. They need to consolidate warmth after all. It’s chilly, so chilly a shiver wracks up her spine.

”It’s fine,” she replies softly, gaze flickering across his face. “I quite like it here.”

Thats his cue to grin that dazzling smile, pressed against her neck. Her heart sets a steady thump.

Laughter turns to choking turns to wrestles.

It stays comfortable through the night and into the early hours of the morning, until Sirius stumbles into the bathroom for a leak, dragging a bleary Peter along for moral support to watch the shadows, and the commotion has Remus creeping out his room.

As always, her boy is last to wake. They don’t realise, however, as she hides her soft smirk into his chest whilst he cradles her, fielding Sirius’s dramatic questioning.

”What do you mean you just woke up cuddling in the bath?!”

[greenofhue]

You're my people

just a thorfinn fic I wrote, still a wip so plz enjoy :)

Things are quiet. I watch as the fractured pellets from the bucket bounce off the back of my hands. I clean off the last remains of the fish before hanging it to dry. Smooth creaking of wood as the wind glides along the walls of this cabin. I stare into the fireplace, cracklings as it swelters. Glowing and leaving an orange hue along the floorboards. The silence let's my thoughts flow. Guilt, regret. It's so thick during times like this. I don't deserve the silence, the peace. This cabin isn't mine. We took it, like the people we are-

-Before I know it, the quiet is gone. The wooden door creaks open and from the outside blows in a frigid gust. He's stumbling into the room. Face bloodied and beaten, jaw set like a dog ravaging in all it's misery. For a moment I just stare at this scene. Even though I've seen it dozens of times by now, it still always manages to send my stomach twisting. He's angry, seething almost. His head is downcast as he's stares at the snow clinging to his boots. Blood dripping, blooming like crimson flowers as they drop onto the floor. I catch a glimpse of his face through his hair, a new bruise forming along his eye and cheek. His old dagger clamped in his hand, knuckles going white from the grip.

Another duel lost. Added to the list of many. It's not something new, since we were kids Thorfinn's always done this. Chasing a victory that will never come. Something to put an end to this endless revenge. He's spiraling down something unimaginable. I know it, he knows it too. It's all he is, all he's ever been. One of these days it will cost him his life -yet there's a rage so prevalent it's almost palpable- I wonder if it already has. I can barely even recognize him sometimes.

But he's here now. Standing in the doorway. He hasn't said a word, eyes set on the dagger in his palm; his father's dagger. Uncanny how such an object could hold so much to it. I move towards him. Wood creaking under my boots, filling the silence.

Years of this. Of watching this. I can't stop the frustration from clawing at me.

"Why do you keep letting him do this to you?" I breathe, taking another step closer. "You know how it always ends."

I can see how he sucks in a breath, brows furrowing at my words. But he knows. All these years we've spent together, I'm not one to bite my tongue. Still, he brushes past me.

"You don't know. You'll never understand it." His voice is painfully quiet. Brittle almost. I turn, watching as he rummages through the cabin, searching for something to bandage himself up. His eyes are distant. I know he's a million miles away by now, yet I can't stop myself from pressing on.

"You're the one that doesn't understand." I echo back in sharper tones, hoping that my words get through that dense mind of his. "He's using you."

He heaves in a breath, drawn and centered. "Just stop." His voice is low, warning me to drop it. He's still looking away from me, avoiding me.

I ignore his attempt to ward off the topic, drawing nearer. "How many more times untill Askeladd gets tired of you? Throws you away like some piece of-"

"I have to do this." Thorfinns voice cuts through mine, stopping me in my tracks. He turns to face me. And I can clearly see the damage now, only it's not just physical. "I need to-" he stops as if he's holding something back. "I just have to." His words are loaded.

Perhaps, it is a suggestion far too sudden, yet these fostering feelings I can only wish to suppress are too strong in this moment. "You don't need to do anything," I reason. "You don't need to be here, fighting for him."

"What about you then?" He shakes his head, footsteps echoing on the wood as he approaches me. "You fight for him too. Why don't you leave? Why are you even here?"

My brows knit together. "You know I have nothing for me. Nothing out there," the words are flowing before I can even stop myself. "But you.. You have a family, a life waiting for you."

A family, a life. The words seem to linger on my tongue. Something I can only see in my dreams. Something so fickle, unrealistic for me. But for him- It's real, it's there waiting for him; yet all this time he's been running from it?

His eyes widen, body and stance stiff. From the way his stare bores into mine, I know I should've kept my mouth shut. Still I continue, trying to save my skin even just a bit.

"You can go anywhere, find your family because you actually have one." I pause for a moment, the silence engulfs us. Desperation is evident as I utter the question; "How many else can say the same?"

The words are sharp when Thorfinn finally speaks. "Then you go find them then." His voice is cruel, cracking like embers from the fire. He doesn't mean it when he speaks. "Let them be your family, your people."

And he's pushing me away, pushing everything away again.

Yet my chest is rising, stunted. I finally breathe out the words. Letting them sink as the crackling in my voice flares. "You're my people. Cant you see that?"

And It's way this his stare drops downward. Hands curling at his sides that I can see as his mind seem to fill with lost memories; images of a past long faded away.

The silence is steady, the only thing breaking it was the wind howling around the cabin. Even the fire seems to have died down. Hazel eye stare at the way my hands clench and unclench; his gaze is awfully distant.

All this arguing and Thorfinns still bleeding. Chest struggling with shallow breaths. I swallow hard, listening to the wind in silence. Eventually I drag my feet to the small table, bucket of water and a rag in hand. Cleaning the bruised, bleeding. All the stains of war carved into his features. Deep and shallow. You can't run from it.

This life has no pity on us.

I feel my arm being pulled. He's looking at me now, searching my face. I feel my hand hovering over his chest. Hesitantly, I allow it. Allow for Thorfinn to push my hand closer, fingertips brushing the fabric of his tunic. He places my hand onto his heart. It's warm. It's hammering against my palm. Rhythmic, a force of life. Yet there is something so tired and angry about the way it pulses.

I know it. Maybe he knows that too.

"This is my purpose. I need to do this." He barely whispers. "So let me."

And all I can push out from my chest is, "You're wrong. You always have been."

[something-about-sunflowers]

Alright, *cracks knuckles, back, pussy, crack, etc* more trailer to break down.

Mirror image of the shot in the teaser? Was it flipped for a reason or are we getting more than one scene like this? What boat are they on? It's not the dinghy, not the revenge (I don't THINK?), and they're not dressed the way they are with the Chinese pirates. (Red scarf presence noted.)

Speaking of: Is this 'Susan' he's talking to? This has to be early on, he's not got his cunty little earring yet. (Just trying to nail SOME of the timeline down, you understand.)

Scarf. Feeling more and more sure it's Ed's silk.

Oluwande 💚. The way this dialogue is cut seems like they're skipping something, the way Olu says 'you dumped him' doesn't flow with the conversation the way it would if it was a immediate response to Stede's 'no, why would he do that?'

Presented without comment.

They're eating the wedding cake. :)

This is presumably happening while Ed is throwing knives at Izzy's head. :(

Anyway. This looks like they're definitely trying to get Blackbeard to stop -

- doing this so they can get through the storm or tell him something's gone wrong. Maybe Izzy's foot/leg gets real bad during the storm? Could be a lot of things.

Initially I thought this might be a precursor to him menacing Frenchie in the one shot in the EW article, but that's in the galley not Stede's cabin and this is a bucket full of bottles (alcohol) and with Frenchie it's a box with bottles (containers, possibly food but I think it looks more likely to be medicine)

(for reference)

I think this is in the auxiliary wardrobe, bride figure in the top right.

Izzy looks MISERABLE here. Whether it's the idea of him knowing EXACTLY why they're at a wedding or because he's in a hell of a lot of pain (foot still present and infected and all that) or some unfortunate combination of both (likely both), I want to wrap him up in a blanket burrito and give him forehead kissies. Also, wider shot here lets me update who's where on the topdown, so:

Jim

Izzy

Frenchie

Fang

Archie

Unnamed bald one with the studded bracers behind Izzy in the previous shot

Ed. Ed you are like. Consistently seen smoking from a pipe. You can't handle a blunt? Or is the weed too dank? Also, pretty sure this is him and Anne and/or the person she's with in the shots a bit after this.

This is why I thought it might have been the shot from the EW article but again, different container with different miscellanea and different room. He. Does seem to be. Interacting with Frenchie a lot though. And. This instance seems very specifically similar to. To him interacting with. A certain someone else. In season 1. . . I'm not saying Izzy's out with a case of Leg Gone and Ed's leaning on Frenchie in the aftermath. . . but.

I feel this so hard. We've all been there Ed. Anyway I'm pretty sure this is the same place he's smoking with mysterious, mostly offscreen, light skin-toned hand person who may or may not be Anne and/or her friend. (No scarf.)

Genuinely I feel like the nose staying on his face would look more believable without the ribbon. Lucius didn't need a ribbon for his finger. Maybe if it was horizontal as opposed to diagonal? It looks LOOSE and that makes it seem like it's not secure enough to be staying on his face like it is.

Deserved (the punch). My baby's leg tho. :'(c It's not even the right height for him. Look how he's gotta bend his other leg just standing.

Olu fighting someone???

Bracer looks like guy number 6 from the wedding raid but this doesn't look like it's on a ship. This guy also seems to have a beard or something that the other guy didn't so idk.

Cracked the code here thanks to @tizzyizzy pointing out something in my server. I was right about this not being during the storm. I was wrong about it being a possibly mutiny. I'm gonna jump a bit ahead in the trailer in a sec to explain but: Ed's got a rock tied around his waist here. You can see the rock at the bottom of the screen.

You can see the line go taut and pull him down.

You can see the rock continue to pull him down. (The rock is right at the bottom of the screen.)

Jumping ahead in the trailer and. Well. Rock with some rope tied around it. (Once again, thank you Tizzy 🙏 you eagle eyed hero) The lighting certainly matches better than the storm did. The question is: Is Hornighost trying to talk him into it or out of it? (And. Yknow. Is he a ghost at all, even?)

Back to where we jumped from. Are these guys wearing the same clothes as the guy Stede 'did a punch' to? Looks like it. *Black Pete voice* What IS this fucking timeline!

Love that Izzy is the only one who doesn't duck away. Also 👀 Lucius spotted. Is he holding hands with Jim? He certainly seems comfortable positioned right between the two little killers doesn't he? ;3c

'Oh no my boat :'(c' Is anyone still on board or did they take a dinghy and get outta there after the storm?

This.

(New promo pic.) This.

(Skipping ahead in the trailer.) And this, are all the same version of Stede. The outfit (weird little arm flappies, red sash) and location are the same. This is absolutely a dream sequence. Stede is dreaming about being the kind of pirate he wishes he was. I'd also venture as to guess this is the extent of his 'revenge on Izzy' that Some Of You are all so clamoring for.

[Out of allowed images, please hold]

[thelaisydazy]

Mama's Boy - Chapter 3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Petra "Mama" Mayfield

Previous Chapter ┊ Next Chapter

Tap. Tap.

Petra rapped her knuckles against the frame of Captain Price’s door, seeing the captain sitting at his desk through the open door. The older man had been smoking his cigar and looking over some paperwork. He looked up seeing the medic standing in his doorway. Price was a good bit older than Petra, she’d guess at least a decade but she couldn’t be certain. He sported a short, well-kept beard, mostly dark brown with a few flecks of gray. His hair was the same color as his beard and it was cropped short and usually covered by a bucket hat. In many ways he reminded her of her father back home, a hardass at times, but he clearly cared for the team and usually greeted them with a smile that looked all too goofy on his face.

“Mama,�� he smiled, his eyes crinkling as he did. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Several things, sir,” Petra said, not matching the pleasantness in his voice, she stood stiffly across the desk from him. She did her best to keep from scrunching her nose up at the smell that wafted from his cigar as it made her stomach churn. “First, when Laswell told me about the team, she mentioned I was being brought on as a combat medic. But the team has gone on several missions since my arrival and I’ve remained on base for all of them.” Petra caught herself a moment later, correcting her posture to stand straight, arms folded at her back, shoulders squared. “Being cooped up in the clinic isn’t exactly what I’d signed on for. I was made to believe my skills would be needed on the field as well.”

Price was quiet for a moment, taking a long puff of his cigar. “You’re right,” he said, blowing out thick smoke. “In all honesty, we don’t have a medical team here. I’d rather not put the only medic we have in a position to get injured herself.”

She tensed at his words. Despite it being an hour or two later, Ghost’s words still burned in her ears. You're our only medic. We can't afford to have you laid up for a few days.

“That brings me to my other issue,” Petra said. “If there is so much of an issue with risking me out on the field, why not have another medic on base?” She paused for a moment as another thought dawned on her. “Honestly, sir, if your intention from the start had been to simply have a medic to keep the clinic running smoothly, I would have rather gotten my discharge finalized.”

Price seemed taken aback by this, his eyes widening. “Now, I never said anything like that,” he said defensively, putting his hands up in defeat. “I know this isn’t exactly what you signed up for. I’m grateful you’ve stuck around this long Mama.”

“Don’t Mama me,” Petra’s voice was sharp, words spilling out despite herself. She stepped quickly forward, pressing her palms against the desk with a sigh. “Please, just give me a chance at least. I have more skills than just counting supplies and tracking Ghost down when he thinks he doesn't need medical attention.”

Captain Price was quiet for a moment, placing his cigar down on the ashtray on his desk. His face was that of understanding, though Petra could see a flash of annoyance in his eyes at her tone. The medic stepped back a few paces, standing at attention again, apologizing quietly.

“You’re right, Petra,” he finally said. “We haven’t been giving you the chance to show us what you can really do. I’ll look for a second medic to keep on base. In the meantime, how often do your duties in the clinic need to be fulfilled?”

Has it been this easy all along? Petra asked herself. “Ideally, counts should be done daily,” she started. “However with how few of us there are, every other day should suffice as long as the clinic is kept locked when it isn’t in use.” She saw Price shift, about to speak. “I can set up a small first aid kit with some basics outside the door if anyone needs anything simple.”

The older man nodded thoughtfully. “Alright. Then on the days when you aren’t doing counts, I want you training,” he said. “Mornings you can work on hand-to-hand combat and in the afternoon you’ll be on the range. How’s that sound, lass?”

“Perfect, sir,” Petra said, satisfaction rising in her chest.

“Good, we start tomorrow with your training,” Price nodded, picking up his cigar again. “Might take a few weeks to get a new medic out here, but I’ll see what I can do. Now get your counts done.”

“Yes Sir.” Petra turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Sir,” she said. “If I may, I’ve worked closely with Whip from Ankara. He’s a good medic and he won’t mind being stuck on base if need be.” Price nodded, jotting the name down on a notepad.

---

Petra stood in the clinic, carefully counting the supplies and medicines they had stocked. She made notes of what she’d need for the first aid kit: bandages of varying sizes, antiseptic wipes, antibacterial ointments, and a small bottle of over the counter, generic painkillers. Anything that required more than that she’d need to deal with herself anyway.

A styrofoam cup filled with coffee appeared on the counter beside her.

Petra turned quickly, seeing Ghost standing there again holding a cup of his own that looked far too small in his hand, balaclava still concealing his features. The medic raised a brow at him, picking the cup of coffee from the counter, sipping the bitter drink, and ignoring the way it burned her tongue.

“I didn’t take you for a coffee guy,” she said, turning back to her count.

“It’s tea,” Ghost answered. She didn’t have to look at him to know he was watching her with those dark eyes of his. “Price said you were starting training tomorrow.”

Petra clicked her tongue as she finished counting a shelf, scribbling down the numbers.

“If I can’t handle a run, right?” she quipped back. She brought the coffee back to her lips, sipping it. “I was thinking of asking Gaz or Soap for help with hand-to-hand combat. Roach is good with guns, right?” Ghost only hummed in affirmation. “I might get his help on the range then.”

There was something in his dark eyes as he watched the way her thumb stroked the warm Styrofoam cup she was holding, something she couldn't quite read. She might've been able to, had it not been for that damned balaclava he always wore. Another quiet moment passed as the two drank the warm liquids in their cups.

“Why the sudden interest?” Ghost broke the silence, still watching her, observing. In the few months she’d been with the team, she’d never so much as mentioned going into the field.

Petra hummed over her coffee. “I’m not used to being cooped up,” she answered simply. “I was about to be discharged when Laswelll recruited me. Figured if I’m going to stay enlisted, I might as well get the most out of it.”

“Discharged? You were going to leave?” His question didn’t come as a surprise, she’d been one signature away from heading home when she joined the task force.

“Needed to get away,” Petra barely explained, she leaned back against the counter, finishing the last of her coffee. It was strong. She didn’t say much about her reasoning for leaving the military, letting her quick response hang in the air, though she could see understanding in Ghost’s eyes. “I need to get back to work. Thanks for the coffee.”

---

That night at dinner, Petra sat in the common area with the rest of the team, it was one of those rare nights where everyone was eating together. Gaz had made a trip into the nearby town, returning with enough food for everyone to share. Chinese. Petra was seated on the beaten couch next to Roach, legs tucked under herself as she bit into a few vegetables. The room was quiet. Soap, Gaz, and Price were all at the table eating, Ghost in a chair a little further away, his balaclava pulled up over his nose. This was the most Petra got to see of his face, the contour of his jaw and the tiny bit of light color stubble over his chin.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention, Petra turned to Roach, who motioned like he was holding a cup. She nodded as he stood and walked to the fridge, and retrieved a pair of water bottles. She thanked him with a motion of her hand as he returned, twisting the lid off and drinking a few gulps.

Over her shoulder she could hear Soap and Gaz talking, Soap’s thick Scottish accent making it difficult to understand what he was saying. He was one of the shorter members of the task force, though he was still much taller than Petra. His blue eyes caught Petra watching him.

“Yer not fixin’ to throw another shoe at me are ya, lass?” he shot through a mouthful of noodles. Despite his annoyance earlier that day, Petra could tell he’d calmed down and had now taken to teasing her about the incident.

She grinned at him. “Yeah, I was trying to figure out if my aim was good enough to hit that stupid mohawk of yours without getting Gaz in the process,” she teased back. She could see Price shake his head, a bad attempt to hide his smile as Gaz turned in his seat.

“I brought everyone dinner, I’d rather not get hit,” the sergeant pleaded, pressing his palms together and bowing his head. Gaz had darker skin and the shadows of a black mustache, his black curls were hidden under his cap. “But please knock that thing off his head.”

“Away an bile yer heid!” Soap barked.

“English! MacTavish,” Ghost grunted in annoyance from across the room, his eyes sharp on the man.

“Sorry sir, let me translate,” Soap snapped back, turning his glare back to Gaz. “Go fuck yourself.”

Behind her, Petra thought she heard a chuckle from Roach as he reached out a hand giving a thumbs up.

“Better,” Ghost rumbled, returning to his meal.

Captain Price stood up, chuckling and shaking his head. “You lot have far too much energy for this late in the evening,” he said. “I'm off.” The captain left the room then, heading for his quarters for the evening.

When everyone else had finished eating, Soap fished a few beers from the fridge. He slid one across the table to Gaz and tossed one to Roach. Ghost, as always refused the beer, opting to make himself a cup of tea instead. Soap offered one to Petra who shook her head.

“You don't drink, Doc?” Soap asked, raising a brow.

“I don't make a habit of it,” Petra replied. “Occasionally I like tequila.” She laughed when Soap twisted his face, complaining that tequila tasted of dog piss.

“Next time we go out drinking you're coming with us, lass,” Soap beamed.

Petra could just picture the Scotsman drinking entirely too much, ending up with a hangover the next morning and begging her for something for his headache. In the few times the guys had gone out for drinks since she’d arrived, he’d had a hangover every time.

“Sounds like a blast,” she rolled her eyes as she spoke. Though, it wouldn’t be the worst idea to spend a little time with the team, especially if she was to join them in the field soon. A warm mug of coffee slid into her hands, making her turn green eyes up to Ghost as he walked back to his chair near the corner of the room. Petra paused, taking a sip, the warm liquid radiating through her body, calming her and clearing her mind, jogging her memory. “I had a chat with Price earlier about going on missions with you guys, he said I needed to get some more training in before then. Mornings working on hand-to-hand combat and afternoons on the range, I’d really appreciate some help getting back up to speed.”

There was a tap on her shoulder. Roach signed his willingness to help eagerly as he grinned over the neck of his bottle of beer.

Gaz turned to face the couch, raising his hand slightly, his face questioning. “Hold on,” he said. “Not that no one wants you coming with us, but if you’re training all the time, who’s taking care of the clinic?”

“It's gonna be locked up when I'm not in there,” Petra explained, sipping at her coffee again. She might regret the caffeine so late at night, but the taste was so soothing and warm she couldn't help it. “But I'm going to leave a first aid kit with some basic supplies in it in case something happens, and if there's anything serious I'll just open the clinic and take care of it. In the meantime though, Price is looking into getting another medic on base.”

Soap clapped a hand on her back then, nearly making her spill the coffee and eliciting a glare from Ghost. “Well lass, I'll be happy to help you with the combat training in the morning,” he said, a wide grin on his face.

The medic looked up at him sharply, noting his beer was already half empty. She was grateful he was willing to help her, but she half expected him to be too hungover in the morning to be of any real help. Still, she nodded her appreciation.

---

A few hours later, Petra and Ghost were herding the sergeants to their dorms, the former giggling as Gaz and Soap half stumbled down the hall. The lieutenant was less amused, hanging back and grumbling as Ghost could hear Roach snoring from where he'd been thrown over the broad man’s shoulder.

After ushering Gaz and Soap into their respective rooms, Petra opened Roach's door, allowing Ghost to carry him inside, dropping the young soldier on the bed before rejoining Petra in the hall.

Petra was shaking her head, holding back a giggle and smiling. “I'd hate to see what they're like out at a bar,” she joked.

“About the same,” Ghost rumbled. He turned dark eyes to her, the mask over his face giving nothing away. He lingered in the hallway for a moment before turning and starting to walk away.

A short while later, Petra found him outside as she was bringing a bag of the night's garbage out to the dumpster. He was standing near the backdoor, back leaned against the wall, a lit cigarette between his lips.

“Those things can kill you, you know,” she said, raising a brow as he turned to look at her. The two of them stood there in silence for a while, staring each other down. Then Petra held her hand out, leaving the bag of garbage on the ground next to the door.

Ghost watched her for a moment, his lidded eyes questioning before he relented, holding out the cigarette and tensing as he prepared to be scolded by the medic. Instead, his eyes widened with surprise as Petra brought the cigarette to her lips, taking a drag and blowing out the bitter smoke. He watched as her shoulders relaxed a bit and some of the tension left her body.

“I didn't expect you smoked,” he said, fishing a new cigarette from his pocket and lighting it.

“Were you expecting me to scold you?” Petra asked, a smirk playing on her lips.

“A bit,” Ghost replied, flicking some ash from his cigarette. He watched her a few moments longer, allowing himself to take in the way she looked. The frizzy dirty blonde curls, still damp and barely tamed into a low bun at the back of her head. The tired but focused look in her green eyes. She always looked so determined, resolute in whatever task she set herself to. This afternoon in the gym had been the first time he’d seen those eyes falter.

He’d spotted her running on the treadmill when he entered for his own workout. Admittedly, he stopped and just watched her for a while, the way her body moved, the way the softer parts of her moved just slightly more with each step. Her eyes had lost focus though, looking as if they could see clear through the wall of mirrors in front of her. He’d walked closer then, keeping his eyes on her, waiting for her to notice he’d approached her, but she didn’t. Instead, in her daze, her steps faltered and her legs started to give way.

Ghost sprang forward then, scooping the small medic up and placing her all too gently on the concrete floor. His heart pounded in his chest like a freight train. It felt as though he’d been holding his breath when her eyes finally looked at him, focusing again.

Perhaps he’d been too harsh in his reaction, but he felt no need to apologize for his actions. The task force didn’t need an injured medic.

“What’s the real reason you’re suddenly so interested in going on missions?” he asked, watching her snuff out the last of the stolen cigarette. “If you were so upset about not getting discharged, you would have left by now.”

“I don’t like feeling like I’m not doing anything,” Petra said. She bent down, her small hand wrapping itself around the top of the garbage bag she’d carried out. “I need to feel useful, you know?”

Ghost nodded his understanding, blowing out another puff of smoke. “You waited three months to speak up?” he pressed.

Petra put a hand up. “It didn’t sink in until earlier today in the gym,” she said. “I’ve been here three months and I still don’t exactly know what you guys do out there. I haven’t been off of a base in even longer, I think it’s been six months.”

The lieutenant was quiet again, he stood away from the wall, bending and taking the garbage bag from her, his large hand brushing over her smaller one as he did. Petra drew her hand back, looking up at him again as he effortlessly lifted the bag and carried it to the nearby dumpster before returning to where he’d left her by the door. The two of them lingered there for several long, quiet moments, the smell of cigarettes between them.

“You are useful, Mama,” Ghost broke the silence. His gaze was heavy on her, holding her in that spot with the weight his eyes held alone. “Roach was in bad shape when you first came here, you nursed him back to health, helped him get his strength back. And a few days ago, you might have saved my life as well. Don’t doubt yourself.”

Petra softened as she caught the usual coldness in his eyes briefly thaw as he spoke. She tore her eyes from him, looking to her boots instead.

“Thanks Ghost.”