#Recon Patch

[societyfolklore]

That Was Mine

Title: That Was Mine

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You’ve held it together all day. The final straw? Someone stole your snack. Bucky makes sure you know you’re still allowed to fall apart -  but only for him.

Word Count:  3k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, established relationship, comfort sex, soft dom!Bucky, oral (f receiving), praise kink, emotional softness, body worship, panties pushed aside, slow grind to ruin, smutty kitchen sex.

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo for Spring Bingo Sorry I'm late to start this! Will have them all up in June! :)

Square: A4 -  Stolen Snacks

Card Number: AAS001

You stared at the empty space in the cupboard like it had personally betrayed you.

You’d held it together. Through the botched recon brief that ended with you getting shoulder-checked into a wall. The two-hour debrief with Fury that circled the same five points and still managed to assign you clean-up duty. Through training drills with Natasha that left your muscles screaming, a cracked tablet that shorted out mid-field report, and a stray pulse round from testing Tony’s gear that seared through your glove. Through trying to calm a panicking rookie in the med bay and brushing off Steve’s attempt to talk about team morale while your ribs throbbed from the fall no one noticed.

But this?

This was too much.

Your last chocolate bar. The one you’d shoved to the back of the shelf, behind the rice cooker like a goddamn dragon hoard, and even labelled.

Gone.

You felt the tears before they came. That tight, angry pressure in your throat. The prickle behind your eyes. It was more than frustration, it was the weight of everything you'd swallowed down all day finally pushing up from your chest. A battle cry turned into a whimper.

You hated it.

 Hated crying over something so stupid, hated how this tiny, ridiculous moment had cracked the dam you’d patched together with stubbornness and caffeine.

Your breath hitched. The cabinet blurred. You clenched your fists tighter. Maybe if you stood still enough, quiet enough, you could push the feelings back down where they belonged. Somewhere deep. Somewhere no one could see.

That’s how Bucky found you. Still standing there like a statue in mourning,  shoulders drawn tight, fists white-knuckled, eyes locked on that empty shelf like you could will the universe to give you one goddamn break. Just one.

“Doll?” His voice behind you was soft. Careful. Like he already knew something wasn’t right.

You blinked, throat tight and eyes burning. “Fine.” It came out too fast, too brittle.

He stepped closer, his footsteps quiet on the kitchen tile. “Sweetheart…”

“They took it,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

“Took what?”

You sniffed and gave a shaky little laugh that didn’t reach your eyes. “My chocolate.”

He paused, one long second where you could feel him processing that. Then, with a low, understanding note in his voice. “Oh.”

You still didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. The heat in your cheeks was too much, and the tears were already pushing harder. “I just wanted one fucking thing today,” you said, the words gaining a tremble. “One thing. And someone… I don’t even know who, but someone went in and…”

Your voice cracked. A tear fell before you could catch it. You scrubbed it away with the back of your hand, furious at yourself for crying over something so small, but it wasn’t just the chocolate. It never was.

His body pressed in close, not just touching but anchoring, like he was stitching you back together with every inch of contact. You felt the brush of his stubble as he dipped his head closer, his breath warm against your ear.

“I got you,” he murmured, voice low and sure like it was a promise. “I got you, baby. Just breathe.”

You turned into his chest, burying your face in his shirt as more tears spilled free. His arms wrapped around you without hesitation. No teasing. No judgment. Just strength. Steady, unshakable warmth. You could feel his heartbeat through the fabric, solid and calm, syncing with your own stuttering rhythm like it was trying to coax you back to yourself. He smelled like leather and soap and something uniquely his. That grounding, familiar scent that always made you feel like home was wherever he stood.

He didn’t rush you. Didn’t ask what was wrong or try to fix it yet. He just stayed there, solid as ever, letting you feel every heartbeat in his chest and the slow, steady rhythm of his breath like it could replace the storm in your own.

He held you there for a long moment, rubbing his hand up and down your back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head without needing to say anything more yet. Just being held like that made your chest ache in a different way, an ache that felt like the release you'd been holding back all day.

“You wanna yell?” he asked, finally, his voice light but sincere. “We’ll go down to the training floor- think most of them are there- you can scream at every single one of those snack thieves until you feel better.”

A wet laugh hiccupped out of your throat. It surprised you, but you didn’t fight it. “It was probably Peter.”

“I’ll drop-kick him. Promise.”

That earned another laugh, softer now, your fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. You could feel his smile against your temple before you even looked up. And when you did, you caught the full picture- his brows drawn with worry, his jaw tight like it physically hurt him to see you upset, and his eyes so full of quiet love it made your knees go weak.

Every inch of his expression said it plain: You are safe. I’ve got you. I always will.

“You’ve had a hard day, huh?”

You nodded, swallowing back a fresh wave of emotion. Your lip trembled again, and this time you didn’t fight it. It felt like if you said even one word, everything would crack wide open again. Maybe you didn’t have the energy to pick the pieces up this time.

Bucky saw it. He always did. He didn’t push, didn’t fill the silence. Just stayed steady and warm at your side.

“Then let me fix it,” he said gently, brushing your hair behind your ear. His voice dropped even lower, like he was speaking to something raw in you. “Let me take care of my girl.”

You expected another hug. Maybe a kiss on the forehead. Maybe for him to lead you to the couch and tuck a blanket around your shoulders, like he sometimes did after a mission that ran too long or left you rattled. You expected soft words and gentler hands. The kind of quiet that didn’t ask anything from you.

But what you got was more. A presence that didn’t just hold you together, it reminded you that you didn’t have to be perfect to be loved. That your breaking point didn’t scare him away. That he’d carry it all if you let him.

You didn’t expect him to grip your hips and lift you onto the kitchen counter.

“Bucky- ” you gasped, palms braced against his chest, heat flushing up your neck. The cold countertop under your thighs only made his warmth feel more intense, more consuming. Like a fire had started under your skin and only he knew how to tend it.

But he was already stepping between your knees, lifting your skirt with slow, deliberate care. His fingers skimmed your thighs like they were something fragile, like he had all the time in the world to unwrap you, gaze locked on yours with a hunger that sent sparks straight through your core. Every brush of his knuckles sent goosebumps racing up your legs.

“You think you gotta hold it all in,” he murmured, lips grazing your jaw, his voice like velvet and smoke. “But you don’t. Not with me. You don’t have to be strong right now. You just have to be mine.”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then lower along your jaw, down your throat- each press of his lips a quiet promise. You could feel the devotion in each one, like he was spelling out his love with his mouth, soothing away the hurt one kiss at a time. His hands moved under your underwear, warm and certain, fingers spreading you open with aching care, reverent like he was learning you all over again and loving every second of it.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, voice lower now, thumb brushing slow, perfect circles over your clit. “Let me take care of that. Let me make you feel good, baby. Just let go.”

“Bucky, someone could- ”

He dropped to his knees.

Right there- like it was the most natural thing in the world. His broad shoulders framed by the spread of your thighs, his blue eyes already locked onto your face with that look that always undid you. Soft hunger. Absolute focus. The kind of reverence that made you feel like a temple he’d worshiped at a thousand times before and still found holy.

He pushed his hair back from his face with one hand, jaw tense, a little smirk curling one corner of his mouth like he knew exactly what he was about to do to you. Like he was proud of it. Of you. Of how wrecked you were about to be.

“You didn’t get your chocolate,” he said, breath hot and heavy against your soaked folds. “So I’m giving you something sweeter.”

Then his mouth was on you.

Hot. Wet. Filthy.

His tongue dragged upward in one slow, claiming stroke that had your head knocking back against the cabinet. Then he did it again, circling your clit like he had all the time in the world, savoring every reaction. His lips wrapped around you and sucked with the perfect amount of pressure, after all, he’d memorized the way your body begged to be touched.

You gasped, legs trembling, one hand flying to the edge of the counter, gripping it for balance as your other dug into his hair. He groaned at the contact, the sound vibrating straight through your core. The smirk you’d seen moments ago returned against your skin, devilish and pleased with himself.

“God, look at you,” he murmured, pausing only long enough to drag his tongue flat over your slit.  His lips brushed your clit again as he grinned. “I know you wanted chocolate, but fuck- you taste like candy.”

Then he dove back in.

He devoured you like it was his sole purpose in life. Like your pleasure was his mission and he had no intention of failing. His metal arm wrapped securely under your thigh, holding you wide and open for him, while his flesh hand slid up your stomach to your breast, fingers curling over it possessively as he groaned against your cunt.

Tears blurred your eyes again not from grief this time, but from how completely he meant it. From the way he worshipped you with his mouth, like this was his heaven. Like he needed this more than breath.

You couldn’t stop the sounds spilling from you, gasping cries, sharp breaths, needy little sounds you didn’t recognize as your own as his tongue worked you harder. Faster. Each stroke more precise, more demanding. Your hips tried to jerk away from the intensity, but he growled and tightened his grip, locking you down.

“Uh-uh,” he rasped against your swollen clit, slick with spit and need. “You take it. Take what you fucking need. Let go for me, baby.” 

And you did.

You shattered for him; loud, messy, legs shaking as your orgasm tore through you, slick flooding over his mouth. He didn’t stop. He moaned like he was the one coming, mouth locked to you as he coaxed every last aftershock from your body.

Only when you sagged back, breathless and twitching, did he slow down. His lips softened their rhythm, moving with care now, peppering soft, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, the kind that made you shiver from tenderness rather than urgency. He murmured praise between each kiss, like he couldn’t help it, like worship was the only language he knew.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he whispered, licking his lips with a slow, satisfied drag of his tongue. His face glistened with you, and he wore it like a badge of honor.

He kissed your thighs again, then trailed up to your hips, stroking your sides with reverence. He nuzzled your skin like it was his safe place, his temple, murmuring against the shell of your hip, “Could stay here all day, baby. Right here, tasting how good you are. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His hands never left your body- constantly caressing, grounding, reminding. His metal fingers curled around your thigh possessively while the other swept gently up and down your waist. You felt utterly surrounded by him, like there wasn’t a single part of you he hadn’t claimed.

He looked up at you then, pupils blown wide, lips swollen, his expression dazed with devotion. Like he hadn’t just eaten you alive but knelt at your altar and meant it.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, voice ragged and thick with love. “No one gets to take from you. Not while I’m here. Not ever.”

And you believed him. Because when Bucky touched you like this- held you like this- he didn’t just give you pleasure. He gave you proof.

Proof that someone saw you. Fought for you. Loved you enough to hold the pieces no one else knew were broken.

Because when everything else went wrong…Bucky always made sure you still felt right.

When  you finally blinked through the haze, he was standing again, unzipping his pants with that same look in his eyes.

Oh-  Bucky wasn't through yet. 

He leaned over you, kissed you slow, then deeper, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His cock pressed hot and heavy against your thigh, and when his hand gripped your jaw, his voice came low and reverent.

“Wanna fuck my sweet girl now. Gonna fill you up slow…make you feel everything, baby.”

Your breath caught as he guided himself between your thighs. Then he placed one firm hand on your ass and slid you forward across the counter, dragging you closer to the edge until your legs dangled more, your core perfectly aligned for him. The sensation of the heat of him pressing forward made your head spin.

And when he pushed inside, slow, stretching, claiming- you swore he moaned louder than you.

“That’s it,” he groaned, forehead to yours, hips rolling deep. “Just like that.”

He rocked into you with slow, sinuous thrusts, hips rolling in smooth, deliberate motion as if he had no interest in finishing quickly, just in working you open, keeping you full, keeping you right there on the edge. Each pass stroked that aching place deep inside- your thighs tightening, breath catching, every nerve singing like it had been tuned to his rhythm.

“Right there, yeah?” he rasped. “I feel it. You clench so good when I hit that spot.”

His hand smoothed up your spine, the other gripping your ass to keep you pinned just where he wanted you. He didn’t pound, he rolled, deep and deliberate. Deep and slow, hips pressing tight against yours with each drag of his cock, like he wanted to replace every ache and frustration you’d carried today with the stretch of him.

“You don’t need a sweet treat now do ya?” he murmured against your cheek, voice thick and low. “Not when I can get you high like this. Give you every endorphin your pretty little body’s been begging for.”

And when he pressed into that spot again- again- until you panted and quivered for him, you stopped caring who might walk in. Stopped caring about anything except the wet, slick sound of him inside you and the way he whispered, "Gonna wash all the bad day away, yeah? Gonna let me do that for ya, doll? Gonna let me take every ounce of tension and fuck it right outta you?"

The rhythm of him built gradually, rising like a wave pulling you under- his hips rolling, staying deep, making your breath stutter and your nails curl into the strong slope of his shoulders. Each drag of his cock pushed you higher, stretched you further, until all you could do was cling and shake and feel.

When he adjusted his angle, grinding down into that tender place inside that had you gasping every time, the one that made your legs twitch and your stomach tighten, dragging a helpless, high-pitched whine from the back of your throat- you broke. The orgasm crashed over you, hot and sudden, your body pulsing around him in tight, desperate waves.

Bucky swallowed your cries with his mouth on yours, kissing you through it, devouring every sound you made like it was his favorite dessert.

“Good girl,” he growled, voice shaking. “Just like that. Fuck- gonna give it to you, baby. Gonna fill you up nice and warm, yeah?”

Buck jerked, moaning into your mouth as his hips snapped once, twice, before he spilled into you, thick and deep and perfect. You both shook, breathless in the kitchen, bodies slick with sweat and love and everything unspoken.

His hand brushed your jaw as he whispered soft words against your lips. “So good for me. My perfect girl. Took all of it.”

Then he stepped back just enough to grab a paper towel, cleaning you up with gentle care.

You stayed on the counter, legs still trembling, smiling and a little fucked-out, watching as he fixed his pants with that stupidly smug grin like he’d just won something sacred and maybe he had.

“I’m sure I’ve got one of your snacks in my room,” he said, voice still husky but playful. “Let’s get you back there… we can shower and snuggle, and you can tell me everything- or we can just watch a movie. End the day right.”

He stepped in close and lifted you easily off the counter, one arm under your thighs, the other around your back like you weighed nothing. You curled instinctively into him, nuzzling into the warm crook of his neck, your breath still uneven, your heart still stuttering from everything he’d given you.

“Bucky Barnes,” you murmured, your lips brushing his skin as you smiled, “better than chocolate.”

He chuckled low, chest vibrating against yours. “Damn right I am.”

[axolotl-in-highheels]

Guess who's baaaack

Yes, it is I, and i bring you more of my horribly selfindulgent shit.

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Little A/N:

I think this fandom has a huge problem with making 'readers' usually female, straight up victims and it is jarring to see the 141 operators sometimes treating the 'reader' as some pretty object.

So! I am on a mission to fix that with making the 'reader' have a proper backbone (titanium baby!)

And with that i bring you...

◇

Task Force 141 x uninterested!Reader

Premise: the 141 boys are head-over-heels for you and are letting it out in some not-cool ways and you are having none of it!

DW/Tw: possesive behavior

Capt. Jonathan Price

He is actually the calmest out of all of them, still, he has his issues

Price gets overprotective over you, normal at first. Checking in with you after missions and being a shoulder to cry on if the nightmares catch up to you

However...after a while, things spiral. He starts putting you into less and less direct combat situations, from taking the sniper perch to being assinged purely recon and oversight

And worst of all, he is your commanding officer, so you have no real room for backtalk

Even worse, he gets worse privately too. He is around you almost all of the time, scaring off other male soldiers and dragging you into his office for benine reasons

At one point, you break. Combat, once your save-haven, now a distant memory. No more adrenalin spikes while under fire, just boring drone footage and comm oversight.

So, one night, you pack your shit and leave the SAS base. Erasing your tracks through shady contracts and grey areas, you go AWOL.

Price is spiraling now, urging higher-ups to find you, to bring you back where he can see you, where he can control you.

Now, imagine his utter horror when, one day, you emerge on a battlefield, gun in hand, and with a wolf-patch on your vest. Your new life, at KorTac.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Oh he was smitten with you, prettiest bird on base, always smiling at him like he hung the moon in the sky.

Everytime you talked to him this little voice in his head grew louder and louder. He wanted you to be his and how could you resist him? His smile, his personality, hell his everything.

In his eyes you were meant for him. So he started talking to you, a lot. Sure it was nice at first, he gave you tips in the shooting range or sat with you in the mess hall when you were alone.

Yet, you never tried to get closer than 'just friends' with him, you made that clear on multiple occasions afterall. But Gaz was determent, if you didn't want him now he was obviously not trying hard enough

So he doubled down, soon he was glued to your side like gum. Never giving you room to breathe. Still, you held firm, you two are friends nothing more, nothing less.

Seeing his attempts fail over and over, Kyle made a decision, he was gonna make you jealous. Setting his plan in motion, he met up with a lot of girls, civillians mosty, but sometimes a cute new nurse or two.

He was going strong by all means, telling himself it was a matter of time before you came crawling to him, wanting him in your bed.

However, that fell apart like a jenga-tower the day he saw you limping out of Lieutenant Riley's room, covered in hickeys and wearing his shirt, while flashing him a coy smile. Two could play that game, and you won.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Oh soap, poor little soap. He actually knew you, pretty well infact. The two of you were good friends, having met back in basics at the age of 19.

He only saw you occasionally when he was on a brief shore-leave between missions, meeting up with you and letting you ramble about your job in the 'regular' british army

If he was being honest with himself, he didn't like seeing you in such a rough field of work, sure, you were nowhere near his level of life-threatning but still.

Rarely, he voiced his opinion that you should leave the army and become a civillian again, working at a coffeéshop or a bookstore, something soft.

He only had good intentiones but his constant rebuttles and fairytale-like imaginations for your life got annoying quick. Paired with his sour demeanor everyrime you mentioned a new person you were talking to.

After a while of his incessant nagging at your occupation and not-so-suble hints that he's interested in you, you made a decision, one you should have made a long time ago.

You went to the SAS training, 6 months of gruelling physical activity, and torture training combined with little sleep. But you persisted, and were in the 10% success rate. You made it, an SAS soldier.

And by all means you were a natural, leadership came very easy to you and after a few short years of keeping johnny in the dark, you walked into the briefing-room with the rank Captain, ready for action.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon, Simon, Simon. Where do i begin. You were the newest face in the 141, being brought in as a Sergeant to work alongside them.

He didn't think too much of you at first, you did your job and that was all that mattered to him. Sure, you got along well with Soap and Gaz quicky becoming a part of the team.

Over time, he noticed you trying to get closer to him. Offering to train with him or making him a cup of Earl grey in the mornings.

Ghost really tried to not let you invade his thoughts, he was your CO and fraternization is a real danger in his profession but alas it didn't work and he fell for you, hard.

At first he went along with you, training with you and joking around sometimes.

But it quicky spiraled, after some time you came into his office just to work with him or came into his room just to talk if you had a nightmare. Slowly your belongings mixed into one another. You stole his oversized clothing or a pencil, he let you of course, he'd give you his heart if you asked.

But he bever made a move, always pulling back at the last second. When it got too personal he'd shut you out for days on end until you came knocking at his door again.

Yet, things like this never last. So one day, when he was avoiding you again, you had enough. One last time you dropped by his room, when the door finally swung open, you dropped all his stuff into his arms and left. No goodbyes or second chances, Simon, in all his avoidend behavior, blew his chance.

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So, that was it, i'm not too pround of it but eh.

Anyways if you liked it lmk or you can vent what pisses you off about some CoD fanfic tropes i'd love to hear it.

If you want to request something in a similar direction go ahead i'd love to write it!

Thank you and stay tuned

[mayday2007]

Daryl Dixon nsfw alphabet

A/N: This is my first time writing smut and posting it on the internet for people to see, so be nice or imma hunt ya down (jkjk). Likes and reblogs are always appreciated. P.S if you see any mistakes, no you don't.

~

A= Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Contrary to popular opinion, I think that Daryl wouldn't quite get the whole concept of "aftercare" in the beginning. I think that all the poor guy has for reference is porn and Merle, I also recon that he was a virgin. Merle's preferred sex session was a "fuck-and-dump", so Daryl didn't think it was normal for people to "bask in the afterglow". But, eventually, with your guidance, he realised that it wasn't too bad, and gave it a go. Now, he can't have sex and not give you water and cuddles afterwards.

★

B=Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and their partners)

I think Daryl is more of an ass kinda guy. Sure, he likes looking at tits as much as the next dude, but there's something about a woman's ass and hips that draws him in. He likes to squeeze, and grope, anything to get him and you to cum.

He likes his arms and his hands. No two ways about it. I think he likes them because, I mean, they're handy. They are one of the sole reasons why he's helpful. Because he's good with his hands, and he's strong. But he doesn't just like them because of that, he likes them because you've said on multiple occasions that you like them. It makes him feel like a big, strong man.

★

C=Cum (basically anything to do with cum)

Daryl Dixon is a certified creampie lover. He can't help it. It's in his nature. It's just so warm and tight, he never wants to leave, so cumming inside you is his go to thing (if you guys don't have birth control pills, he'll wear a condom, but only until you find another pack, then he's cummin' inside at LEAST three times).

★

D=Dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

He's waiting impatiently for the day that he has the courage to ask you to try bondage with him. The idea of his hands being bound, tied to a chair or bed and having a blindfold on so he can't see shit makes him horny as fuck. Like, he has wet dreams about it. He's laying on the bed, hands and ankles bound to the bed, and a blindfold on while your straddling his lap, doing whatever comes to your head to him... You've woken up in the night to pee and seen him, face flushed and a MASSIVE wet patch in his pants (underwear).

★

E=Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

Like I said in the first one, I think Daryl is a virgin. He's got all his info about sex from Merle and porn. I mean, he done drugs before, he's jerked off before, but never has he had the opportunity to sink his cock into a woman's tight heat. He just couldn't bring himself to do it. Couldn't find a woman he wanted to give his virginity to. So, he remained a virgin until you came around, then he was fucking you like he should've done when he was a horny teenager.

★

F=Favourite position (this one goes without saying)

I recon cowgirl is his go-to. Like, he's in a daze when your ontop of him, riding him to your heart's content, bouncing eagerly and chasing your high while he just lays/sits there, head spinning and barely being able to form a coherent sentence. But, if not cowgirl then either reverse cowgirl or missionary. Reverse cowgirl has him seeing stars within a record time of about a minute and missionary feels more romantic, like he can connect more with you on a physical and sexual level. For some strange reason, I think he doesn't like doggy style, I think he thinks it's disrespectful.

★

G=Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humourous? etc.)

Too far gone off the deep end of pleasure from the moment he's buried to the hilt inside you to fully comprehend what's going on around him. It scares you sometimes how oblivious he is to the goings on around him. Like, a tree could fall down in your backyard and he's pleasing for you to let him cum.

★

H=Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes?)

Not groomed at all. In fact, I'd even go as far as to say he hasn't shaved since he tried it once when he was 19. He found a razor and tried it, but he didn't like the way it felt, so he never did it again, not that you mind. The carpet does in fact not match the drapes, and is a slightly lighter shade of brown compared to his hair.

★

I=Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He likes to be intimate, but again, the poor guy hasn't a clue what he's doing when it comes to sex, so he tries his best. Once, he found some scented candles and lit them in time for you to come home from whatever chores you were doing that day. Sex lasted a long long time that day.

★

J=Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When he first met you, it was a rarity to see him out of his tent/house/apartment because he was constantly jacking off thinking about you. He'd never been as horny in his life than he was when you both fist met and began to know eachother. He was constantly inside, stroking his cock and allowing himself to freely fantasize about you: what you would smell like, how you would say his name, his fast or slow you wanted to go with him, the works.

★

K=Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Bondage. Has never done it but wants to do it. He's got a dangerous cream pie/breeding kink too (you can't have one without the other I will bury myself on this hill). He also got a fascination about you choking him. Just, being in your grasp trying to cum with limited oxygen sounds hot to him. But, poor baby's too shy to ask.

★

L=Location (favourite places to do the do)

In bed. It's safe, comfortable and your bathroom isn't too far away. I think he'd be down to do it in the woods, not just because of the primal aspect of being connected with nature or whatever, but like, the woods have been more of a home to Daryl Dixon in his whole life than a house ever was. But, anywhere you want to, he's down. Except in public, the risk of getting caught turns him on a bit but the sensible part of him speaks louder than his dick in this scenario, so he wouldn't be able to do it.

★

M=Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going?)

You, the essence of you, your shampoo and conditioner. Just, standing completely still, arms crossed listening to or watching something and shifting your weight from one foot to a other has him rock hard and ready to go. Like, you could just be sat down and this man is all over you. He's just a horny guy.

★

N=No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

Hitting you. Because he had a childhood where being physically punished was a regular thing, he's gone off physical violence completely. I don't even think this man can watch and action movie with too much violence in it, he'll get uncomfortable or have to look away. That's why whenever he has conflict with another human being, he'll keep physical violence to a minimum and opt for shooting them in the head instead. Also, hardcore degradation is an absolute no-no.

★

O=Oral (preference in giving or recieving, skill, etc.)

He prefers to give, eats you out like it's his favourite meal. He's rock hard from the moment he licks the first wet stripe up your dripping wet heat, grinding his hips into the mattress to relieve some of the pressure building up in his cock. When he's on the recieving end, however, it's a whole new story. He's whimpering, holding onto your hair and making a makeshift ponytail so he can bob your head up and down his length, causing you to choke. He doesn't mean to make you gag on his length, but when you suck him off as good as you do, he can't help it.

★

P=Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

To be honest, he starts off every time you have sex slow. He wants to be romantic and sensual, so he tries to take it slow. But, you moaning underneath/ontop of him and the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin has his head in a daze and he can't help but let his body take control and pound into you hard and fast, too eager to make you and himself cum.

★

Q=Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He'd do it, but only if it was safe and you had enough time. He fumbles with his belt when you have quickies. You undress like you've been practicing, only making him harder and fumble more with the belt that he'd somehow end up doing up tighter rather than ridding himself of it.

★

R=Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes and no. Yes, because he doesn't want it to be "just sex", he wants it to be fun, and a good time for both of you. But, no, because he hasn't tried it. It took him so long to finally get acclimatised to having sex, since it was so new to him, so why wouldn't it take him long to try something else that was equally as new to him.

★

S=Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Ages. He lasts so long it feels inhuman. At first, he just has one round and leaves, but the more he gets used to it, the more time he's willing to invest in it, the more he's going to put into it and the longer he's gonna last. The regular "fuck" lasts about an hour, and that's only the regular. Sometimes, he comes home and can't do anything else until he's fully rid his mind and body of stress, which can sometimes take a while.

★

T=Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Nope. Absolutely not. He doesn't see the point of it. He enjoys sex enough, so why bring toys into the equation? Also, it's the apocalypse, where the hell is he going to find a sex toy? It's not just that, either. Sex was a whole new thing for him, it took him a while to get used to, and I don't think he'd want to go further than the basics.

★

U=Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Like I said before, I think he'd be too far gone in his visit to cloud 9. But, if he was topping, I think he would tease. Saying foul shit like "ma dirty girl, ya like that?" "ya wanna cum all over this cock, huh?" "wanna fuck your man so badly, don't cha?"

★

V=Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Now, unpopular opinion: Daryl is a moaner. Think about it, he's a quiet man, barely has anything to say during any conversation, no matter how captivating it might be, so it only makes sense that he comes home and has his lover bouncing eagerly on his cock, it just has the poor man in a trance, so he can't help but let out a little noise.

★

W=Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He wants to fuck while your wearing some of his clothing (specifically his angel winged jacket). I think that the sight of your smaller frame in an article of his clothing would make him feral.

★

X=X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

Baby boy is THICCC wid a triple 'c'. A good length without being stupidly long, so I'd say a good 5-6 inches while soft and a good 6-7 inches fully erect with a slight curve upwards, perfect for hitting that one spot inside you that has your vision blurred and specks of white adorning the outside.

★

Z=Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Well, it depends. If you've been going at it all night, he'd flop down beside you, and be dead ass asleep before he even had a chance to catch his breath. If it's the regular, he'd lay beside you, puffing while his head rests on your chest/your head rests on his chest. He falls asleep fast after the regular if your playing with his hair. Something about it relaxes him I to another dimension of sleep.

★

Tags:

@holdmytesseract @liliesdiary @vaniniweenie @dixons-sunshine @janiehellion @marvelcassey05 @ophelialaufey

[chaoticsolsworld]

Hi!

Could you do a story about Danny as Manny Alvarez and reader as a couple that wake up to someone trying to break into their home and they have to defend themselves?

“Stay Behind Me”|Manny Alvarez x Reader

Author’s Note: Manny Alvarez x fem!reader. Thank you for the requests! Was kinda having Writer’s Block.

CW: violence, blood, gunfire. Home Invasion. After Joel’s death.

Reblogs appreciated!

You’d been living in a second-floor apartment just outside WLF barracks. It wasn’t much…just brick walls, ration sheets taped to the fridge, and a broken balcony door that never quite locked but it was yours. Yours and Manny’s.

Being with someone in the WLF wasn’t easy. Missions could pull you apart for days. Nights could end with a knock and orders from Isaac. And trust….? it had to be earned every single day.

So when you heard the first knock, soft, rhythmic, calculated….your eyes snapped open.

Then came the twist of metal. Someone was testing the lock from the outside.

“Manny,” you whispered, nudging his shoulder.

He was already turning, groggy but alert. His hand slid instinctively to the pistol beneath the bedframe.

“You heard that?” you asked.

He nodded. “Three clicks. Like we do on recon.”

“WLF?”

He frowned. “If they wanted us out, they’d say it to our faces.”

A quiet pop came from the back, a silenced round. It missed, embedded somewhere in the wall. Manny was on his feet immediately, grabbing a shirt and motioning you behind the heavy armoire in the corner. It used to be your hideout during drills. Tonight, it was your only cover.

“Stay there. Don’t move unless I say.”

His tone didn’t leave room for argument.

You slid into the shadowed gap, breathing shallowly as the lock finally gave with a click.

Two figures entered.

They were masked, not Fireflies, but not official WLF either. Their gear was scavenged. One had a rifle. The other, a pistol and a knife. They moved like soldiers but not trained ones, more like ex-members or raiders.

Manny crouched near the hallway, using the dark to his advantage. He counted the steps. One heading toward the bedroom. One sweeping toward the kitchen.

When the first one passed the doorway, Manny pounced.

He grabbed the attacker by the neck, slammed him into the concrete wall hard enough to stun him, and twisted the pistol from his hand. It hit the floor and skidded toward the dresser where you were hiding.

You crawled fast, grabbed the weapon, flicked off the safety. Your hands were shaking but steady enough to cover Manny as the second attacker burst into the room.

“Drop it!” you shouted, gun raised.

The second man flinched but didn’t stop. He fired once, missing you by inches before Manny shot him clean in the thigh. He went down screaming, blood pooling fast.

The first attacker wasn’t so lucky. When he reached for his knife again, Manny didn’t hesitate.

One shot. Silence.

The screaming died down to ragged breathing.

You stepped into the light slowly, eyes wide. “They’re not Fireflies.”

“No,” Manny said, crouching beside the dying man. He yanked the patch off his vest. “They were WLF.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Why would one of our own—?”

Manny’s jaw clenched. “Ex-WLF. Probably pissed about what happened at the Forward Base. Or looking for leverage.” He glanced at you. “Or looking for me.”

He grabbed your coat and handed you your boots. “We have to go.”

“But where?”

“Anywhere but here. We’ll head toward the marina. Nora owes me a favor. And if this was a hit? We’re not safe in this sector anymore.”

You didn’t speak as you packed, just moved quickly, silently, knowing how this world worked. You zipped up the bag with your spare rations and ammo and looked back at the room. Your home. The coffee mug Manny always used. The crooked picture frame he never fixed. The spare blanket that smelled like him.

Gone now.

He took your hand at the door, fingers blood-warm and steady.

“We stay alive,” he said. “You and me. No matter what.”

You nodded, and the two of you vanished into the cold, damp dark of Seattle’s early morning, where trust was dangerous, and love was the only thing you could keep

[vampireimiko]

his circus

warnings, none :3

note, i need bucky so bad plsplssplssplss

“Be nice,” Bucky said, nudging your side as you stood outside the compound entrance.

“I am nice,” you replied, brushing your hands over your jacket anxiously.

“That’s the problem,” he muttered under his breath, but there was amusement in his voice. Bucky was a little nervous introducing you to Steve, but only because he knew how similar the two of you were—soft-spoken, gentle, the type to apologize when someone else bumps into you.

When the door opened, Steve Rogers stood there—warm smile, steady presence, American flag vibes radiating off him. He offered his hand, and you shook it politely, a little overwhelmed.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Steve said.

“All good things, I hope,” you replied with a small laugh.

“Too good,” Steve nodded. “Thought Bucky was making you up.”

The two of you clicked almost immediately, chatting quietly about books, old movies, and being the type of person who holds the door open for people ten feet away. Bucky leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, watching you both with a smirk. Bucky found it hilarious that you two even spoke in the same careful tone and made the same faces when confused.

“They’re bonding,” he muttered to himself. “God help me.”

Everything was fine until the mission. A quick recon, barely any combat expected—except the intel was dead wrong.

The second things went south, you and Steve exchanged one quick look and bolted into the fray, shields up (well, yours was energy-based, but close enough).

“No—no, no, no—why are they running in?!” Bucky shouted, chasing after the both of you.

Later, when the dust settled and everyone was patched up, he slumped down on a bench between the two of you, who were smiling like you hadn’t just nearly gotten yourselves blown up. Bucky constantly jokes that it’s like having two Steves around—and while he pokes fun, he’s clearly endeared. He loves how well you two get along.

“I’m dating you,” Bucky said, pointing at you. “And I’ve been friends with him—” He jabbed a thumb at Steve. “—for too long. And somehow, both of you think ‘cautious approach’ means ‘charge in screaming with good intentions.’”

You and Steve looked at each other, then back at Bucky. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?” you offered.

Bucky threw his head back and groaned.

additional note ! who wanna buy me the fortnite bucky skin 👅..

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞��𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

[silens-oro]

My Bitter Hands (pre-Well Enough Alone Companion Piece)

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk)

Animal Kingdom Masterlist Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist GirlDad!Pope Baby AU Masterlist

General Synopsis: Hawk has her first date Word Count: 3.1k Content Warning: typical animal kingdom warnings AN: I'm giving y'all a genuinely pre-WEA companion piece with this one 🤭 this was supposed to be posted earlier tonight, but I kept going back and doing edits. please comment & reblog :)

1992 “What the hell are you doing?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing, Barry?” Hawk waved the spade in her hand around before digging back into the patch of weeds in one of Smurf's raised beds she had along the fence of the back yard.

“Looks like you’re playing in the dirt.” 

“Then your eyes do work. Worm?” Hawk offered, squinting up at him while holding the wriggling creature up between two of her gloved fingers as an offering. 

“I’ll pass.” Baz grimaced. “Julia around?” Hawk put the worm in a metal coffee can full of dirt with a couple dozen others she had found that afternoon and kept weeding and pruning the various plants that Smurf had around the backyard.

“She was sleeping the last time I saw her.” Hawk said with a shrug, yanking out what didn't belong. “Wasn’t feeling good when I came home.” Baz made a humming sound, but stayed put. 

“Pope usually does all of this,” He waved his arm around to the yard.

“Pope hasn’t been around lately and it needs to be done. I also like doing it.” Baz made a face she didn't see.

“Since when?” He questioned.

“Since before my mom kicked the bucket. I did have hobbies that didn’t include general crime before I moved in here, you know that right?”

“Worms were your hobby?” Hawk sighed, glaring at Baz. 

“Unless you need something, I’m clearly busy, Baz. Julia’s inside -go bug her.” She grinned to herself at the unintended pun. Baz squatted down next to her, but Hawk kept weeding and pulling out worms to add to the can. Baz glanced over to the open bedroom window a few feet over where he knew Pope was watching and listening from. This was recon, after all. 

“I heard you’re going out with Pete McKay tomorrow night.” Baz cut right to the chase. Pete McKay was a junior along with Hawk and Baz. He was tall, with dark hair and warm brown eyes that Hawk occasionally found herself entranced by when they had more in-depth conversations. Pete's smile was imperfect, with the tiniest of gaps between his two front teeth, and Hawk was bewitched by it. His smile was genuine and it was one of the first things she noticed about him.

Pete was smart, kind, and he played baseball (he'd be on the varsity team this year, she had been told during one of their lunch conversations) during the season. He wasn't really a jock, not by the school's standards anyway, but he enjoyed the sport and was looking to get some kind of college scholarship with it when the time came.

“And who’d you hear that from?” Hawk wasn't trying to play dumb, but she also didn't want to have this conversation with Baz.

“Who do you think?” Blabbermouth Julia, Hawk sighed. Julia was the only person she told, and of course she was going to tell Baz about it. Baz happened to know that Pope was going to spiral when he found out, because if there was one person he knew inside and out, it was Pope -and Pope was infatuated with Hawk. 

And Baz, ever the shit stirrer, had planted that seed with Pope to get him to do something before he lost his chance with Hawk to goddamn Pete McKay of all people. He just needed to hear Hawk talk about it to give him the push he needed. 

Pete was the first guy at school to openly show interest in Hawk, and the first guy to have the courage to ask her out. They shared two periods together -chemistry and pre-calculus, and Pete was Hawk’s personal chatterbox for both. Hawk and her chemistry partner sat in front of Pete and his partner’s bench, and Pete liked to yap with anyone and everyone -Hawk most of all when he could.

He had been outwardly friendly to her when they started the year and Hawk had considered Pete a friend, and she genuinely thought he was funny and easy to be around. He called her by her actual name and Hawk was surprised to learn how much she missed hearing it when all she heard day in and day out was the atrocious nickname Baz gave her -it was baggage. Being around Pete was freeing in a way compared to the group she usually hung out with outside of school, that much was certain. 

When Pete grew the courage to ask her out when they were hanging in the quad during their free period the day before, Hawk said yes. Why wouldn’t she? There was a lingering shadow in the back of her mind that told her there was a reason to say no, but Hawk chose to defiantly push that thought further back into the recesses of her mind. Andy, the ever present shadow in question, was never going to see her the way she saw him and as much as she’d like to wait for him, she also knew it was a one sided crush on her best friend’s twin brother who barely gave her the time of day to begin with. 

Hawk felt like a creep whenever she was in the vicinity of Andy. Andy, because he allowed only her to call him that. It sounded different, felt different, coming from Hawk. He liked it, and Baz teased him mercilessly about it when it was just the two of them. 

Pete had been surprised, shocked even, when Hawk said yes, but he took the victory with a goofy smile and told her he’d pick her up that Friday. 

It was halfway through her junior year of high school and Hawk felt like she was finally getting some sense of normalcy that she always chased -even if it was going to be through an awkward date with an equally as awkward boy. It felt like a right of passage. 

Pete was cute by anyone’s standards and he had a good head on his shoulders. He came from a normal family and didn’t look down on her for her own bleak situation. Pete also knew Hawk was heavily associated with the Cody’s -Pope and Julia had been expelled the previous school year and Pope’s departure was the biggest thing to happen at school that semester. Julia slowly faded off until she just didn’t show up anymore and the only people who seemed to notice her absence were Baz and Hawk. 

Hawk did not associate with Baz at school for more than a few words here and there in passing when she had to, so when she didn’t have Julia and Pope (by extension), she was pretty much a loner aside from a few people she knew but didn't really know. High school -which was already a miserable experience- was made even more desolate once Julia and Pope were gone. Hawk was friendly, likeable, but poisoned to everyone else because of them and just because they were gone, that didn’t mean their influence wasn’t still there. 

“If you already know, then why are you asking me?” Hawk, to her credit, did try to keep the attitude out of her tone.

“Just trying to figure out what you’re doing.” He said with a grunt as he stood back up.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hawk followed his lead, tossing her gloves off. She dusted her knees off and glared up at the gangly teenage boy who always seemed to get on her nerves just a little bit easier than any other person in the house. 

“Come on, Hawk. Pete McKay? The guy’s-”

“Nice? Funny? Cute? Interested?” He scoffed. 

“Soft.”

“And? There’s nothing wrong with that, Baz.” Hawk crossed her arms over her chest.

“You really see yourself with Pete McKay, Hawk? Out of everyone?”

“Everyone? You mean the line of nonexistent guys who are lined up to take me on a date?” She blinked up at Baz.

“I’m just saying, don’t settle.”

“Christ, I’m not marrying the guy, Baz! I’m going on one date. One. And if it goes well, then two. Might get crazy with it and actually make him my boyfriend! Who knows?!” 

“Boyfriend? Are you that desperate?” The laugh that bubbles out with his question immediately ticked Hawk off. 

“Fuck you, Baz.” Hawk glared at him as she brought the pile of weeds over to the trash barrel. “Maybe I want to be wanted, is that a fucking crime? I can’t spend my days locked away in here in the hopes that something happens. At least Pete McKay had the balls to ask me out. God forbid I take an opportunity when it’s given to me.”

“Pete McKay isn’t an opportunity, Hawk. He’s beneath you.”

“Beneath me?” She scoffed, her voice raising. “What are you talking about? He's a goddamn baseball player for Christ's sake!”

“He’s an outsider!” Baz matched her volume. 

“We’re outsiders, Baz, in case you forgot! We are not family.”

“Yes we are, Hawk.”

“Listen, outsider or not I’m going out with Pete tomorrow night, alright? I don’t know what your weird hang up with this is, but I don’t fucking like it.”

“I heard yelling. Is everything alright?” Julia stepped outside from the kitchen, eyeing Hawk and Baz. Hawk stormed her way back to the house, passing Julia before she yelled over her shoulder:

“Keep your shitbag boyfriend out of my business, Julia!”

Hawk’s legs were stretched out in front of her as she sat on the curb outside of the gate that effectively blocked out the rest of the world from the Cody residence. She couldn’t go inside -she wouldn’t. Hawk couldn’t bare to see the smug look Baz would give her because he was right. She waited…and waited, then waited some more before she realized Pete really wasn’t coming. 

Hawk couldn’t understand it. Just earlier that morning Pete was talking to her in between classes about how excited he was to take her out to the Valley drive-in, asking her what she’d rather go see. 

“Dracula?” Pete asked, giving Hawk a double take.

“We can see something else, like Army of Darkness if that’s more your speed.” Hawk shrugged. “Unless…” She trailed off coyly. 

“Unless what?” Pete narrowed his eyes playfully at her, leaning closer

“You’re squeamish,” She whispered with a grin. Pete blew a raspberry at her.

“I’m not squeamish…most of the time.” Hawk laughed, holding her binder and chem book to her chest as they walked across the quad to the science building. “If it’s what you want to see, I’ll give it a shot.” He smoothly took the items out of Hawk’s hands and held them for her in one arm before putting his other arm over her shoulders.

“That is very brave of you.” Hawk giggled, leaning into him as they walked.

"You can always hold me if it gets too scary, so it's a win either way for me." Hawk full on laughed, pushing Pete playfully to the side.  

Pete was supposed to pick her up two hours ago and he never showed. Hawk cried after the first hour passed, when her chest began to really sink in acceptance. The makeup she and Julia had applied was smeared down her cheeks and she wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground and never come out again. The gate started to open and headlights hit her as a car approached slowly before turning into the driveway. Andy’s 2 door Jeep Wrangler passed by her, but she looked in the opposite direction so he couldn’t see her face. 

“You alright?” Please just go inside, she begged mentally as Pope walked back down the driveway through the gate he left open. “What are you doing out here?” 

“I’m fine.” Hawk kept her head turned away from Andrew, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. 

“Crying usually means you aren’t fine.” Andrew sat himself down next to her, looking down at his hands and the new split that decorated his middle knuckle. He hid his hand as nonchalantly as he could, glancing at Hawk from time to time. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, alright?” Hawk’s tone was clipped, and any other time she would’ve been smitten that Andy was talking to her, but this was not the time. 

“Pope?” Julia’s voice called out, looking around for her brother. “You were supposed to be back three goddamn hours ago! I told you that Smurf said I could have the car tonight!” 

“Out here!” He called back to her. The sound of Julia’s flip flops echoed off the cement as she came down with a full attitude, ready to ream her twin out, but stopped short when she noticed he wasn't alone.  

“Jesus, Hawk!” She exclaimed when she saw Hawk sitting on the curb. Pope stood when Julia came rushing down to console her friend. “What are you doing out here? I thought you were with Pete?” 

“He never showed.” Was all Hawk said as she quickly stood up and walked past Julia to flee into the house with her head down in embarrassment. 

“What do you mean he never showed?” Julia followed behind her, looking back at Pope who shrugged as he followed, but Julia knew her twin and she recognized the troublesome glint in his eyes. He knew something and she was going to find out what. 

“Whoa, Hawk-” Hawk ran into Baz as she stormed through the front door. His hands came out to steady her, but she just pushed him away.

“Get fucked, Barry!” Hawk snapped, rushing past him. He looked at Julia and Pope, and Julia narrowed her eyes at him. She waited for the slam of Hawk’s door before she pointed a finger at Baz. 

“What the hell did you do?” Julia kept her voice low. 

“I didn’t do anything.” Baz was genuinely confused as to what was happening.

“You were questioning her about Pete yesterday and now he doesn’t show up for their date? I call bullshit. He wouldn’t have ditched her. The guy practically worships the ground she walks on.” Julia noticed Pope bristle at what she was saying. Her eyes narrowed further to slits. “What did you do?” Baz shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shrugged sheepishly. Julia turned to her twin. “Andrew?” Pope looked at Baz then shrugged at Julia. 

“Maybe he just chickened out?” He offered, his fingers tapping on his thigh.  

“I swear to god if I find out you two had something to do with this, I’m murdering you both.” Julia growled before heading down the hall to do damage control. 

By the time Monday morning rolled around, dread had completely filled Hawk’s stomach. She wasn’t mad anymore, but she did want answers -she deserved them at the very least. Hawk searched high and low for Pete before the tardy bell, and with four minutes before it was set to ring, she found him at his locker with his back to her. The outdoor locker area was clearing out as students scurried to their respective classes, giving them a sense of privacy. 

“You know, if you didn’t want to go out you could’ve just said so, Pete.” Hawk confronted the taller teen. She saw his spine go rigid, but he didn’t turn to face her. “It was your idea anyway.” She scratched at her arm as her nerves settled in.

“I guess it was stupid to think you liked me, but I’m still a person and you hurt my goddamn feelings because I waited for you! I waited for you and I cried and I know it’s stupid because this whole thing is stupid, but you could’ve just said something instead of leaving me hanging. I thought you weren’t that kind of person, but I guess I was wrong.” Hawk sighed and nodded when he didn’t say anything. “I’ll uh...I'll see you around.” She said softly as she felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes. Hawk turned to head towards the girls bathroom when she heard Pete call her name. She turned and gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth when she saw the mottled bruises that covered Pete’s left eye. “Jesus Christ, Pete.” Hawk breathed out, taking a step towards him, but he held his hand out to stop her. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t show up on Friday night. I really am, but I was kindly reminded that I’ve clearly overstepped my bounds when it came to you.” 

“What are you talking about? Who did this to you?” Pete looked at her as if to say ‘really?’.

“It doesn’t matter.” He brushed her off.

“Yes, it does matter. If someone thinks they can put their hands on you-” 

“-I like you. I really, really do, but maybe staying friends is the best way to go about this. For both of our sake.” Hawk didn't think she could feel worse than she did on Friday night, and yet, the bar somehow sunk even lower.

“Where is he?” Hawk stormed her way through the house, room by room, on the hunt for Baz. He had ditched classes that day and when Hawk figured he wasn’t showing up at all, she ditched too. “Baz!” She called out without getting an answer. 

“They’re outside, baby. Is something the matter?” Smurf asked from the kitchen where she was making lunch. 

“Yeah, there’s gonna be one less kid in the house in about two minutes, Smurf.” Hawk heard laughing coming from outside and her eyes zeroed in on Baz, who was lounging on one of the pool chairs with Julia laying between his legs. Pope was sitting on the chair closest to Hawk and he noticed her first before Baz and Julia did. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Hawk shouted before launching herself at him. Pope jumped in the middle and intercepted Hawk before she had a chance to swing. 

“What the hell did you do?” Julia immediately sided with Hawk. She turned her head to look up at Baz, who was sputtering in response. 

“Settle down,” Pope spoke softly into Hawk’s ear as he bear-hugged her by picking her up an inch or so off the ground and dragging her a few feet away from Baz. 

“He beat the shit out of Pete McKay, that’s what he did! That’s why Pete didn’t show up on Friday! He didn’t ditch me, he just got his ass kicked!” Hawk shouted over Pope’s shoulder, pointing accusingly at Baz. 

“Are you serious?” Julia asked him. 

“I didn’t do shit to Pete!” Baz defended himself, pulling Julia back to him when she tried to get up. “But I did tell you he was soft.” 

“God, you are the fucking worst, Baz! The fucking worst!” Hawk tried to pull herself away from Pope, but he just squeezed his arms around her tighter. “If you didn’t do it, then who gave him the black eye he came to school with this morning? Did that just magically appear on his face? Did he imagine the whole thing? You’re the only other person besides Julia who knew he was taking me out!” Pope swung them around so he could face Baz and Julia, and Julia’s eyes zeroed in on Pope’s healing knuckles that were on display as he held Hawk. 

“Did he say that I did it?” Baz was glaring at Pope, Pope was silently begging Julia to not say anything, and Julia wanted to kill both of the boys for Hawk’s sake. More importantly, she was going to kill Pope because she told him Hawk was off limits. She just shook her head at her brother, her eyes glaring at him as she stood. Baz let her go once he saw how serious she looked. 

“He didn’t have to! He was more or less told to back off after he got punched and I want to know why!” Hawk continued to shout and fight against Pope. He grunted, but kept his feet firmly on the ground. 

“I’m the wrong person you should be asking, Hawk.” Baz said earnestly as he also stood up from the lounger to stand next to Julia, who had her arms crossed and a very pissed off look on her face.  

“Let go of me!” Hawk pushed Andy away, her hands feeling like they were shocked when they touched his bare, sun kissed torso. He finally relented when he felt her go slack against him. Hawk’s chest was heaving as she tried to catch her breath. “I don’t know if you sick fucks get some kind of enjoyment out of seeing me miserable, but I’m tired of it! This can’t keep happening.” 

“Babe, I don’t think that’s what’s going on here,” Julia approached her with a grimace. Both Julia and Baz were looking directly at Pope, who was now standing behind Hawk. He looked between them anxiously and when Hawk turned to also look at him, he silently went over to the slider to his bedroom and locked himself inside. 

“Am I missing something here?” Julia closed her eyes and sighed while Baz dragged his hands down his face at Hawk’s question.  

the parallelllllllllllls the parallelllllllllls

pope stays not letting hawk beat baz's ass (granted, Baz did not deserve it this time around) 😂

[bobafetts-princess]

Bee Stung

Pairings: Benny Miller x Fem!Reader x Santiago Garcia x Frankie Morales x Will Miller

Word Count: 8.3k (I cannot even explain what happened. My fingers started moving and never stopped)

Warnings: Sex pollen. Dubcon because of sex pollen. PiV, little butt stuff, oral (fem!receiving), love bites. There’s a little boy on boy action.

Is not killing Tom a warning? He isn’t on our mission but he also isn’t dead so

A/N: This is 100% inspired by @/charnelhouse’s Bloomverse. Char is an incredible writer and I can only hope to live up to her writing standard 🙏🏼

(She also has a book out, you should definitely check it out)

“Are we all in?” Santi asks, glancing around at his brothers. Brothers in arms, brothers in life, brothers in every way but blood.

“I’m down,” Benny says, jumping at the chance to be in before Will.

“I’m in,” Will shrugs, “so long as Fish is in.” The eyes around the room glance at Fish as he contemplates.

“I’m trying to get clean, man,” he says, palms up.

“No drugs. None for us. Recon and get the fuck out,” Santi says, trying to keep the pleading out of his voice. They can’t do this without Fish. Their pilot. Their way out. Fish nods before dropping his head. It’s silent for several minutes as he thinks, Pope’s breath caught in his throat. He’s about to try to plead again when Fish glances up and nods.

“I’m in.”

Santiago lets out a heavy breath. He’s got three of his four on board but his toughest test has yet to come. You.

“We can’t do this without her,” Will muses, hand on his stubbled jaw. “We need her,” and Santiago knows. He fucking knows okay?

Will is their leader, their planner. Benny is their cheerleader, he’s got their backs no matter what. Frankie is their escape. Their way out, always. Santiago is the glue that holds them all together. But you? You’re their anchor. When shit goes south and Jesus it always goes south, you hold them together. Figuratively and literally. You’re their medic, you’ve saved their lives more times than they can count. You’re also their sharp shooter. You’ve taken as many lives, if not more, than the rest of them.

Honeybee, sometimes known as Honey. Sometimes known as Bee, depending on the situation. When you’re patching up their bullet wounds or knife cuts, you’re Honey. When you’re 500 feet away and sniping an enemy, you’re Bee. When you’re sugar sweet and smiling at them as you do a shot of tequila, you’re Honey. When you’re spitting mad and cussing because they’ve done something stupid, you’re Bee. That time Benny lit your truck on fire because he ‘was curious about whether metal burned’, he got Bee and boy did Bee sting. But when Frankie needed someone to bail him out of jail because he got busted, Honey showed up without a second thought.

Santiago can’t do anything but think about that awful mission 2 years ago when everything went sideways. When they almost lost you and because of that they did end up losing you. It’s a long drive to the farm where you live now and Santi can’t stop his racing thoughts. He told the other three to follow a half hour behind him, give him time to apologize and soften up their Honeybee before they descend and ask the unthinkable.

——————

You know who it is the second you see a truck turn down your driveway. Who it is and why he’s here. Not the specifics, of course, but you know why he would show up on your doorstep nearly 2 years to the day after he last spoke to you. He steps out of the truck, as disarmingly handsome as he smiles at you.

“Hey, Honeybee,” he greets you like he last saw you a week ago and it pisses you off.

“Pope,” he used your call sign, you’ll use his. He can’t see all of you, only your shoulders and head because you’re hidden in your garden.

“How are you?” He asks like he doesn’t know. Like he hasn’t been keeping tabs on you. Of course, you have connections too and they tell you when Santiago checks up on you. When you step out from behind the tomato plants and stalks of corn, he’s almost knocked over at the sight of you. You’re as stunning as ever and Santi gulps down the sight of you.

“Fine,” you’re short with him. And he knows you have every right to be.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stepping towards you and stopping when you move your basket from your hip to in front of you. A clear sign for him not to get closer.

“For what, Garcia?” You prod. You both know what he’s apologizing for but he’s the one that needs to admit the wrongdoing.

“For that mission,” his head drops in shame and your eyes narrow at him.

************

2 years ago, you’d been on your final mission as Delta Force. Redfly was set to retire and be followed by Ironhead and Catfish. Benny followed his brother into everything and wanted to start his boxing career. The level of respect that was given to you by these five was hard to come by, so you retired too. Pope was the only one who couldn’t give it up. Couldn’t stop. ‘One more mission’, he’d say, every time. But this one really was the last mission as a team, a unit. One that had spent nearly every waking hour together for 10 years. (Not really, but it felt like it some days) Some, like Redfly and Ironhead, had been together longer than that.

Pope had been charged with watching your weak side, your job was to snipe their sharpshooter, make him disappear while the others take the operation down from the inside out. But Pope got distracted, eyeing something and went to investigate. While he was gone, the enemy had managed to get someone behind your lines, intending to stop you. Their footsteps were quiet and you had your eye through the sights, drowning out everything else. By the time you heard them it was too late for you to do anything except roll. The knife intended for your neck embedded in your ribs instead.

“Honeybee down,” you remembered saying through your comm, right after putting one bullet through the skull of your attacker. There was so much activity over the comms, shouts from Ironhead and curses from Redfly and Benny. Fish, unknown to you, was already on his was to your location and Pope, Pope was frozen with fear and shame and guilt. You heard his voice over the comms, taking responsibility for the situation as you tried to remember your medical training.

Keep pressure on the wound. Don’t remove the knife. Fuck. Where’s my med pack. Jesus this hurts. Damn, I missed my target. This is going to blow the entire mission.

Catfish found you first, gently removing your bloodied hand as he pulled supplies out of your med pack and bandaged you up as best as he could. Ironhead was next, whispering gentle words in your ear as you bobbed in and out of consciousness. Benny and Redfly came together, Benny cussing up a storm and demanding you stay awake as he gently cradled your face. The wound was deep and you were bleeding like a stuck pig. Which, to be fair, you kind of were. It took all of them to get you and your shit out of there without you dying, but it was close. By the time Pope arrived, you were out, your body protecting itself from the pain and blood loss.

But the thing was, you weren’t even mad at Pope because he abandoned his position. They’d all made mistakes and they’d all gotten injured before, it was part of the job. But what pissed you off was the fact that he never called. Never checked up on you himself. He did it all through the others or through your doctors when they got you to a hospital. You’d scraped by, the wound nothing but an ugly puckered scar now. The true pain lay somewhere in your chest when you thought of them. Thought of all you’d given them and they’d given you. And the fact that none of them called anymore, none of them stopped by or checked up. Even Redfly, who was always the most unattainable of the group but also the most reliable, quit contacting. And that shit hurt. You’d given them 10 years and they’d given you nothing in return. You knew life was hard, they were all learning to live without the army.

Shaking your head of the memory, you focused on the man in front of you, the one hanging his head in shame and finally speaking to you.

“I mean, what the fuck Pope?” You snapped, taking a step towards him.

“I made a mistake, I left my position,” he said and you sighed out loud.

“You’re a fucking idiot, do you honestly think that’s what I’m mad about? You’ve got a thick skull,” and his head lifts to look at you.

“You’re not mad you got hurt?”

“Fuck no, I’m not mad I got hurt!” You explode, 2 years of hurt and anger flying to the surface. “I’m pissed because you never checked up on me. When I got medically discharged, everyone but you was there. No letters no phone calls, no get-well flowers, just silence,” the rage in your bones is making the scar on your ribs twinge and you subconsciously rub the skin there. Santi winces as he watches you, taking the tongue lashing he deserves. “Don’t you remember that time I missed a shot and alerted an enemy to Fish? He almost died because I fucked up and Fish forgave me without a second thought. I didn’t even have to forgive you for making a mistake, Santi, because it happens to the best of us. I’m not ready to forgive you for choosing to shut me out the next 2 years.”

“I’m sorry,” he says once there’s been several beats of silence between you. “I was so embarrassed and ashamed. Redfly ripped me apart for making that mistake and I couldn’t handle the guilt of knowing I was the reason that you nearly died. I-,” he falters for words, his palms up in defeat. “I just couldn’t handle feeling so responsible,” he nearly chokes on his words as he remembers that day, in a different light than you do.

**************

He saw a shadow, he would swear by it to this day and in fact he did when the army investigated the situation. You were so damned capable, so smart and aware, there’s no way you could get hurt if he checked it out, right? He gets there and there’s nothing but another shadow, a little further off. He follows again, gun at the ready and his senses in overdrive. He hears a pop and the shadow darts into an opening and it’s just a fucking alley cat and he thinks ‘Bee got her shot’.

But then your voice comes over the comms and its scratchy and breathy and not at all like the rich one he’s used to hearing. “Honeybee down,” and his brain explodes and his body freezes. He’s supposed to be watching your six, your back, keeping you safe. The comms explode with noise, all five men dropping their individual missions to make their way to you. He hears Redfly come over the comms demanding to know who fucked up and Santi’s hands shake as he takes responsibility. He’s closest, he should get there first but he can’t fucking make his feet move. Fish is the only one not speaking and Santi knows that he’s already on his way. Ironhead is shouting, demanding to know what the fuck happened and Benny is cussing up one side and down the other. Santi knows how he feels about you but in that moment he knows how the others feel about you too. Well, except for Redfly. He’s married and sees you like his baby sister, but the other four? They see you as something more.

Catfish comes over the comms and confirms that he’s got you but you’re in a bad way. Your attacker got you with a knife and didn’t hold back. You’ve done a damn good job of keeping pressure on and Santi feels a rush of pride that you’re so good at your job that you’re saving your own life. A feeling that is immediately followed by guilt as he remembers that it’s his fault. Ironhead is next in and Santi would never tell him this but when he leans over you, he presses your comm and broadcasts what he’s saying.

“Come on my sweet girl, stay with me. Let me see those beautiful eyes, that’s it. Look at me. Stay with me. Please,” he’s pleading and then here comes Benny’s voice.

“Honeybee, you’d better fucking be awake. You’d better fucking stay with me, goddamnit. We’ve done too much for this to be the thing that takes you out. You’re fucking tougher than that knife,” and the longer Benny talks, the more desperate his voice gets and that’s finally what gets Pope’s feet moving. He gets there as they’re putting you on a makeshift stretcher and his gut twists as he looks at you, unconscious with your breath rattling in your chest. They told him later that you had a punctured lung that nearly collapsed and you’d lost a significant amount of blood and he donated so much he almost passed out. Santi shakes the memory away, bringing himself back to the present as he looks at you.

“I’m so sorry,” he says and this time he uses your name. The way his tongue curls around it makes something go hot in your bones and you nod at him. He’s not truly forgiven but you also know Santi and know how responsible he feels. Anything that will make him feel something that deeply needs to be pushed down or it might overtake him.

“Your apology isn’t quite accepted but you’re moving in the right direction,” you smile at him and it’s disarming. He hasn’t see that smile in too long and it nearly knocks him over. He takes a step toward you but then a noise distracts him. Before he can get to you, wrap you up in a hug, run his fingers over the softness of your thighs, he hears the rumble of a truck. It’s the guys, his half hour must be up.

“I knew you were up to some shit, Garcia,” but your tone isn’t one of anger, in fact, you sound almost amused. The guys get out of Frankies truck, heading to you but Benny, sweet fucking Benny, can’t contain it and he breaks out into a full run to get to you. He’s wrapping you up and you’re laughing, Benny’s hands clasped under your ass as he spins you in a circle. Will is next, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug before he cups your jaw and takes a moment just to look at you. Frankie is next, burying his face in your neck as he inhales your scent, holding on just a beat longer than the others. You look at them, your boys, and catalog how they look.

Santiago has more gray in his hair than you’ve ever seen, his beard speckled with grey as well. He got his call sign early in his time with DF when one of his informants told Redfly that he fucked so good she saw God every time he came around. He’s got wrinkles by his eyes and he’s so undeniably handsome.

Catfish, who got his call sign because he refused to shave and Redfly said that he looked like he had catfish whiskers under his nose, has put on weight. It looks good on him, the way his shirt stretches just a little bit around his midsection. His hair has gotten long, curling around the edges of his hat as he smiles at you and it makes your heart thump.

Will, who got his name Ironhead from actually getting shot in the head. A bullet ricocheted off a piece of metal and lodged itself in the back of his skull and if he gets really drunk he’ll let you touch it. He’s still fucking stacked, you can see his muscles under that little polo he’s wearing. He’s golden, the golden boy of Delta Force, their face if they needed one. His facial hair is longer than he used to keep it and it makes your chest ache.

Then there’s Benny, who followed his big brother into everything in life. He’s grinning at you like you hung the sun and maybe for Benny, you did. Benny had a call sign once upon a time, he was Baby Miller until he got hammered once and admitted to you that he hates it. You made everyone stop using it after that, sticking with only Benny and even though he’s never thanked you outright, you know he appreciated it. His hair has gotten long too, you can see it when he moves his cap to run his fingers through it.

They’re all so devastatingly handsome and you have to do something to distract yourself. “No Redfly?” Tom got his call sign because he was like a fly on the wall. He seemed to always know what the enemy was doing and how to handle it.

“Nah,” Will says, scratching a hand across his jaw in a way that’s so familiar that it makes your chest ache. “He had that back surgery last year to repair a disk and it didn’t fix the problem. He has to have another one in a few weeks. He sends his best though.” Tom was the only one you’d kept up with, until the last six months or so, he was a good man who has had some bad breaks. A soft silence settles over the five of you and while you don’t mind it, there’s an elephant in the room.

“Why are all of you on my farm?” You ask, eyes flicking between them. Benny and Will share a glance and Frankie’s eyes narrow at Santi. “What are you not telling me? I know y’all didn’t show up after all this time just to look at me like I’m a ghost.”

Santi swallows, “there’s a mission…” you knew that, you just wanted him to admit it. So you cut him off with a raise of your hand and start dishing directions. You may not lead them into a mission, but this is your home and you give the orders here.

“Pope, grab my basket please. I’ve got some steaks we can grill tonight. I made fresh bread this morning and I just picked tomatoes and basil, so I’ll make the bruschetta if someone can cook the steaks,” you tell them and almost laugh at the way they jump into action. “You can tell me about this mission over cocktails,” you say, heading up to your house, “which I’m not making.”

It’s so easy, you notice, to fall into a rhythm with them. Will grills and Santi tells him everything he’s doing wrong. Frankie washes all the vegetables you harvested and Benny makes sure that everyone’s drink is always full. You eat on your patio, everything but the steaks from your farm, and the boys are sure to compliment you on it. You spend the evening catching up on everything you’ve missed as a group and once everyone has a full stomach, you give Santi a pointed look. He explains everything and you listen intently, throwing a leg over the arm of your chair and letting your red toes dangle. “Can we do this without Redfly?” You ask and Santi nods.

“We don’t have a choice. He wouldn’t miss this unless he absolutely had to,” Will says and the group nods at you.

“Who runs point?”

“Ironhead,” Santi confirms what you already knew. It makes sense, he was Tom’s second hand and watched the way he worked more closely than the rest of you.

“And you’re all in?” You ask, looking each man in the face and wait for them to confirm. A soft hand lands on your ankle before it moves up and wraps around your calf. It’s Will’s and you breakout in goosebumps at the feeling of his warmth on your skin.

“We can’t do this without you, Honeybee,” He says and the other three murmur their agreement.

“I’m in,” you say and Santiago breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m also not cleaning up,” you tell them, gesturing to the food on the table. I’m going to sit here and watch you four do it,” and as you watch them, you can’t help the thoughts that sprint through your mind. Wondering what it would be like to have them all here with you, in this house. How fucking soft and domestic it would be. An image flashes in your brain at them in your bed and you quickly shake it away. You’re heading out on a mission where there’s a real chance you won’t all come back, you cannot get distracted.

The five of you chat and hang out, drinking until well-past dark and you’re the first to call it quits and head to bed. You’ve barely gotten to sleep when your bed dips and you know who it is without opening your eyes.

“Benny,” you whisper as he curls around you, just like old times. Benny runs warm and the two of you always ended up together on nights you had to cold camp.

“Couldn’t be in the same place without some tactile cuddles,” he says and you open your eyes just to roll them.

“We don’t need to snuggle for warmth in my house, Ben,” you say and he shrugs.

“I’m already here, might as well stay.”

You both drift off, Benny snoring softly in your ear, but before you get into a deep sleep the bed dips again. “Can I join?” Frankie’s voice rasps, his hot breath fanning across your face and you nod, keeping your eyes closed. He kisses your cheek and then flops down, making Benny grunt and hold you tighter. You reach out to Frankie and he takes your hand, curling your fingers in between his and he’s out in seconds.

A little while later you hear the door open but you’re so damned tired that you don’t even look up. A pair of soft lips press against your temple, Will’s, and he whispers a ‘good night, Princess’ before you hear the couch in your bedroom strain as he drops his weight on it. Another pair of lips press against your cheek moments later, the stubble rubbing gently against your skin and Pope is the only one it could be. The rocking chair that sits beside the couch creaks gently when he sits in it. You wait until you hear the soft breathing of all four of them then you relax completely and drift back off into your own sleep.

——————-

Pope, leave it to fucking Pope, lied about this mission. It was initially recon, like he said, but it quickly morphed into something else. Instead of passing intel over to the national government, Santi said to just use the intel yourselves and kill the bastard in charge. “We would never have to work again,” he pleaded. “Lorea is ruining this country and no one will question why he’s dead. We can have money and this country can have freedom.”

So, here you are, strapped down with guns and your med pack, stalking through the house looking for this guy. He wasn’t where Santi thought he should be, so you offered to sweep the house while they loaded the money. You’re the quickest shot anyways. Turning a corner you see movement, and slow your steps, lifting your gun. You and Lorea catch sight of each other at the same time, but you already have your weapon ready while he has to reach for his. It takes one shot and you communicate that over the comms. You move towards him, grabbing the plastic ball on the table next to where he was and inspect it. It’s not a bomb, too flimsy, but there’s definitely something inside it. When you gently squeeze it, it explodes in your face and you scream.

Santi’s stomach drops when he hears that scream, it’s one he’s never heard from you before. Not when you’ve been shot or stabbed. Not that time Benny threw you in the pool fully clothed or that time Fish scared you so bad you peed yourself. It’s gut-wrenching and they all drop what they’re doing to run to you. Benny reaches you first, skidding across the floor on his knees as he grabs your face and you can see the panic in his eyes. You’re covered in white powder that smells sickly sweet, like the scent of dying lilies. “Fuck, Honey, talk to me. Are you okay?” The powder burns your sinuses and makes you go cross-eyed as you try to spit and snort it out. The extra hangs in the air and settles on the skin and in hair as Benny tries to wipe everything off your face.

“Load up, time to go,” Will says, sniffing the air and Benny is already on it. He’s got you hauled over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and Frankie is so worried, his brain so focused on you, that he doesn’t notice another ball on the floor. He steps on it and it explodes, launching more of whatever it is into the air. It settles in the air as they load up, leaving a sick scent and haze in the air.

They’ve all got white powder in their hair, on their clothes, tracked in the treads of their boots. They don’t know what it is or how anyone is going to react to it and all Santi can think about is how they’re probably going to have to burn their clothes. Will can’t stop checking behind him, Benny’s face wrenched up as he tries to cough it out of his lungs. You’re choking on it, trying to get it out of your mouth and your nose and your eyes and you can’t concentrate on anything except the fucking scent.

“Safe house, we have to get to the safe house,” Santi is saying as they get to the van and Will and Benny are tending to you. Frankie is driving, trying to remain calm and rational as Santi gives directions and not glance back at you every two minutes to make sure you’re okay. A burn starts low in your belly as you try to focus on Will, his blue eyes and golden hair filling your vision. You get a flash of what you think those blue eyes would look like in between your thighs and have to shake it away. He hands you a water bottle and you dump it over your head, keeping your eyes open so you can wash the substance out. You feel better, but the substance fucking reeks. Benny is there next to Will, raking fingers through his long hair as he panics. He’s rambling, he tends to do that when he’s scared or nervous and it takes everything in Santi not to tell him to shut the fuck up.

“That’s why you’re not the team medic, Ben,” you say with a laugh and it seems to calm them all down. “No good under the pressure of a medical emergency,” you tell him, smiling, and Benny exhales deeply. It can’t be that bad if you’re cracking jokes and poking fun at him. “How long to the safe house, I want to wash this all off,” you say but as you finish you get a hot flash. Without thinking you start to strip yourself of all your tac gear and get some air. The burn starts to take over your body, the flush creeping up your neck and when Frankie calls your name from the drivers seat all you can think about is how husky it might sound when he cums.

“What’s going on?” Will asks, taking your vest as you get it undone. Your sweatshirt is next, followed by your long-sleeve.

“I’m so hot,” you tell him, that burn intensifying as you take a deep breath. Everyone begins their descent into panic again with every layer you strip off. You’re down to tac pants and a tank and Will can see your pebbled nipples through the material.

“Pope, any idea what the fuck that powder was?” Will asks, fear lacing his voice. He’s never seen you like this, you’re always in control. But Santi shakes his head.

“Nothing I’ve seen before. How do you feel, Bee?” But you can’t answer. You’re looking at all of them and contemplating the repercussions of your next action. You’re slowly losing your grip so you need to make your mind up and quick. You want them, all of them, and damn everyone who might not understand.

“William,” you purr in a voice that sounds so unlike your natural that Ironhead whips his head back to you.

“Pope,” his voice is full of worry as he watches your pupils dilate and your face flush. “I need some answers,” but then you’re pressing up against him and his voice falters. You settle over his lap, rubbing your face against his neck like a cat. You call his name again, your voice husky and needy and he’s really panicking now. His hands are in the air, away from you and god he wishes they weren’t. He wants to settle them on your hips, press you down on himself but he doesn’t think that’s the right choice.

“Captain,” you purr again, and he’s so scared but he gets a hard flash of lust too. But he’s scared about what will happen if he gives into desire, scared about what that powder was. Scared for you. But he’s taken too long to make his decision and you’re off and moving to your next target.

“Benjamin,” you say in that same sultry tone and his eyes are wide and nervous. You straddle him and his hands come up instinctively around your back, cradling your head as you run your tongue along the column of his throat.

“Fuck-“ he stutters, jerking his hips upwards. “Pope, what the fuck is happening?”

“I-goddamnit. It’s a rumor down here! I didn’t think it was real!” He shouts, and Frankie is driving faster now, unable to keep his eyes off the scene in the back of the truck but needing to keep them on the road. “There were rumors that some of the drug lords were making an aphrodisiac powder, you could snort it like cocaine. I didn’t think it was real! We’ve never encountered anything like it!”

“Fuck,” Will says, they’ve been hit with an aphrodisiac powder? Who comes up with this shit? You took a face full of it so god knows how you’re going to react. He glances over and you’ve got your tongue shoved down Benny’s throat, making these hot little whines as you grind down on him. “We have to get to the safe house, now.” Benny took a good bit of it too as he attempted to clean you up, and Frankie stepped on the other one and shot more in the air.

“We’re here,” Frankie says two minutes later, his eyes starting to dilate as he pulls the truck into an underground garage. All three of them are hard as glass listening to you and Benny rut against each other. Santi and Will manage to get the truck covered up as Frankie wrestles you and Benny inside, limbs so tangled up in one another that he can’t tell who’s who but he knows he needs his hands on you. Will starts to feel the heat you were talking about and tries to tamp down the jealousy as he watches Fish and Benny sandwich you in, Benny’s hands on your ass and Fish’s on your tits. Santi takes a look at Will, in all his movie-star handsomeness, and knows this is going to change all their lives.

You feel like you’re under water and Benny’s mouth is the only thing keeping you afloat. You’re drowning in the need, the desire. But then Frankie is behind you, his soft lips on your shoulder as he tugs at your tank. You gasp as his hands find your tits, pulling and pinching and twisting at your nipples.

“Frankie, baby,” you cry out, breaking your kiss with Benny as you twist to shove your tongue down Frankie’s throat. Frankie growls, shoving at Benny, trying to make him back up and Benny snarls. “No, no fighting,” you plead and the desire starts to make your stomach cramp. “I need someone, anyone, everyone. Fuck, please,” and Benny sets you down so he can yank down your tac pants. He can’t get your shoes off, doesn’t have the concentration for that, so he spins you instead. He enters you in one thrust and you both sigh in heavy relief. Benny’s hand is on your hip and his head drops between your shoulder blades as he breaths you in. “Benny,” you plead, “Move. Please,” and he gives you exactly what you ask for, he can never refuse you. His pace is quick and you’re clenching hard around him, savoring the relief his cock is providing.

His pants in your ear sound pained as he moves inside you and his hand cups your tit, thumb and index finger pulling at your nipples. He’s speaking to you but you’re drowning in the feel of him and you don’t know what he’s saying. His hand slides up to your jaw, cupping it and twisting your head so he can shove his tongue in your mouth. Your combined breaths are heavy as your tongues tangle and you can feel Benny’s hands flexing as he reaches his end. His mouth is all over yours, his teeth nipping at your jaw and earlobe with his fingers digging slightly into your skin and you’re so close.

Just as you are about to hit your peak, a soft tongue pokes its way through your pussy and you cry out. You look down to see Frankie looking up at you, his mouth glued to your pussy, his tongue flicking your clit and timing up with Benny’s thrusts and you come. You come so hard that Benny stutters before he shoves all the way in, coating you with his come.

His head drops between your shoulder blades again and he whispers into your skin, “I love you, I love you. Loved you first, before the others,” but you can’t concentrate on that right now because Frankie has pushed him back and replaced Benny’s cock with his fingers and you can’t stand. You collapse and Frankie rolls you, slides into the opening of your thighs, catching your tac pants with his elbow and pushing them down to your ankles. There’s a ripping sound and a rational part of your brain hopes they’re still wearable after this but the non-rational part of your brain is focusing on Frankie. Then his mouth is on you and he’s got two fingers shoved inside you and you can’t think of anything else.

“Frankie!” You cry out and here’s Will, strong dependable Will, and he shoves his tongue down your throat to swallow your cries. You’re all in it now, so deep in the throes that you don’t know how you’ll find your way out but you don’t care. “Will,” you say and he looks down at you with love and adoration partnering with the lust in his eyes and you open your mouth and stick out your tongue out to convey what you want.

“You sure?” And you can’t answer, you can only nod as Frankie pushes another finger inside you and you cry out his name, spasming around his fingers. Will places his cock on your tongue and you suck him down, relishing in the sound of his groan. The cramps worsen in your belly and you can’t think, can’t speak but Will notices. “Fish. Fuck her, she needs it.” Frankie pushes up, lining himself up with you and pushes in. Even though Benny already fucked you, Frankie is a tight fit and you relish the burn as he splits you open. His mouth sucks marks on every part of your body that he can reach and you can’t concentrate on Will anymore. Which is good because he’s gone anyways but then someone is untying your boots, stripping you of your pants and you know it’s Will. Your rock. The one you can always count on. You almost smile but then Frankie sinks his teeth into the soft outer flesh of your breast and it almost sends you over the edge. Your hand comes up to twist in his hair, knocking his hat off as he pounds into you and he growls your name. Santi appears and shoves his hands between your bodies, gathering the slick from you and Benny and Frankie and rubs circles on your clit, his cock pressing up against your cheek as he shoves his tongue down Frankie’s throat. That part sends you spiraling and you cry out, coming as Frankie fucks you stupid. Santi breaks from him, bending to shove his tongue in your mouth instead. Frankie watches you both so intensely that Will worries about him, but then his brow furrows and he groans your name as he cums inside you, dropping his head to rest in the crook of your neck as he whispers in your ear. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he tells you and god, you really cannot unpack this right now.

Will replaces Frankie between your thighs, his beautiful blue eyes full of concern as he presses in. You sob and Will is there, “what do you need?”

“God, harder. It’s starting to hurt,” you tell him and are so thankful when he obliges. Will ruts into you, even in his lust-filled haze he’s calculated, and he brushes up against that patch of nerves with each stroke. You drag his mouth to yours, hearing the sounds of the others as they try to fuck the powder out of their system.

“Benny isn’t the only one who’s loved you,” Will breathes into the hot cup of your mouth. “He loved you first, but he’s not the only one,” and his admission makes you clench around him. God, you love them too, more than just brothers in arms. More than should be legal. “Fuck your pussy is so wet,” he groans, moving you so that you’re on your knees for him. He slides back inside you, groaning about how fucking hot and tight you are for him and you bear down. The feeling of drowning only seems to intensify the longer and harder they fuck you and fuck each other, but all you can concentrate on is Will. Will, with his lists and tallies and need to keep track of everything. Will, who is making you see stars with every punch of his cock into you. Will, who is asking so sweetly if he can stick a thumb in your ass and there’s no way on this Earth that you’re going to tell him no. He does and you’re so full of William fucking Miller that you collapse to your chest, hips held up only by the hand on your waist and that fucker has the audacity to chuckle. You’re close, so close and when Frankie crawls back to you, his lips wet and swollen as he shoves a hand between your thighs to pinch your clit, you’re gone again. Will fucks you through it, Frankie talks you through it.

“That’s it baby,” he says, “come all over Ironhead’s cock. Soak him, princesa. Let him feel how good that pussy is.” Frankies words have an effect on more than just you and Will finishes, gritting his teeth and saying your name. He takes gentle fingers and runs them down your spine but his hand is knocked away by Pope’s, coming to take his turn.

“God, I’m so horny,” you whine, pressing back against the length of Pope.

“It’s the powder, sweet girl,” Will says, still hard as he presses up next to you.

“Poison, more like,” you groan as Santi presses the head of his cock against your clit. You can’t think, can’t breathe, unless someone’s, everyone’s hands are on you. Benny’s come to slide across your ass and Fish’s fingers toy with your tits. Will’s fingers slide in your puffy cunt, fucking you open while Santiago rubs his cock across your clit. You’re so overwhelmed by them, so entranced, that you don’t even realize you’re speaking to them.

“I love you. All of you. Have for years. God, I’ve dreamed of this,” you say, the head of Santi’s cock catching at your hole. You press back onto him and he hisses, his hands working around Benny’s and digging into your skin. You start your own rhythm, fucking back on Pope’s cock and from the sound of his moans, he likes it. Words drop from his lips, his fingernails digging into the soft skin of your hips.

“That’s it, princesa,” he snarls, his voice thick and husky with lust and need. “Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how bad you want it,” and god do you want it bad. They’re overwhelming you, hands and mouths everywhere as you fuck Santi. It still hurts so much, makes your nerve endings catch fire and your pussy so slick and when you say that out loud, Pope takes over. He’s so strong and he beats your pussy up with long, hard strokes. You come once with two of Benny’s fingers in your ass and then another time when Fish manages to get his face in between your thighs and lick your swollen clit. Will never leaves your side, his cock red and weeping. You try to suck at him once or twice but you can’t seem to concentrate enough to get him off. Pope has stamina and it feels like it’ll never end and right now you’re glad for it.

After what feels like hours, Pope pushes everyone back and flips you over, hitching a leg over his shoulder as he bends down to kiss you. His lips are soft but insistent against yours, his tongue dipping into your mouth as he fucks you. His hands come to rest on your ribs and his fingers touch the scar there. “I’m sorry, for everything,” he tells you, bending to kiss the spot. It’s such a touching moment in the heat and sweat and slick of the powder that it cracks your heart open. Then Pope is back at it again, moving quicker and all softness is forgotten. Santi still hasn’t come and the feel of him pounding into you sends little shocks of relief into your nervous system.

You briefly think about what that informant said and snort a laugh, which makes everyone stop. It’s the only lucid moment you’ll all have for several hours.

“The fuck are you laughing at?” Benny says, pulling his mouth off Frankie’s cock.

“Thinking about that informant. That one that told Redfly that Pope made her see God every time. I see what she’s talking about,” Santi huffs a laugh in your ear and you know you’ve inflated his ego but the longer he pounds into you, the more it makes sense.

“You’re going to make him insufferable, sweet girl,” Will says in your ear, pulling at your nipples. You gasp and clench, which makes Santi groan.

“I’m going to cum, fill up this pretty pussy with all our cum and then fuck it back out of you,” he grunts and you like the sound of that. Santi screws up his face and buries his head in your neck as he cums, pressing as deep into you as he can get. He kisses you as he comes down and then all four of them are there, taking turns capturing your lips. “I love you.” You don’t know who says it and who doesn’t, you only know that you say it a thousand times but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

It goes like this for hours, them taking turns fucking you until slowly you all come back to yourselves. Santi and Will are first, making sure to ply the rest of you with water and protein bars and MRE’s after they shower. Frankie is next and he joins their little party in the communal space, letting you and Benny work out the last of the poison. You two had it the worst, the effects are lasting. They don’t speak but they can hear the grunts and moans coming from the only bedroom in the place. Eventually, the noises stop and they wait patiently to see if they’ll start back up again.

Finally, it’s Will that speaks. “Do you think we ought to check on them?” Santi nods, getting up and grabbing water and a couple MRE’s from his pack. He comes back shortly, wrappers in his hand.

“They’re both out. Or they were, until I woke them up. They had a full bottle each and some food. I’d be shocked if they didn’t fall back asleep.”

“When she wakes up, are we going to talk about this?” Will asks.

“I don’t know,” Santi says, his face in his hands.

“I think we all told her we loved her. Fuck, she even said it back,” Frankie says. He’s not sure he said the exact words but you knew what he meant, right?

“Yeah but this is unconventional. Normal people don’t do this.”

“Since when are we normal, Ironhead?” Pope snaps, but Will isn’t offended. He knows that lashing out is Santi’s way of showing fear. “We killed people for a living. That was our job,” and Will nods. He knows. He was there. But then there’s motion down the hallway, a soft shuffling sound and you appear, Benny hot on your heels.

Will catalogues you as you come in, you look exhausted but also content. You managed to get dressed back in your tac pants and tank but you’re barefoot and braless as you pad into the room. He counts 6, no 7, hickeys on your neck and chest and he knows Fish left at least a three more on your breasts. And when you turn to grab a chair and sit he sees a bite mark on your shoulder blade that’s already purpling. He’s pretty sure that one was Santi.

“Hey,” you say softly to them, sitting in a chair backwards, your legs spread around the back of it. Benny grabs a chair and shoves it up behind you, keeping his body as close to yours as he can get. Will searches for the jealousy in his bones from earlier and is surprised but relieved when he doesn’t find any.

“Hey,” Pope replies, his hair mussed from shoving his fingers through it. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I didn’t know what it was,” and Will hears the helplessness in his voice, that feeling of being out of control. None of them are accustomed to that but at least they’ve been out of the life long enough to adjust, Santi hasn’t.

Frankie watches as Benny drags his lips across your shoulder, his hat backwards, and Frankie feels a hot shot of arousal through his spine. How the fuck is he horny right now? They just fucked for literal hours and you and Benny fucked for at least another hour after that. But he watches Benny watch all of them with hooded eyes, his arm wrapped around your waist, and Frankie wants to press you between them again. He wants to see if you make the same pretty noises that you did earlier before they lost track of everything. But then you’re speaking and he’s got to focus on your words.

“So,” you start and everyone leans forward, anticipating your next words. “That was……interesting,” Benny barks a short laugh from behind you, nosing your hairline.

“That’s a good word for it, Honeybee.”

Frankie clears his throat and four pairs of eyes slide to him. “Did anyone say….anything….they didn’t mean?” He asks, choosing his words carefully. He knows Benny and Will and Santiago all told you they loved you and he said something close, or at least he tried to. He looks pointedly at you because this whole thing hinges on you and how you feel about this. There is no them without you.

“You don’t have to give us an answer right now, sweet girl,” Will tells you, dragging a hand over his jaw. “But I don’t care how strange it may seem to other people, I’m in.”

“Me too,” Frankie says.

“I am as well,” Benny says, nosing up against your jaw, whispering an ‘I love you’ in your ear that no one else can hear.

Four pairs of eyes slide to Santiago and he drops his face in his hands and you move to go to him but Benny’s arm keeps you caged. “Let him figure it out on his own,” he whispers.

“I’m going to fuck something up,” Santi finally says after several moments of silence.

“To be fair, Garcia, I think we’re all going to fuck this up,” you say as you snort a laugh. “This won’t exactly be easy.” Santi lifts his head to look at you. “We’ve known each other so long. We’ve been through so much together. This, all of us, feels…natural?”

“Yeah, there’s so many things that could go wrong. So much we could fuck up,” Benny says. “But we all love our girl here, right?” Three other heads nod at him. “And our girl loves us, right?” And you nod your head, which is a little difficult because Benny has his cheek pressed up against yours. “Then fuck it, I don’t care what society or other people think. Let’s make this shit work.”

It makes sense, Benny’s little speech, and everyone is nodding and agreeing and you only have one thought and you huff a laugh when you think it.

“What are you laughing at this time, princesa?” Frankie asks.

“I’m so glad Redfly couldn’t make it on this mission.”

[cosmosbabydoll]

𝐈 𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮, 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 🔞

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞 જ⁀➴ 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Elliot puts himself out on a limb just to get the attention of a girl

SMUT!! MDNI!!! softdom!Elliott, masturbation, unprotected sex, p in v, afab reader, oral, mutual pining, sexual tension, reckless Elliott, mentions of gun violence, nurse!reader

You’ve been stationed at this forward operating base for three months—long enough for the chaos of the outside world to become background noise, but not long enough to get used to the constant weight of it pressing on your chest.

You’re a combat medic. Used to blood, screaming, silence. But not used to him.

Elliott.

He’s part of a recon unit that comes and goes like a ghost. Never talks much. He always looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. There’s something feral in the way he moves, like he’s waiting for the next shot to go off, even in the quiet. And yet, somehow, he always finds his way to you when he’s banged up—like tonight.

He comes in late. Shirt shredded, arm torn up, dark eyes hard like he’s still out there, still fighting something. You clean his wound in silence, but the tension’s thick. Heavy. You’ve fought before—barked orders, snapped at him for being reckless, shoved him when he got in your face.

But tonight is different. Tonight, you’re both too tired to argue, too strung out to pretend the air between you hasn’t been charged since day one.

You press gauze to his side. He flinches. Your other hand lingers on his hip to keep him in place. His gaze drags up your body, slow and unreadable.

“Are you always this rough with your patients? ” He mutters, voice low, hoarse.

You smirk. “Only the ones who piss me off.”

His jaw flexes. “Then you must really hate me.”

You stare at him, your heartbeat picking up. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? ”

He laughs, a dry, bitter sound. Then—“Yeah. I fuckin’ would.”

He doesn’t move when you pull the gauze away—just sits there on the edge of the cot, stripped down to his undershirt, sweat clinging to his skin. Blood seeps through the fresh bandage at his ribs, and you should tell him to lie back and take it easy. But you don’t. You just stare at him for a second too long, eyes dragging down his chest, jaw, the curve of his mouth, and the moustache that sits right above it.

You know what this is. You’ve known for weeks. Every look, every snap of tension between you two. Every time he called you “Doc,” it was like a challenge. Every time he stood too close, he lingered too long after a patch-up. Every time you got in his face, and he didn’t back down—just stared at you like he wanted to pull you in and ruin you.

You break the silence first.

“You’re going to split that open again if you keep fucking around like that.”

“I’ll live.”

You roll your eyes and start packing up your kit, but you feel him watching you. Not just watching—tracking. Like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s daring you to say what you’re both thinking.

“Something else bothering you? ” You ask, not looking at him.

“You,” he says flatly. Like a gunshot. No hesitation.

You freeze, hands still.

“Yeah? Well, good thing you can go,” you laughed—ignoring the obvious poking tension he’s only making worse.

You turned around to put the kit back on the trolley, but when you turned back around, Elliott was right behind you—standing now, looking down at you.

“God, I can’t wait anymore.” He exhaled like he was preparing for his next move, and he was.

Elliott leans down with a hand hovering over your hip; his pupils are blown out, but he has a touch of gentleness to him.

You looked up at him with the eyes he’d sworn a million times he hated, but if anyone read the little notebook he kept in his pack—the one thing keeping him from losing his mind—it would tell you otherwise.

Second Week Out

I saw her for the first time; she stood out in all the right ways. I knew instantly that if I didn’t meet her. I’d lose my fucking mind.

Third Week Out

She knows me. I may have gotten shot; it might have been on purpose, but now she knows me. She knows I’m here.

Fourth Week Out

We started arguing about me being “reckless.” I didn’t mind because it was my recklessness that got her to know my name. It was my recklessness that brought me to see her every day, to make sure she was okay.

Fifth Week Out

I’m starting to lose control. I need her to know that I need her. I would never admit this to anyone, but I woke up in a cold sweat—thinking about her, of course. It just happened. One second I was asleep. The next thing I was bucking into my hand thinking about her eyes, the way I would want her to look at me if I was in her. Not my fucking hand. God, this is weird. What the fuck is wrong with me?

It was the sixth week out, and it was time he made his move.

“Tell me to leave, and I will walk out of here right now.” Elliott’s voice was gruff, laced with a thick lust he wasn’t sure you shared.

Your throat bobbed as you met his rather intense gaze again; you both know this is risky, but that only made you want it more.

“Stay.” That was the only word you managed to get out, and it was only a little louder than a whisper.

Elliott took this as his signal—crashing his lips on yours. Instantly wrapping his arms around your waist before letting a deep groan rip from his throat.

You stood on your tippy toes, arms around his neck and hands in his buzzed hair. His moustache tickled against your top lip. This felt surreal.

Elliott was quick to deepen the kiss; after all, he got shot—multiple times, might he add—to earn this kiss. He wasn’t about to let it go to waste.

Once his tongue slipped into your mouth, you tasted it. The mint was from one of those stupid pieces of gum he liked popping in your ear way too loud. There was an additional taste of chewing tobacco, not your favourite taste, but the mint masked it well enough.

It was a weird mix—tobacco and mint—but somehow, it felt real. It felt like him. Like this. Flawed and reckless. Maybe a little dangerous, but honest in its own fucked-up way.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against your own, his breath heavy against your lips.

“I shouldn’t want this so bad,” he murmured, his voice barely hanging on. “But I do. I want you.”

Your fingers still rested in his hair, now scratching at the nape of his neck, trying to hold yourself back a little longer. “Then shut up and take it.”

That was all it took. He snapped.

Smashing his lips back onto yours, pulling you flush against him. You moan softly in his mouth. The sound went straight to his dick.

He scooped you up gently and plopped you down on the cot like you weighed nothing. Standing between your legs, he continued kissing you. Hands now rubbing up and down the plush of your thighs.

You were pressed up against him. Hands in what little hair he had. You felt the heat start to grow between your thighs, and you involuntarily bucked forward.

Elliott had you held down pretty well, but this small movement brushed right against where he needed you most. If you did that one more time, he thinks he’d finish on the spot.

He didn’t want that.

He didn’t want to waste what could be the only chance he got.

Quickly he dropped to his knees. Head now between your legs. He took off your boots carefully, making sure not to hurt you. He moved his fingers up to the zipper of your pants.

“Can I? ” He spoke softly but still sounded gravelly.

A quick nod of desperation was all it took for him to pull down your uniform pants, revealing a pair of soft pink panties that were lined with lace. At the top there was a little bow.

He stared for a moment too long; it made you self-conscious, and you tried closing your legs, but before you could, he kissed the bow.

Just a soft peck. He was looking at you when he did it. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered against the bow. Lips grazing over the lowest part of your stomach.

You shivered softly. Your eyes stayed on him the entire time. You tried not to shy away again after this.

He hooked his fingers in your panties before tugging them down. You lifted your hips to help him, same as your pants. He didn’t look down. Not until they were completely pulled off and stuffed into the pocket of his pants.

“You okay, angel? ” He asked, inching closer to the place you needed him most.

“Mhm, just keep going,” you murmured, hand moving to scratch behind his ear. “Please, Elliott.”

That’s all it took for him to pull you closer to his face by the hips. He tucked his face between your soft thighs, leaving a kiss right above your clit.

You shuddered at the feeling. Before you knew it, you felt him lick a stripe between your folds. You let out a small gasp and tried grabbing onto his hair, but it wasn’t long enough.

He grabbed your hand and held it instead. Quickly diving back in, sucking on your clit this time.

It was like he was starving—because he was. He laps up every single drop of wetness that was created under his manipulation.

He grinded against nothing; the friction he desperately needed was so close but so far. He groaned as he continued eating you out. His pace is getting faster but sloppier.

You’ve become a moaning mess under his tongue. You rolled your hips softly, trying to gain a little more friction.

Elliott took this as a sign and moved the hand that wasn’t holding onto yours. He brought two of his thick fingers to your opening, slowly pumping them in as he continued to work his tongue against your clit.

His eyes stayed on you the entire time. Taking in the image of you from where he was placed. He hopes this isn’t the last time he sees you like this. You look absolutely stunning.

“Elliott—shit.” You practically squeaked. You’ve received before, but this was life-altering. His starvation drove you to the edge faster than you had hoped.

His fingers continued to curl inside of you at a slow speed while he licked and sucked at your nub. You didn’t want this to end, but you weren’t sure what was going to happen if you finished.

“Elliott, stop,” you stuttered.

The second you finished your sentence, he stopped. He looked up at you, concerned. His fingers froze, but he didn’t pull them out.

“Are you okay? ” He asked in a panic. “Did I hurt you? ”

You laughed, but it was more of a huff as you were completely out of breath.

“No,” you replied quickly. “I didn’t want to stop, and I was getting close.”

The concern on his face quickly faded. He moved his head right back to where it was but removed his fingers.

Scooping you up by your ass, he pushed his nose deep into your folds. Bathing himself in your juices. He pushed his tongue back inside of you and sped up his pace. His moustache only added to the pleasure.

You quickly threw your head back and let a loud moan escape your throat. Nails clawing deep into his biceps. You quickly unravelled under him with this newfound determination.

Your hips stuttered as an orgasm washed over you. Elliott, on the other hand, didn’t think twice.

He slurped up every single drop you gave him, like this was his final meal. Once he lapped up every last bit, he looked up at you once again.

His face was covered in you, his jaw was streaked with drops that didn’t reach his mouth, and his moustache collected some of it as well.

He gave you a small smile before standing back up. He wobbled for a moment.

The realization quickly hit you. This was the same man you would get into squabbles with constantly. One yelling at the other. All of a sudden he’s gone soft. Was it the tension? Or something deeper?

The thought quickly vanished when his lips met yours. His hand coming up to your cheek, tasting yourself on his tongue.

You moved your hands to his belt, undoing it and letting it drop to the floor as well as his pants. He was left in a pair of boxers, black ones with little teddy bears on them.

You let out a giggle at his boxers, but you were quickly cut off by his lips on yours again.

Luckily what you didn’t see was the giant wet spot on his boxers. He wasn’t sure how you didn’t see, but he was so glad he didn’t have to face the embarrassment.

One thing he learned how to do in boot camp is how to finish silently, because if you were loud about it, someone would catch you.

So naturally when he was eating you out and came undone in his pants accidentally—you didn’t even notice.

You moved your hands to the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down. His cock sprung out. Girthy and long, it was slightly curved downward but barely noticeable.

You let his boxers drop to the floor before you let go of the kiss. Running your hand along his snail trail all the way down to his dick.

You rubbed the bead of precum across his head.

Elliott let out a small groan. He needed her. He couldn’t wait anymore.

Thankfully you didn’t make him. You held him between your folds and ran the tip of his cock through them. You were aching for him at this point.

As you lined him up with your entrance, you nodded your head. He took this as a green light.

As he pressed in slowly, he stopped at around an inch. His forehead against yours. You both were sweaty at this point, but neither of you cared.

“Keep going,” you spoke softly; you wanted all of him. “All the way.”

You assured him it was okay. He slowly bottomed out, and when he did, he groaned as you bit into his shoulder. There was a slight sting considering how stretched out you were, but it was nice.

You kissed the spot on his shoulder you sunk your teeth into, moving up to his neck to give him more kisses. You rolled your hips slightly, and Elliott held you close to his chest.

He slowly pulled out—almost all the way—before he pressed back in. You moaned against his neck, and he gave you a desperate whimper back.

“I got you, baby.” He whispered into your ear as he brushed his hands through your hair.

He started to gain speed, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t hurt—you would also be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

You moved your head back to rest against his. He gave you a sloppy kiss as he became more desperate with his pace. Fucking you like this would be the one and only time. Maybe it is.

You were a moaning mess in his arms. You clawed at his back under his shirt relentlessly—surely drawing blood. Elliott only fed into it.

He held you with both hands on your cheeks. Holding your head close to his so he could keep kissing your lips. Like he was savouring it. Which he was.

His thrusts were faster than he’d ever gone in his hand. It was euphoric. It also brought him really close really fast. Luckily, another thing boot camp taught him was to control himself. Just to make sure he spills his seed into a sock without making a mess.

You were on the edge. Spent from him eating your pussy out like it was his last day on earth. That he would never get to do it again.

You were close. He felt it with the way you clenched around his cock and arched into him. He kept up his pace just to make sure you gave him all you had left.

You dug your nails deep into his back. Unable to kiss him back. You were short-circuiting. You let out a loud moan into his mouth before coming completely undone. Completely fucked out and dazed.

Elliott was a few thrusts behind you, quickly pulling out and cumming on your thigh with a groan. His seed was thick and hot.

He watched it run down your thigh before you scooped some up, popping your fingers in your mouth. Sucking them clean with a hum.

He looked at you with soft eyes, almost loving ones. He had never really enjoyed sex—not like this.

He quickly grabbed some tissues from the abandoned medical cart and cleaned you up. He helped you back into your pants and boots.

You didn’t ask for your underwear back; you hoped it would bring him back to you. You watched him get dressed and he sat beside you on the cot.

Neither of you said anything. He just rests his head on yours. Hand in hand.

Neither of you were sure what was coming next but whatever it was—along as it brought you two together—it would be the best thing to happen to either of you.

Sixth Week Out

I finally got her. It was good, really good. I’ve never seen anyone look so beautiful, but she’s always been gorgeous. I got an amazing sleep after kissing her goodbye that I wish I could have stayed but it would have just gotten us both in trouble.

Seventh Week Out

She’s been ignoring me. I haven’t seen her since that night. No one will tell me anything. Did I do something wrong? I’m losing my mind. I told Ray what happened but he doesn’t believe it. Apparently a lot of people wanted her. But she wouldn’t let anyone touch her—not like I touched her.

Eighth Week Out

Turns out she got the flu and was out for a week… totally wasn’t freaking me out. Anyways, it happened again and she let me take a nap in her bed when we were off. Ray believes me now considering the hickeys I returned to base with.

Ninth Week Out

We’re being sent back home next week for Christmas. Turns out my parents live an hour away from her. Maybe I should ask to stop by? Would she say yes? God, I hope so.

Christmas

So she definitely said yes. This guys got a girlfriend now!!! This is so stupid. I’m acting like a teenager again. Anything for her though. She got me a present, they were boxers with the squads face on it. I sent it to the group chat and Sam bullied me for it. Erik found it funny. I got her a necklace. It’s a locket with a photo of me in my uniform in it. Since she told me if she could fuck me with my uniform on “helmet and all” she would. I don’t know but again, anything for her.

@cosmosbabydoll @princesssunderworld

[naycelium]

Patch testing out her salvaged Recon Relic, B.E.E. (Bi-Rotor Electronic Explorer) 📹

[the-californicationist]

he washes your hair

Injured in the line of duty, you can't even manage to wash your own hair. Captain John Price decides to help you out.

MDNI/18+

TW: hurt/comfort, injury

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50663425

The medics did the best they could to patch you up, but the damage was extensive. The terrorist’s pipe bomb had exploded against your back, slamming shrapnel into your arms and shoulders, tearing your flesh and breaking your left collarbone. The doctor had tried to put your arm in a sling, but you couldn’t raise either arm above the midpoint. As you dragged your body back to your quarters, you did your best to get undressed, but you were now stuck, sitting on the floor, crying a bit from the pain and frustration of your injuries. 

There was no one to help you. You were stuck out here with the task force, but Soap and Ghost were still deep in enemy territory on recon. Gaz had gone with Laswell to find the weapons shipment that she’d promised you, and the only one left in the makeshift house-turned-base was Captain Price. 

You told yourself you’d do the same thing for him if the tables were turned, but it didn’t lessen the shame at all. You called his cell, 

“Cap?”

“Sparrow? What’s wrong?”

You never called him like this. Not at this hour. But, knowing you were injured, he picked right up. His voice was full of concern. You could picture his blue eyes shining with his worry. 

“Nothing…” you paused, “Well, I…”

“Gonna die of old age before you tell me, soldier.”

You smiled, biting the bullet,

“Cap, I need your help. I’m stuck in here. Can’t move my arms.”

“On my way,” he hung up. 

You waited, listening for his heavy footsteps. Eventually, you heard him in the hall. He knocked on your door.

“Come in,” you said, turning your eyes to the floor, unable to meet his gaze, full of shame. 

You were sitting there, in nothing but the shirt stuck around your arm and a pair of panties. You’d been successful with the rest of your outfit, proud of yourself for using a coat hanger to take off your bra from the back clip, but now you were trapped, unable to move even a little without being in excruciating pain.

“Poor little bird. Broke your wing, hm?” Price smiled down at you, his tone so different than his usual sarcasm.

“I must look pretty pitiful for you to be so sweet about it,” you rolled your eyes, “Go on, have a laugh. I’m a muppet who trapped herself in her own shirt.”

He didn’t say anything. Price walked over to you carefully, bending down so he could reach you, his hulking body darkening your vision, casting his huge shadow over you, almost protectively. He snaked his hand under the collar of your shirt and guided it up and over your head, careful not to disturb your bandages. 

Shirtless, now, and in just your underwear, you moved to cover your breasts, wincing as you made the attempt, your shoulder angry at the bent angle. 

“It’s alright, birdie. Let’s get you up,” he set your arm back into its neutral position and guided you to your feet. 

“I’m so sorry you had to come,” you whispered, shameful to the point of pain. 

Price guided you to the bathroom, his strength making you feel weightless. You were dizzy from it. His warm body felt like a salve on your wounds. 

He didn’t ask for permission when he stripped off your panties, kneeling to pull them off of your legs, letting you step gingerly out of them, one by one. You steadied yourself on his huge shoulders, the agony too high for you to complain any longer. Your breath caught in your chest when a sharp spike of hot pain shot through your chest. 

“Ah! Christ,” you gritted your teeth. 

Blue eyes looked up at you from below, looking like a man in prayer, looking up for his gods, for a sign. 

“Alright, Spar? Here, sit. Sit down,” he guided you to the side of the shower-tub combo, placing you between the open plexiglass doors. 

“Captain, I…” you tried to make your excuses again. 

“Shh,” he wiped some of your dried blood off of your cheek, and furrowed his brow at you, “No more of that. That’s an order, Corporal.” 

“Yes, sir,” you grimaced, trying to turn on the water. 

“Stop, birdie. Let me help you.” 

You were too tired to fight him. He turned on the water for you, and he started to remove your bandages. Your wounds needed to be cleaned and the bandages replaced. You weren’t sure how the medics expected you to do that by yourself. You thought the captain might be willing to stay, so you tried to be good, tried not to be a burden to him. 

“You know,” he commented as he waited for the water to warm up, reaching for clean towels, “Laswell called. She said you saved those two girls, the ones in the upstairs room.”

There had been a mess of civilians on this last mission, and you had blocked the bomb with your body, trying to shield them from the blast. 

“They made it through?” You wanted to be sure.

He nodded, smiling,

“Sure did, little bird. You did good. Made us proud,” then, he corrected himself, staring at you with fiery intent, “Me. Made me proud.” 

You smiled back, 

“Thanks, Captain.”

“C’mon, let’s get you clean,” he took off his shirt and you gaped in awe. 

His body was huge in the small bathroom, enormous shoulders bulging off of his heavy frame, and his core was thick but the top of his abs were sticking out, suggesting a well-fed but strong man. He was covered in dense hair, laying straight and flat against his skin, unshaven and untrimmed. No one to trim it for, you supposed.

“What are you doing?” You asked, shocked by his undressing.

Price unbuckled his belt, the metal clinking as it dangled, and started to take off his pants, using his toes to pry off his boots from the heel,

“Can’t wash yourself, and I can’t reach you from out here. Gonna jump in and help you,” he paused, looking at you carefully, “That alright, birdie?”

Your nickname was your favorite thing you’d ever gotten from him. When he used it, in his thick accent, it made your heart race. 

You nodded, resigning yourself to be as professional as you could, averting your eyes.

He chuckled, rich and deep,

“Might as well have a butcher’s now, love. Gonna be up close and personal.”

You looked at him then, accepting his challenge. But, as your eyes raked over his nude form, you saw his skin flush pink, a little more self-conscious than he let on. 

“I know, I know. Old dog like me, I’m nothing to look at. I promise, I’ll just wash you and get back out. Sorry about all the…” he made a general motion toward his cock, which was hanging heavy and half-hard at the sight of you, “Can’t help that you’re a pretty bird.” 

“John, you’re plenty to look at,” you grinned, blushing right along with him. 

For once in his life, John Price didn’t have a snappy response. He just checked the water again and helped you stand up, guiding you into the shower and repositioning the head so that it wouldn’t hit you directly. 

You let yourself soak under the stream, eyes closed, hearing him shut the door behind himself. You felt him steady you with a hand on your hip as he used a gentle washcloth to clean blood off of your skin, careful not to touch your wounds. 

“Turn ‘round, love,” his voice was so low, you almost couldn’t hear him. 

You turned toward him, watching him stand before you, breathing heavier, trying his best not to stare at your chest. It was easy at first. As he cleaned your face, his touch soft and platonic, he stole a few glances down. But, as he began to take care of your collarbone and chest, he lost his nerve a bit. At one point, he stopped mid-swipe, trying to clean blood from you and then watching as a long, thin rivulet ran directly over your nipple. 

You smiled, and he saw you, chuckling again.

“Got me. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Captain. Just a natural response.” 

He pulled back his lips from his teeth and ran a wet hand down his face, looking exasperated,

“Do you want…I mean, do you mind if I…” he let out a labored sigh, shaking his head. 

“You can, John. I…” you waited until he could look you in the face again, “I want you to touch me, if you want to.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, not really to you, “Look, I don’t want you to feel - ”

You leaned forward, a bit unsteady, and kissed the skin on his sternum, feeling the hairs on your lips, his wet skin sticking to you as you pulled away. 

“Little bird,” he was warning you. You could hear it in his tone. 

“Kiss me, John. Please?”

“I can’t. I can’t because I won’t stop. I don’t have an abundance of self-control. Not after a mission. Can’t be trusted.”

“I trust you,” you looked up at him, praying back to him, hoping he wanted you like you had wanted him over these last six months. 

Price leaned down, holding you steady, and kissed you very chastely. You kissed him back, not chastely at all. He moaned, pulling away,

“Don’t, Spar. I can’t…You’re injured.”

“Yeah, injured. Not dead.”

He smirked, unable to keep the grin off his face. His cock was as hard as a stone, and it was long enough to rub against your belly as you stood together in the small space. 

“Let me wash your hair. I’ll think about it, birdie…you little minx,” his last comment was said under his breath, full of hungry desperation. 

He turned you around again, and he reached for the shampoo, pouring out a quarter-sized amount into his calloused palm. Rubbing it together in his hands, he ran it through your scalp, massaging it until it foamed, making sure to take care of the ends. Then, he held you while you stood under the spray, letting the warm water soak your tresses, running the suds down the drain. 

As he prepared to wash your body, Price took a deep breath. He stayed away from your wounds, but as he started to wash your trunk, he hesitated to soap your breasts. 

“John, it’s okay.” 

He smiled at you, 

“Just enjoying you, little bird. Might not get another chance.” 

“I’ll make sure you get plenty of chances.” 

He was on you then, gently caressing your breasts and nipples with the soap, rubbing his body on yours, washing himself as he cleaned you. He ran his hands over your ass cheeks, down your legs, making sure to take care of your whole body as if it was his.

“Alright, all done,” he sighed, “Let’s get those dressings replaced, and I’ll take you to bed.”

You raised your eyebrows suggestively. He exhaled, smiling down at you in disbelief, his voice deep and ragged,

“Fuckin’ hell, birdie. Keep teasin’ me and I bloody will take you to bed.”

You smiled, laughing with him, enjoying his warmth as you leaned your body against his, letting the soft spray from the shower protect you both, cocooned together, safe and sound.

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Unsaid Emily

tfatws!bucky barnes x fem!reader

D.C. – Two Days Before the Mission

Bucky didn’t mean to start a fight.

He just couldn’t stop watching her zip up her tactical suit like it didn’t mean anything.

“It’s a recon run,” she said, tying her boots. “We’re in and out.”

“You always say that,” Bucky muttered.

She paused mid-lace, glancing up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m tired of acting like this isn’t dangerous.”

She scoffed. “It’s always dangerous. That’s the job.”

“No,” he said sharply. “It’s your job. I never asked you to do this.”

She stood up then, arms crossed. “You don’t get to play protector, James. Not with me.”

“I’m not playing anything,” he snapped. “I just don’t want to watch you walk into a mission and never come back.”

“Well maybe next time,” she said, voice low, “don’t fall for someone you don’t believe can take care of themselves.”

The room went quiet.

Bucky swallowed hard. “I don’t need you to be invincible. I need you to be alive.”

Her voice softened—just slightly. “So do I. But you can’t save me from everything, Bucky. You don’t get to choose what I risk.”

He looked at her for a long time.

Then said, quietly: “I hate how you do this. How you make it so easy to care and so impossible to stop.”

She blinked.

But before she could answer, the comm buzzed—mission briefing in 10.

And just like that, she turned and walked out the door.

——

Northern Border, Europe – Mission Day

A routine op. A regular day. That’s what made it worse.

Snow drifted off the trees in soft clouds as Y/N and Bucky moved along the perimeter. Sam’s voice crackled over comms: “You two good over there?”

“We’re solid,” Y/N answered, glancing up at the crumbling building ahead of them. “Looks like an old comms tower.”

Bucky barely glanced at her.

He hadn’t spoken more than five words to her since their fight two nights ago. And she hadn’t tried either.

She was calm, professional, focused — and that killed him more.

They crept through the corridor in silence. She took the lead, scouting. He followed, eyes trained on her like his focus could keep her safe.

It didn’t.

They split at the hallway fork — standard sweep pattern. Two minutes, then regroup.

Y/N turned and gave him a quick nod.

He didn’t nod back.

He wanted to say “Wait.”

He wanted to say “Come back.”

But he said nothing.

And that was the last time he saw her alive.

⸻

1:42 PM

Bucky was halfway through disabling an old security console when the explosion hit.

It shook the ground — a thunderous crack followed by fire and debris slicing through the hall.

“Y/N?!” he shouted into the comm. “Talk to me! Answer me!”

Nothing.

Only static.

He ran — faster than his legs had ever moved — into the smoke-filled hallway. Sam was yelling something behind him, but Bucky didn’t hear it.

All he could see was the collapsed east wing.

And a patch of black tactical gear crushed beneath beams and rubble.

⸻

Later That Day

They pulled her out of the wreckage hours later.

It took three people to confirm the body.

Sam stood in silence. Torres vomited. Bucky… he didn’t move.

He stood there, staring at what was left of her.

He didn’t cry.

He didn’t speak.

He just reached down, hands trembling, and took her necklace from the soot.

He stared at it like maybe — maybe — if he held it long enough, she’d come back.

But she didn’t.

⸻

One Week of Mourning

⸻

Day One

Bucky didn’t leave the room.

Didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. Didn’t move.

He sat on the floor, back against the wall, Y/N’s necklace clenched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles went white.

Sam came in once.

“Bucky…”

No answer.

He was somewhere else — back in the hallway. Back at the fork. Back in the moment he should’ve said something. Should’ve turned around.

⸻

Day Two

He found her sweatshirt in his duffel bag.

Still smelled like her. Lavender and leather.

He curled up in the corner of the bed with it pressed to his face and shook silently for two hours.

Didn’t talk to anyone.

⸻

Day Three

He climbed to the rooftop just before midnight.

The wind cut through him like glass.

He stared up at the moon and whispered, “I didn’t mean it.”

His breath fogged in the cold. His fingers curled tighter around the chain in his palm.

“I should’ve told you I loved you.”

No one heard him.

Except the sky.

⸻

Day Four

Sam found him in the gym, bleeding.

His fists were raw — he’d punched through two punching bags, a concrete pillar, and a mirror.

“Bucky, stop!”

Bucky didn’t even blink. “She died thinking I hated her.”

“No, she didn’t—”

“I never said sorry.”

Sam froze.

Bucky stared down at the floor, chest heaving.

“I never said sorry.”

⸻

Day Five

He started writing.

Pages and pages of words he should’ve said. Crumpled letters. Torn journal entries. Ink-stained hands.

“If I could take us back… If I could just do that…”

“I’d write ‘I love you’ in every empty space.”

“So time couldn’t erase me.”

⸻

Day Six

He stopped talking.

Just sat on the rooftop again. Every night.

Necklace still in his palm. Always clenched.

He whispered to the moon like she could hear him.

“I never let you go.”

“I just… I didn’t know how to hold on.”

⸻

Day Seven

Zemo broke the silence in the common room.

“There’s been another string of deaths. Clean kills. Cold precision.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Bucky looked up, eyes dark.

“They’re Hydra hits,” Zemo said, tossing the file on the table. “Same M.O. Different location.”

And then Sam’s voice, slow and low:

“…Hydra’s back.”

Bucky didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

But his grip on her necklace tightened like a man realizing the ground beneath him had just shifted again.

Because suddenly… he had a reason to get up.

——

Hydra Facility – Somewhere Underground

Seven days since she died.

Three days since the bodies started piling up.

Twelve minutes since they entered the compound.

Zero sound. Zero movement. Too quiet.

“Something’s off,” Sam whispered, scanning the corridor as Redwing hovered above.

“I feel it too,” Bucky muttered. He hadn’t let go of her necklace — it was tucked in his pocket, over his heart, like a shield.

Zemo trailed behind them, silent but watchful. The man had insisted they investigate despite Sam’s warnings.

“This is a trap,” Sam had said. “They’re trying to lure Bucky.”

“Then let them,” Zemo had answered. “The truth is worth it.”

Now, all Bucky felt was ice in his lungs.

They stepped into the main control room, walls covered in dust and frost — untouched, abandoned-looking. But it didn’t feel abandoned.

The lights flickered once.

Then a voice — warped and smooth — crackled through the intercom:

“Welcome back, Soldier.”

Bucky froze.

His fists clenched, breath catching in his throat.

“We’re so glad you came. We have a surprise for you.”

“Cover your ears!” Sam shouted, smashing his elbow into the control panel while Redwing shot upward and exploded the speakers.

But the damage was already done.

Because the wall across from them groaned — a mechanical whirr — and the massive double doors hissed open.

And standing there…

Was her.

⸻

Y/N.

Alive.

But not really.

Stripped of the warmth in her eyes. Her left arm replaced by a sleek black vibranium model, humming with faint blue light. Her suit was black, tactical, no insignia. Her stance — stiff, soldier-like. Controlled.

Her eyes locked on Bucky’s.

And they were empty.

Not confused. Not familiar.

Just empty.

⸻

Bucky’s world cracked in half.

He stepped forward, almost stumbling. “Y/N…?”

Nothing. Not a flinch. No recognition.

He took another step, shaking. “It’s me. It’s Buck. I thought you were—”

His voice cracked.

“God, I thought you were dead.”

Her head tilted slightly, like a machine running diagnostics.

And then, flatly, she spoke:

“Target acquired.”

She moved like lightning.

Metal arm first — crashing into Sam and knocking him into the wall. Redwing went down in pieces.

Bucky couldn’t move at first.

Because it wasn’t just her body that had changed — it was everything. Her soul, her heart, stolen and warped and twisted the way Hydra did best.

The same thing they had done to him.

And now, they did it to her.

⸻

The Fight

It was brutal.

She moved with precision and rage, flipping over consoles, taking bullets to the shoulder like they were paper cuts.

Zemo tried to subdue her with gas — she dodged it.

Sam tried to pin her — she flipped him.

And Bucky… Bucky just stood there.

Watching the love of his life try to kill him.

When she turned to him finally, breathing hard, her metal arm sparking, he barely lifted his hands.

“Y/N. Please,” he begged. “You don’t want to do this.”

But she didn’t pause.

Didn’t blink.

She launched at him.

Fist to his jaw, elbow to his ribs, knee to his side.

And Bucky let her.

He let her hit him until the blood from his lip dripped down his neck.

Until he saw the way her hands shook mid-punch.

Until — just for a second — her eyes flickered.

And he saw it.

Fear.

Buried beneath the programming. Drowning under commands.

“Come back to me,” he choked out. “Fight it. Please, baby. Please.”

She screamed — rage and confusion and agony all tangled together — and raised her arm again.

He caught it mid-swing.

And slammed her to the ground.

One hit. One knockout. Clean. Final.

And it destroyed him.

⸻

Hours Later – Wakandan Transport En Route

Bucky sat in the corner of the jet, her head in his lap, unconscious.

She was strapped down gently, softly — not like a prisoner, but like a patient.

The Dora Milaje were already coordinating the deprogramming.

Bucky stared at her face.

She looked so peaceful now. Like she wasn’t carrying 1000 kills in her hands. Like she wasn’t just trying to kill him.

Like she wasn’t taken from him, broken, and handed back in pieces.

He pressed his forehead to hers, voice trembling.

“I’m gonna bring you home. I swear.”

And then, lower.

Broken.

Whispering:

“If I could take us back… if I could just do that… I’d write ‘I love you’ in every empty space…”

Wakanda – Underground Recovery Wing

Two days after the base.

Y/N woke up screaming.

Thrashing, metal arm flaring with unstable sparks as she tore through the silk sheets and kicked off the restraints.

The walls around her were unfamiliar.

The bed — too soft.

The lights — too warm.

The scent — lavender and cedarwood.

It was all wrong.

She wasn’t supposed to wake up here.

She was supposed to be dead. Or killing.

Not… breathing.

She staggered back, gripping her head, a raw sob ripping from her throat. Her knees hit the ground hard.

Blood. Screams. Hands stained red.

She remembered all of it.

⸻

The door burst open.

The Dora Milaje were in before the second gasp. Calm, poised, trained.

“She’s disoriented—get the arm!” Ayo said.

“No!” Bucky shoved past them.

“She needs to see someone she remembers. Let me try.”

They hesitated.

But they let him through.

⸻

He dropped to his knees in front of her.

She didn’t even look like herself — soaked in sweat, trembling, eyes wide and feral.

Her metal arm twitched against her side, fingers curled like claws.

“Y/N…” he whispered.

Her head jerked up.

Her eyes met his.

She flinched.

“No. No, no, no, no—” She backed away like he was fire. “You can’t see me like this—”

“Hey—hey, it’s okay.” He reached forward slowly, gently, like she was glass. “You’re safe. You’re here. You’re not—”

“I killed people, Bucky.”

Her voice cracked like a dying star.

“I killed so many people. I remember it all. Their faces. Their screams. I—”

She dug her metal fingers into the skin of her own shoulder, like she could rip herself open and make it stop.

“Get it off me— get it OFF—”

“Y/N!” Bucky grabbed her wrists and pulled her close, holding her tight against his chest as she screamed and kicked.

“Look at me,” he said desperately. “LOOK at me!”

Her breath hitched.

He cupped her face, wiping the sweat from her temple with a shaking hand.

“This isn’t your fault.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

His heart split open.

“You weren’t supposed to. You were supposed to come back. I was supposed to apologize. I was supposed to tell you I—”

He couldn’t even finish.

She fell into him.

Collapsed.

Sobbing.

⸻

Later, when she finally slept, he sat beside her with her head in his lap.

He ran his fingers over her hair, like she was still fragile and alive and his all at once.

He stared out the window.

At the moon again.

And this time… he said it.

“I love you.”

“I should’ve said it before the mission.”

“I should’ve said it every day.”

“If I could take us back, I’d write it everywhere.”

“I’d tattoo it on the damn walls so time couldn’t erase me.”

He took her hand — both of them, flesh and metal — and brought them to his lips.

“You’re gonna come back to me, piece by piece.”

“And when you do… the words I most regret…”

“Will never be left unsaid again.”

Wakanda – One Week Later

She hadn’t looked him in the eyes since she came back.

She hadn’t called him Bucky.

She hadn’t said anything at all, really — except at night, when the nightmares tore through her lungs like fire, and she’d wake up gasping and clawing at her arm, screaming things she couldn’t remember saying.

And every time, without fail, Bucky was there.

He never said a word when she screamed.

Never flinched when she cried.

Never left.

He’d hold her through it.

Rub her back.

Kiss her hair.

Sometimes hum under his breath — barely audible — just to fill the silence.

But tonight… tonight was different.

Tonight she didn’t wake up screaming.

Tonight she was already awake.

⸻

She sat curled up on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to her chest, metal hand limp beside her.

Bucky stood by the doorway, unsure if he should come in.

Until she spoke:

“…You said it. Didn’t you.”

He froze.

“What?”

She glanced over her shoulder.

“In the base. Before you knocked me out.”

Her voice was quiet. Empty. “You told me to come back to you.”

His throat tightened. “Yeah.”

A long pause.

“I heard it.”

⸻

He moved closer.

Step by step, until he was sitting on the floor at her feet.

“You were gone,” he said, voice cracking. “And I didn’t get to say anything. We’d fought, and… and I let you go into that mission thinking I hated you.”

“I thought you did.”

He looked up at her. “I didn’t. I never did. I was scared.”

She looked down at her hands. “Of what?”

“Of how much I loved you.”

Silence.

“I thought if I lost you, it’d kill me.”

She blinked, hard.

“And then I did lose you. And it didn’t kill me — it just made me wish I was dead.”

⸻

She reached out slowly, like she wasn’t sure if he’d let her.

But he did.

He took her metal hand in his — the one he once thought would only hurt people.

Now it was holding the only thing that had ever made him feel alive.

And then…

She whispered it:

“I loved you too.”

“I still do.”

“I remembered your voice, Bucky. Even when I couldn’t remember mine.”

“That’s what kept me from pulling the trigger.”

“That’s why I missed.”

His chest caved in.

“You remembered me?”

“I never forgot.”

She finally looked him in the eyes.

And this time, they were hers again.

⸻

He pulled her into his lap. Held her like she’d disappear if he blinked.

And then, in the quiet of the Wakandan night, under a silver moon…

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I never wanted to leave you.”

“You didn’t,” he whispered back.

“You just came home a little later.”

⸻

He kissed her metal shoulder first.

Then her temple.

Then her lips.

Slow. Careful. Like she was something fragile he’d spent a lifetime losing.

And when they pulled apart, she asked:

“…What now?”

He rested his forehead against hers.

“Now we write in every empty space.”

“We take back what they stole.”

“And we never leave another word unsaid.”

[blingblong55]

The Great War -141, Vladimir Makarov

Based on a request:

with the new mw3, lets do angst, something along the lines of "Somewhere in the haze, got a sense i've been betrayed" coming from us because 141 betrayed us horribly, which ended up in us getting tortured and then we pretennd its fine when it isnt. forget and forgive we lie and when we meet with Makarov, we tell them, 'oops sorry, forgot i was also a enemy at some point, guess its time to betray like real enemies do' and as we set Makarov free, we show that we have been working as his spy ever since they betrayed us. also can this be with a female reader and we also marry makarov behind their backs so thats why we betray so hard? i love u!

A/N: anon knew what they were doing with that ask…anyway, here you go my love…betrayal as a meal <3

--- F!Reader, soldier!reader, enemy!reader, betrayal, mentions of torture and violence

A/N: also, not much of an angst since I don't want to kill Soap in this one...but I hope you like it

[Present day]

File #21712

Name: [Readers Last, First name]

Alias: Grim

Callsign: Bravo 0-5

Gender: F

DOB: [Redacted]

Rank: 2nd Lt.

Affiliations: 

-TF 141 (Former)

-Kasper Team (dissolved)

-Konni Group (Current)

Status: Alive. Threat.

Summary:

Deadly, fast and a killing machine. Soldier was trained as a recon sniper and has been trained by allied forces as an insertion specialist. SAS has recognised this soldier as a necessity for most of its joint operations. Decorated with high awards and recognition by all military forces. TF 141 acquired soldier after a mission in Al Mazrah. Capable of killing all those that come between her and the goal, will not hesitate to harm enemies.

---------------------- 

The file was there, Laswell and all of the men in the team stared at it. What have they done, was all that played in their minds. To betray a soldier that has been wanted by all allied forces, by all teams and now losing you so quickly to a Russian group. To think your hands will be responsible for their demise. One torture room, where you begged as they did vile acts against you. Truth yelled by your gravelly throat, only to have Price ask for more of your blood. "How did he get to her so quickly?" Gaz asked, baffled to have lost you to the man you hated when this all began. "He had her all along," Kate spoke. Nikolai shook his head. "But how? We were her family," a betrayed Ghost said. "We betrayed her first," Price recalls. 

[Eight years ago]

There had been suspicion someone within the base was working with KorTac, a double agent. All fake puzzles led to an unsuspecting, then officer cadet, you. Ghost and Soap made sure to tie you nicely to a chair. The same one that watched you bleed the truth as they cut looking for lies. You were always the hunter, never the prey. "Tell us, R/N, why the fuck were you talking to KorTac!" Price made sure to have the young Lieutenant punch you each time you stayed silent. Your blood on the walls of the torture-...interrogation room. "I told you Price, it isn't me!" Your eyes poured the truth they never saw. 

"Fucking answer us!" Soap, more than ever hurt, slapped you. You play tough, but this hurts, the people you trusted with your life are now wanting to end it. An oath you hold close to you, now far away, or so they believed. The patch you wore with pride, is now ripped from your uniform. No longer friendly but an enemy. You knew what this meant. Ghost took his knife out, began to approach your neck with the sharp blade and before he took your life, Gaz walked in. A small-figured soldier is being pushed into the room. "Tell them what you told me!" Garrick barked. "I-it's me! I'm the one who is talking to KorTac," voice filled with fear, rightfully so. Ghost let go of the fisted uniform in his hand, and watched as your body fell forward. Soap, look of regret, held you in his arms. 

On the way to the medic centre, Ghost was by your side as you kept whispering it wasn't you. The scar he made, is forever to be kept. Days of healing, hours of apologies. Nights when you didn't hear it, but the cold lieutenant apologised with a stream of tears on his face. A blade he cared for, neared your death. 

A/N: Makarov's information has been updated for the reboot, so I'm basing myself on that

[Seven years ago]

[Saint Petersburg, Russia]

You visited the country as a civilian and bumped into a man on your way to your hotel. "Sorry, mate," you kept walking and then days later, the same man appeared in the hotel's lobby. Bumped into you and then as an apology for spilling your wine, he offers dinner. 36-year-old Vladimir was still not illustrated, not to any of his future enemies or hunters at least. You learned many things with him that evening, from his young years in the military and how his night had gotten better since meeting you. "It's wonderful, to have such a beauty like you visit such a dull country." He had you blushing and knew how to mess with your young heart. 

"You're just saying that, Vlad," a smile on your lips. It was bizarre how he went from Vladimir to Vlad, a short name that meant too much to a man like him. "Well, it's true, my dear," his smile winning you over. He didn't know your real job and you didn't know his. That night, you made a friend, someone you hold dear. That night, he made a lover, a puppet to his future. 

[Six years ago]

[middle of nowhere]

"Where are you taking me?" a blindfold on you as your boyfriend, Vlad, took you to yet another date. "You'll see my dearest," he whispers against your soft skin. Warm breeze hit your skin. The ocean, as free as you and him yearned to be. "Suprise my love," his thick accent melting your heart. The blindfold off you, you smile and hug him. This day, all truth was told, no arguments, just two lovers understanding each other's lives. "No no, my love, I would never hurt you," a promise he knows to keep. "And you wouldn't betray me, right love?" His hands cupped your delicate face as you nod. "I would never," you whisper as you feel his lips fall on yours. 

From then on, no one knew who he was to you. But to his comrades, friends and family you were the girl who held his heart. The task force all thought you were just like them, stuck to the mission and not to civilian love. Dancing with the devil, making love to him and promising your all. An engagement ring that hangs with your dog tags. Secret love to never be told. 

[Five years ago]

"Who is this?" Soap and Gaz looked at the photograph. "Vladimir Makarov, a Russian nationalist, born during the USSR," Laswell responded. "He's the target," her lips said. A knot at your throat, this can't be, you have to warn him. "Y'alright love?" Ghost's hand on your back. You nod. "Yeah, I'm just thinking," you turn to him. He nods, "Right, well, what do you think we should do?" He encouraged you, the new lieutenant of the team, no longer a cadet officer. It was something he pushed you to, to be the best. Proud smile on him when you ran up to him with the news. "I say we start with intel," you look at the photograph once more. It was your Vlad, no doubt. "Right, sergeants with me, Ghost and Grim stay behind for Laswell's next intel ask," Price nodded and left. 

Days passed and Operation Golf was established. Ghost taught you how to perfect your ghillie suit. He just liked how you tried to make yours better than his, which always turned into, 'which Lt. wore it better'.

By midnight, as Ghost went to sleep, you left base to meet with Vladimir. Price and the two other men in a different country, looking for him. "What is it, my love?" His gloved hands held your face. "They are now gathering intel on you. They believe you are still in Russia," you spoke in Russian. He chuckles, "Shame that I'm here, isn't it," his lips meet yours. Your nose is cold and now warmed by his kiss. "Don't trust no one, not even Ivan," you warn him. "I only trust my beautiful love," he kisses you again. "Now, let me hold my precious darling before she plays pretend." And that night, was the first of many rendezvous's he took for you whilst you play ally to the task force. 

[Four years ago]

You were on an operation with some old teammates from a past squad when Price got a hold of you. "Grim, it's that Captain Price guy!" A teammate calls out. You answer the call. "Prisoner 627 is now in Russia," Price proudly spoke. 627, a number unique to the case the military had opened for Makarov alone. Your wedding ring is hung with the dog tags. "Copy, out." You say over the call. That night, your bedroom was not filled with the call of your dearest lover. It's strange, to play pretend with the family you made as a soldier and to play feign with the man you call home as a wife. All in the name of love and war. 

Months pass and you play calmly. No husband, just an enemy in some Russian prison. "Y'okay bonnie?" Soap sat beside you during mess hall. "Yeah, just a bit tired from that training," you lie. The sleepless nights you have thought about your husband. You look around the table, no one knowing you knew what would come next from Konni. In the end, it wouldn't be you who got betrayed again. Not tortured, especially not by the men in your husband's team that guarded your life with theirs. 

Mission after mission, you would go to a country near Russia. Have meetings with people on your husband's side, and hear how he would escape prison. Asked you to stay away from his people when the day arrived. Play good, he would remind you. You know the date, time, how and when it would happen. The plan is all memorised in your head. You knew the people that would break him free, you knew it all and yet no one in 141 was aware. 

[Three years ago]

On yet another mission, you got news of Vladimir. He isolated himself, prepared for when he would see you again. Sent letters to you occasionally. Details of love no one would see from a man like him. A love for all movie lovers to never witness. You roamed the home he set out to be his and yours, no one, not even his best soldier knew that home existed. It was days like these that you wished to have stayed in bed and kissed his body, all details to be taken in for when you waited to once more kiss him. 

The picture of the secret wedding was held between your fingers. A smile he dreams to see as he awaits the prison break. The man who was set to believe evil held your hand and promised an entire lifetime of love. "I'm sorry," you whisper as your gaze focuses on the 141 emblem. 

"Never be sorry, never, what they did to you is cruel, you never do that to a woman who was oathed in," fury escaped his lips. It was the night he finally told you all about him. He kissed the scars that the torture room left. In that moment, all else who dared question you, especially the rats of 141 would pay for what they did to his darling. Maybe he did corrupt you, but those scars, the lies they believed and the truths they never heard from you, were way before he met you. He believed in loyalty, good or evil, opposing or not. And the way you told him how you held the oath of being a soldier dear to you, he admired it. He believes that loyalty is essential, and if you are loyal to who you are, he applauds it. 

[Two years ago]

A mission gone wrong, a phone call from within the prison. All he sacrificed to just hear you say, "I'm fine, honey." With that oh-so-soft voice of yours. A sigh of relief came from his lips. This was a reminder he would always be around even from within a guarder tower of hell. His men would always guard you, even if they fought 141, you were never the target. KorTac had a target on their backs when Vladimir found out they were the ones responsible for the bullet on your shoulder. "What is it?" He asked the guard. "The girl has been injured, gunfight at some mission." He had people that worked for him within the guards, and when the news arrived to him, that's when for the first time in his life, he feared life and a gun. Vladimir Makarov is a villain in everyone's eyes. In your eyes that hold paradise, he is peace. He is Vlad, your husband. 

Whilst waiting for Soap to get cleared from the medics, you played with the ring on your necklace. "Oh, R/N, has some lover?" Gaz was the first to notice. Ghost's stare went to you, eyes wide as he heard the words he never needed to hear. Your blush told the words his heart never wanted to hear. 

[One year ago]

[Las Almas, Mexico]

"Are you threatening us?" Ghost asked and in that moment, he made you back away. Guarding you with his body. Betrayal, the first of many he would see with you. That became the night you escaped the shadows of Commander Graves. Soap was somewhere in the city, Ghost and you escaped every chance the shadows had at catching you. Imprisonment is something you got Colonel Vargas out of. Ironic. By the end, you killed him, the man who used his shadows, in some explosion. "You alright, love?" Ghost asked as you went to the aircraft quietly. "Yeah, Mexico just tired me," your head hung as you played with the dog tags. "Who's the lover?" He finally acknowledged the ring. "No one, it's just a silly joke," you lie, something he knew well. "Hmm, yeah...a silly joke," he turned away from you. 

[Present day, 21 November 2023 ] 

[London, England]

The last time you saw them all as a team, well, now that you were sure you'd be a newfound enemy. With Makarov now out of prison, prisoner 627, your love called for him. As Ghost looked through the CCTV cameras, one of the men in Konni gave you the signal. And as you approached, you caught a glimpse of him. Your heart flutters and then you look at Ghost. He nodded and you pretended to try and fight against Makarov. Czar-9-0 Actual. The callsign of your husband and the name of the man you betrayed them for. Guns blazing, bullets directed at them, not you. Gaz and Ghost, a team, Soap and Price, a team, 141, one unit. You, the wife of the enemy. Two bullets and then, the head hit the ground. Young soldier down. "What are you doing?!" Soap asked as you turned on them. A 20-year-old soldier died within seconds, you knew him from when he joined at 18. James, the man whose blood ran on your gun. 

Makarov fired, one of his men held your hand and brought you to your husband. The 141 patch off your uniform as now, you were given the Konni patch. "Welcome back, comrade," a man spoke with an evil grin. Ghost, the eyes that saw the betrayal again. 23 soldiers died, from both sides. 141 on the ground, trying to recover. 

--

"C'mon, Grim, you have to trust me on this, yeah?" the young lieutenant that made Ghost told you. "What if we fall?" you asked. "If you trust me, we won't and if I trust you, we will go home and get a pint or two," He smiles at you. From this day on, you and he became close, a bond no gun could break. 

--

Ghost swore you were taken hostage. And as Makarov was about to kill Captain Price, one of his men tapped him out. "No time, we will get him later!" Ghost's glare never left yours. He shook his head. This can't be, not his R/N. You looked at him, no remorse behind your eyes. It wasn't R/N, it was Grim that stared at him. The soldier he respected the most. You pointed your gun at one of the other soldiers with them. 

It turned into something bigger

Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed

He jumped at you, to not kill you but to bring you back and let Makarov run with Grim. You pushed him, what turned into a fight for his teammate to be back, became a fight against the enemy. You pushed him to the ground. "Ghost!" Gaz yelled as he saw your gun pointed at him. It was never Makarov that would be his demise. It wasn't an enemy. It was you. It was the one he held dear to his civilian self. The woman he would drink poison for. The one he jumped a bullet for when they were young cadets. Stupid, stupid, stupid. His eyes never left yours and for a second, he saw past Grim and noticed the scared R/N that obeyed her husband. 

Soldier down on that icy ground

Looked up at me with honor and truth

Broken and blue, so I called off the troops

That was the night I nearly lost you

You put your gun down and turn away, running to Vladimir. His open arms, ready to embrace his darling. Now, all of 141's secrets are with Makarov. It clicked in that instant. How four years ago Makarov knew who Ghost was. How well he knew all their names. It wasn't some file he saw when his hacker got in, no, it was you, the best of all pawns. The train cleaned your tracks. Price and the others stood in fear, all this time, you were part of Konni. Ghost stood in silence. 

In every war he was in, you were there. His favourite of all soldiers. From his early days as just Simon to his latest days as Ghost, all witnessed by you. He was the one who asked for you anywhere he went. His life came in a flash, all the Christmas events, the dinners and drinks he had with his friend...no...enemy. The one person who knew Simon liked the palm of her hand, now holding the man Ghost called an enemy. 

"How did he get to her so quickly?" Gaz asked, baffled to have lost you to the man you hated when this all began. "He had her all along," Kate spoke. Nikolai shook his head. "But how? We were her family," a betrayed Ghost said. "We betrayed her first," Price recalls. "But that was years ago," Soap comments. "It started years ago," Gaz mentions. "We weren't meant to win this one gentlemen," Kate informs.

"Fuck!" Ghost's blood boiled. He scared them, he knew that well. So when he slammed his fist on the table, he even made the best of soldiers flinch. "Lt," Soap tried to calm him down. "No, Johnny! You don't get it, you don't know her as I do," he approached the sergeant. "She didn't kill you, why?" Kate walks to the betrayed soldier. "What?" His voice is hoarse. "She had the chance to kill you, headshot even, yet she didn't, she ran to him and then when she did, all fire ceased." Kate is after all a mastermind. "She didn't betray Simon, she betrayed Ghost, she betrayed Soap, not Johnny, Gaz, not Kyle and Bravo six, not John." She states. 

"She betrayed soldiers, not family," Price came to realisation. Grim did that, Grim killed all that came between the goal. 'Capable of killing all those that come between her and the goal, will not hesitate to harm enemies.' The goal wasn't to kill Task Force 141, it was to get revenge for the betrayal, for torturing you in a room, letting your blood drip. You married a man, something all fools do. But even though Makarov wanted you to pull the trigger on Ghost, you didn't. You ran away and the fire ceased. 

There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair

A/N: see what I did there?...mastermind me y'know

Tags:

@tf141glory @liyanahelena @quaritchscupquake @dilfgestivo @thefragmented @scarletdfox @arialikestea @unicorngirly1 @alhaizen @willowaftxn83-87 @koniglovesme @bbyfimmie @mothcelestial @kit-kats06 @palomesa @dheet @dontfearthereaperazura

[liquidcrystalsky]

JP patch notes out, couple things that werent yet said:

the increased detail is smoother animation for background jellies and large numbers of salmon, and just resolution framerate improvements.

Switch 1 is removing some background detail during matches in order to make it run closer to the switch 2 performance. The detail will still be there in recon.

during X battles, you wont be able to see player names until after the match is over, instead having "callsigns" based on the weapon and gear they have.

Anarchy open is worth 2.5x more points (if you got 8 points for winning, that's now 20)

Players you play with in Anarchy/Splatfest Pro games won't show up in the Switch "recently played with" menu

s-blast nerf, and rebalancing some subs and specials

[noctiva]

You ask us for our headcanons but what about yours!! I feel like when I read your toby stuff, it reads like multiple different moments in the same relationship. How you do you picture his life with you the reader? How do you think they met?

oooooooooooh!! this is fun! that’s a super cool way to look at it! tbh looking over them you’re totally right, it could definitely read that way! I think it’s just bc I really like writing proxy!toby x civilian!reader something about an ‘innocent’ reader loving him despite all of his gruesome flaws

I think this:

toby probably saw you first in a mission into the city - probably some recon shit to get info on someone on slender’s hit list. maybe at a cafe, maybe you’re a gas station attendant. it would be that whole ‘love at first sight’ deal he sees you, and he’s convinced he’s never seen anything more beautiful - that type of shit

he would wriggle into your life by sneaking back into town jusy to see you. lingering around your job for far longer than needed, asking you what you took in your coffee - just to return with a mug just the way you like it the next day. always making sure to wear clean, not ripped clothes so not to tip you off. he wanted you to trust him, to find him safe.

he probably wouldn’t tell you what he really did until a few months in. and it also probably wouldn’t be on purpose. you’d be up late one night when he came stumbling in, skin and clothes drenched in crimson.

of course, you’d be shocked - horrified - and it would take a long long time to talk you down and make you understand.

I think a relationship with Toby would be a lot of ups and downs. Ups, in the way he’d be so undeniably grateful to have you around. Downs, in his mood swings and long unexplained times away. It would be a lot of kissy, touchy, physical love any time he’s around you, because he’s always scared you’re going to slip right through his fingers.

he’s a sap, so he’s doing dumb shit like carving your initials into his hatchet, or letting you sew patches onto his jacket. heart eyes when you stand behind him in the mirror’s reflection - snipping away at his shaggy hair.

constantly asking if you’re sure this is what you want, constantly telling you that he’s sorry he couldn’t give you more.

teaching you how to throw an axe, rolling around play wrestling in the grass outside, laughing at jokes that don’t make an ounce of sense, wet sloppy kisses and soft murmured ‘I love you’s, tangible adoration in the shape of a necklace he snagged off of a victim’s neck.

I think it toby would be just as much your boyfriend, as he is your best friend (as it should be)

[gardens-light]

Flirtatious Company

After a chaotic run-in with Decepticon scouts, Wheeljack crash-lands in Earth’s dense, wilderness forest near Wolf Lake, Stranded in the middle of nowhere with a damaged ship, he's expecting trouble—but not in the form of a curious dog and its wary human owner..

As an unexpected storm rolls in, an unlikely bond begins to form. With flirtatious banter, subtle tension, and a slow growing trust, Wheeljack explores what happens when two very different worlds collide—and just maybe, discover something worth coming back for.

Content: TFP Wheeljack x F/Human Reader. Slow burn. Strangers to Lovers. F Receiving Oral. Face Sitting Kink. P in V. Size Kink. Fluff/Smutt. Mild Courage Language.

Word Count: 8,500

Inspired Song: Eastside- Benny. B, Halsey, Khalid

Wheeljack's servos gripped the controls of his small starship- The Jack Hammer, his processor running hot with frustration as he fought to keep the craft steady. Smoke filled the cockpit, the flashing emergency lights painting everything in erratic pulses of red and white. The ship jolted violently, alarms blaring in his audials.

“Scrap.” The Wrecker snarled through gritted denta, gripping the malfunctioning controls as the small scout ship tumbled through Earth’s atmosphere like a flaming comet.

It had been a simple recon mission, a routine patrol on the outskirts of Cybertronian space, when a pack of Decepticon scouts ambushed him. He’d taken a few of them out before they got a lucky shot in—right through his nav system. Now, with only minimal control, he was on a one-way trip to whatever patch of dirt and rock happened to be below him.

The windshield displayed a rapidly approaching landscape of green and brown, thick forests stretching across the terrain. He didn’t have time to scan for a proper landing zone. The Wrecker could already feel the ship losing altitude, the power reserves draining fast.

"Hold together, girl," he muttered, pulling every bit of power into stabilizing the descent, flipping switches in vain as warning lights blared all around him.

The Jack Hammer slammed through the thick canopy of trees, branches snapping like toothpicks as the hull tore through the foliage. The impact sent him lurching forward in his seat, harness straining against the force. Metal screeched as the ship skidded along the forest floor, carving a deep trench through the earth before finally grinding to a halt with a heavy groan of twisted steel.

Wheeljack exvented sharply, pressing a servo against his chassis to still the thrum of his spark. His optics flickered as he checked his HUD—damage reports scrolling rapidly. The ship was wrecked. No immediate explosions, but he wasn’t flying out of here anytime soon.

"Well, ain't this just my luck," he muttered.

Stepping out of the cockpit, the forest around him was dense, tall pines stretching high above, their scent thick in the air. The ground was littered with fallen leaves and scattered debris from his rough landing. Optics scanning the area, Wheeljack crouched beside the wreckage, examining the worst of the damage.

The engines were completely shot. The communications array? Fried. He wasn’t sending out any signals to Team Prime anytime soon.

Just as he was about to pull open a damaged panel, a sudden rustling nearby made him freeze.

Wheeljack’s optics sharpened as he turned toward the foliage to his right. Instincts kicking in, and in an instant, his twin swords were drawn, their edges gleaming in the dappled sunlight breaking through the canopy.

His optics narrowed. Decepticon scouts? A human retrieval unit or something?

The underbrush rustled again, and a blur of motion leapt toward him.

Wheeljack barely had time to process what he was looking at before the animal—clearly some kind of Earth species—bounded up to him, tail wagging furiously, tongue lolling from its mouth in a pant.

"What in the pits—?" he muttered, stepping back slightly.

The creature didn't seem to care. It barked, hopping in place, looking at the Wrecker as though he was the most exciting thing it had seen all day. Wheeljack hesitated, one servo still gripping the hilt of his sword.

It wasn’t dangerous. That much was clear. But before he could decide whether to shoo it away or just ignore it, another sound caught his attention—a voice.

"Dodger! Get back here!"

Wheeljack’s optics flicked back up , following the sound.

A human. Female, if my audials are picking up correctly.

You stepped cautiously into the clearing, slowing as your gaze locked onto Wheeljack. As your curiosity melted into stark fear, as your brain struggled to register exactly what you were looking at.

Eyes went wide. Posture stiffened.

Fragging organics.

Wheeljack knew that look. That sharp inhale which meant you were seconds away from either screaming or bolting. Maybe both.

---

His first instinct? Disappear.

Humans weren’t supposed to see Cybertronians, not if Team Prime could help it. Too much risk, too many questions.

The Autobots might play nice with ‘em, but Wheeljack wasn’t an Autobot in the traditional sense. He didn’t answer to Prime’s rules.

On the other hand… you'd already seen him.

If I... let her run, what were the odds she’d tell someone? Report a 'crash' to the authorities? Call for help? Wheeljack grumbled. I dont need human interference on top of this already slagged situation of mine.

The dog—Dodger, apparently—was still wagging its tail, completely oblivious to the tension in the air.

With a low sigh, he slowly released the grip on his swords, sheathing them away.

“Well,” Wheeljack lowly spoke, shifting his weight as he folded his arms, “didn’t think my first visitor on this rock would be someone so... small.”

Your breath hitched, h-holy shit! This... thing... is talking to me?!

Dodger barked again, tail thumping happily against the dirt, patiently waiting for pats.

Wheeljack smirked. At least someone was enjoying the introduction.

Wheeljack’s optics flickered between you and your dog—Dodger, who was still wagging his tail like this was the best day of his life. But you, however, wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic.

You were stiff, shoulders drawn tight. A scream bubbling in your throat- contemplating weather to let out to the world, or hold it in.

Wheeljack optics softened slightly, the way you were looking at him—the sheer terror in your expression—made something twist uncomfortably in his spark.

He wasn’t a Decepticon. He didn’t want to scare you.

He watched you take a slow, cautious step backward, hand moving in a subtle way—trying to get Dodger's attention without making any sudden moves.

Wheeljack shifted his weight slightly, raising his servos in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture.

"Hey, relax," he said, keeping his tone even. "If I wanted to hurt ya, I would’ve done it already."

Alright... Maybe not the best choice of words-

But the second he shifted, just the tiniest bit, your nerves finally snapped. Breath hitched, and in a split-second, you turned on your heel and ran.

“Dodger! Come!” you called desperately, voice high with fear.

The dog hesitated for half a second before scrambling after you.

Wheeljack cursed under his breath, watching as you bolted without a second thought. Don't blame her, really... if I were a squishy little organic and just ran into a seven-foot-tall armored alien, I'd probably do the same-

But then he saw it—the terrain ahead. Wheeljack's optics widened.

“Hey, wait—!” he called, but it was too late.

You barely made it three strides before your foot got caught on an exposed root. Ankle twisted, balance thrown off completely. You pitched forward with a sharp cry, unable to catch yourself as the momentum carried you toward the steep incline of the forest hillside.

Wheeljack’s instincts kicked in before he could think, he lunged forward. Metal servos wrapping around you, stopping your descent just in time. Breath gasping as you clung to the cold, smooth plating of his index digits, fingers trembling.

For a second, all you could hear was the pounding of your own heart. The world seemed to slow down, as the Wrecker remained quiet for a moment, allowing your brain time to process everything.

Wheeljack carefully lifted you closer to him, ensuring you wasn’t harmed. “Whoa, easy there, darlin’,” he muttered, voice surprisingly soft. “That coulda been nasty.”

Swallowing thickly, forcing yourself to look up at him. His glowing blue optics locked onto yours, sharp and alert, but not unkind. You expected menace, something predatory in those robotic features. Instead... you found something else entirely.

Amusement. Curiosity. A hint of exasperation, even.

“Usually, I’m not the mech that the femmes fall for,” Wheeljack quipped, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The sheer ridiculousness of the comment—especially after saving you. Blinking in surprise, and then, despite everything, you let out a breathless, disbelieving chuckle.

Something that made Wheeljack's smirk grow a little more.

Wheeljack carefully loosened his grip, helping you back to solid ground. Surprisingly mindful of his strength, allowing you to lean against his frame, as he knelt beside you. Once stable, a slow breath escaped you, placing both hands on your knees, testing movement.

Swallowing hard, glancing up at him. “You, uh… you caught me...?”

The wrecker gave you is typical charming grin, “yeah, well... can’t have you tumbling into the unknown, now can we?”

"So...” you exhaled, brain still catching up with reality. "What exactly are you?”

“Now that’s a loaded question.” Wheeljack tilted his helm, considering for a moment before answering. “Long story short? Name’s Wheeljack. I’m a Cybertronian.” He gestured vaguely toward the ruined ship behind him. “Some assholes caused my ship to crashland and now I need to fix it.”

Your eyes flickered toward the smoking wreckage, mind spinning. A-Aliens...? Aliens... are... real...?

Dodger barked suddenly, startling you from your thoughts. His small head looking up, the sky had darkened considerably, thick clouds rolling in above the treeline. You didn't realize that the wind picked up, rustling the canopy, nor the scent of rain heavy in the air.

Wheeljack quirked a optical ridge. “Something wrong?”

"Yeah..." you heavily sighed. "I forgot that a fucking winter storm is rolling in, but... if I quickly hike the 3 miles back to my lake house, I should easily avoid the rain." Pausing for a moment, your eyes flickered back to the Jack Hammer, “so… how exactly are you gonna fix that?”

Wheeljack glanced at the smoking remains of his vessel, optics flickering over the torn metal, busted thrusters, and the deep trench it had carved into the earth.

The Wrecker shrugged. “I’ll figure it out. The ol' girl has been in worse shapes than this.”

Your brows lifted, clearly unconvinced. “You crash-landed in the middle of nowhere, with half your ship in pieces. You sure about that?”

A chuckle escaped the Wrecker, “darlin’, I’ve gotten outta worse scrapes than this. Just need time, and maybe... a bit of luck.”

You gave him a skeptical look but didn’t argue.

Turning his attention to the terrain, mentally mapping out the uneven forest floor.

If my ship had landed somewhere flatter, I would have considered transforming and offering her a ride back.

But the wreckage, thick roots, and steep hills would clearly damage is altmode- and that was something he certainly couldn't offered. Wheeljack turned his attention back to you, watching you subtly call your dog again, as you stared at your map. Trying to mentally figure out which hiking trail would get you home quicker.

Dodger barked at Wheeljack again, as if impatient for your solution, his tail wagging in anxious little flicks.

Wheeljack glanced at the sky again. The storm was moving in fast. The clouds thickened, the air heavier with humidity, and a distant roll of thunder growled through the forest.

He let out a sigh, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, darlin. Looks like you’re bunkin’ with me for a bit.”

A startled yelp escaped you, instinctively grasping at the Wrecker's plating as he lifted you off the ground. “What do you mean—?Whoa, hey—! What are you doing?!”

“Relax.” Wheeljack casually spoke, carrying you towards his ship. “Not leavin’ you out here to get drenched and hurt yourself. I got room inside.”

Dodger barked excitedly, trotting alongside, as Wheeljack carried you within his palm. Maneuvering past some of torn plating, stepping up into the cockpit where the interior was still relatively intact.

Smoke had settled into the cracks of the cockpit, a few sparking wires flickered from exposed panels. The metal walls were dented, panels shifted out of place from the rough landing.

Lowering you carefully onto the co-pilot seat, making sure you were as comfortable as possible, before lounging into his pilot seat.

You stared at Wheeljack for a moment, something unreadable within your expression. “You’re... a lot more careful than I expected.”

Wheeljack huffed a chuckle, leaning back slightly. “What, you think ‘cause I’m a big scary alien, I don’t know how to be gentle?”

Shrugging, a small smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. “Didn’t really know... what to expect, honestly.”

The Wrecker chuckled once more, before kneeling in front of the control panel. Laying upon his back and crawling beneath it, the sound of metal scraping against metal filled the cockpit as he pried open a ruined panel.

Sparks flickered as he dug through the exposed wiring, muttering to himself. "Just...need to reroute what little power left to the backup systems, running long enough to properly fix a few things."

“You're... actually quite good at this." Your eyes flickered across the main control panel, watching parts of it flicker back to life.

Wheeljack scoffed. “Darlin, I’ve been buildin’ and breakin’ things since before your species figured out how to make fire.”

You blinked, eyes widening slightly. “That’s... a lot to unpack.”

He smirked, tapping the bottom of the control panel. “I’ll dumb it down for ya—this ain’t my first rodeo.”

Exhaling, shaking your head with a small chuckle. Despite the insanity of the situation, you had to admit… the tension from earlier faded a little. Is it his casual attitude? Or maybe the fact that he didn’t seem interested in hurting me at all?

Lightning slashed across the sky outside, illuminating the darkened corners of the cockpit for a fleeting second, before vanishing into the pitch-black of the storm. Wind howled through the dense forest, shaking the trees as rain pounded relentlessly against the hull of Wheeljack’s ship.

Wheeljack continued to work in awkward silence, optics narrowed as he stripped another ruined wire and reconnected it to the backup power conduit.

Then—the lights cut out. Completely.

The sudden darkness swallowed the cockpit, save for the faint golden glow of the emergency lights. A dull hum reverberated through the walls, and thin lines of light now traced the floor toward the sealed exit hatch—just enough to navigate by without tripping over loose plating or exposed conduits.

Wheeljack ex-vented, setting his tool down and wiggling out from beneath the control panel. “Well... Ain’t that just a stroke of some fraggin luck?”

You couldn't help but let out a small sound, adjusting yourself in the seat. Dodger shifted beside you, ears perking up at the sudden change.

“What happened?”

“Ship’s prioritizing power reserves. The non-essentials just got cut, leaving only the necessary lighting and heating online-”

A soft grumble, interrupted him.

Wheeljack’s optics flickered toward you, catching the way you shifted uncomfortably in the co-pilot seat. Arms wrapped around your stomach.

“How... long have you been out here?” his tone more curious than accusatory.

You hesitated. “Uh… since this morning...”

Wheeljack gave you a look. “And you didn’t pack any food?”

“No… I wasn’t planning on hiking further than I normally do, due to a storm that I forgotten about. Or did I expect to be temporary abducted by a ridiculously tall alien. ”

The Wrecker scoffed slightly, "fair enough."

Pushing himself up from the console and walking towards a storage compartment. Digging through it, searching for anything remotely edible for you. His servo landed on something small, crinkly, and definitely not Cybertronian.

Wheeljack frowned before realization dawned. Miko. That little gremlin must’ve stashed her junk food in, the last time she was aboard. He could practically hear her cheeky laughter.

Shaking his helm, pulling out a bag of chips and a protein bar, glancing back at you. “Here.”

You blinked, catching the snacks. “Where did you even get this?”

Wheeljack smirked, leaning against the wall. “Let’s just say I’ve got a human friend who stows away in my ship when she ain’t supposed to. She’s got a habit of leavin’ things behind.” He smirked, grabbing another bag and tossing it towards you. “Go ahead, eat. Ain’t no use starvin’ while waiting this storm out.”

“…Thanks,” you muttered, opening the protein bar. Dodger immediately perked up at the sound of crinkling plastic, his tail wagging as he nudged your arm, clearly very interested in sharing.

Wheeljack chuckled, popping open another compartment and pulling out a small container of energon. It glowed a soft cyan in his servo, casting eerie blue shadows in the dimness.

You paused mid-bite, staring at it. “What’s that?”

“My kind of fuel,” twisting the cap and downing a sip. Wheeljack gave you his usual cocky grin. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to start chompin’ on your food.”

Rain pelted against the hull in steady sheets, growing louder as the storm settled in overhead. Outside, the forest was cloaked in shadows, but inside the battered ship, the cockpit held a strange sense of warmth.

Yet, you couldn't help but watch Wheeljack lean back in the pilot’s seat, one leg bent, the other stretched out casually. Your eyes gazing at the way the glowing liquid pulsed faintly in the container, as it slowly drank it. It was… kind of mesmerizing, actually.

Your gaze continued to take in more of his frame, which was marked with dirt and superficial scrapes from the crash, but his energy signature had evened out.

“Hey... Wheeljack...” you finally spoke, gaining his undivided attention, “thanks. For… you know. Letting me and Dodger crash here for a bit- oh! I'm Y/N, by the way.”

Wheeljack grinned, leaning his helm back against the back of his seat. “Anytime, darlin.”

Another beat passed before you spoke again. “So… what were you doing here? On Earth? I mean... you don’t exactly look like you came for sightseeing.”

Wheeljack huffed a quiet laugh. "Like I said earlier, got into a bit of a scuff with some assholes, which caused me to crashland. Plus, I'm a Wrecker, crashin and breakin things, is what we do."

You blinked. "A... what?"

He gave you a proud little smirk. “Wrecker. Kind of like… a demolition squad. Special forces back on Cybertron- my home planet. We go into places no one else would survive. Dig up enemy outposts, track down Con's, sabotage supply lines—clean up the mess no one else wants to touch. Dirty, dangerous work. The kind where you either finished it… or you didn’t come back.”

You blinked, lowering your food slightly. "That... sounds intense"

He gave a lazy shrug. “It was. Still is, when the job calls for it. Back then, I ran with a crew that stuck together no matter what. Me and Bulkhead? We used to be tighter than any weld line.”

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity softening your gaze. “Bulkhead?”

“My old partner,” Wheeljack said, a rare fondness softening his tone. “We raised hell across half the galaxy. Got in trouble more times than I can count. He always had a bigger spark than a brain, but he had your back without question.”

“What happened to him?”

“He settled down,” Wheeljack said, his grin returning. “Joined Team Prime. You know—Optimus’ gang? Bulk and the rest of the gang chill here on this rock, defending it from Con's, while tryin to rebuild our home.”

“So… that means you follow your bos...Optimus too?”

Wheeljack barked a laugh. “Pfft—me? Please.” He waved off the idea like it offended him. “Don’t get me wrong, Optimus is noble—one of the best mechs out there. I respect the guy. But me?" the Wrecker tapped his chestplate. "I’ve never been big on the whole ‘chain of command’ thing. I don’t follow rules unless they’re written in explosives.”

You raised a brow, amused. “So, you’re basically a space cowboy?”

“Pretty much. Never stay in one place too long. Get in, do the job, move on. I’ve been to more planets than I can count. Some with three moons, others with nothing but ice. And plenty with fascinating native species…” He paused, glancing at her with a sly smirk, “which I’ve been known to explore from time to time.”

The word hung in the air for a moment.

Your eyes widened just slightly. “…Are you implying…?”

He winked with a smug look. “Let’s just say diplomacy comes in many forms.”

You snorted into her protein bar, choking on a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Hey, no judgment. We all find ways to learn about a culture. Some of us just prefer the... hands-on approach.”

Another laugh escaped you, genuinely this time. Despite the absurdity of everything, you found Wheeljack was… oddly easy to talk to. His confidence didn’t come off as arrogance—more like someone who had truly seen too much to be bothered with pretending otherwise.

“So…” you began slowly questioning, adjusting your position in the oversized co-pilot seat. Curiosity getting the better of you more than it should. “When you say you’ve, uh, explored other species… what exactly does that mean?”

Wheeljack chuckled, the kind of rich, raspy sound that rumbled low in his chassis. His optics flicked with amusement, knowing full well where this was going.

“Well,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mischief, “you’d be surprised how many intelligent species are out there across the stars. Some of ’em are not half-bad company, once you get past the tentacles and communication differences.”

You paused in mid-bite of the protein bar. "Tentacles?"

“Only one time. Learned real fast not to ask about mating rituals unless you’re ready for a show.” He gave you a pointed look, laughing when you visibly cringed.

“There was this planet, Veltraxis-9. Swampy terrain, had these bioluminescent creatures with skin like polished crystal. One of ‘em tried to barter mating rights with me by throwing bio-fruit at my head. Had to fight off three of their siblings just to get back to my ship. Whole species thought a good brawl was a love letter.”

You laughed, pressing a hand to your mouth. “That’s amazing. Sounds like you’ve lived one hell of a life.”

Wheeljack chuckled, sipping from his energon cup again. “Let’s just say boredom’s never been a problem.”

You fell silent for a beat, thoughtful.

Then—almost too casually—asking, “So… have you ever, y’know… explored a human?”

Wheeljack choked on his energon, placing the cup onto the main console while coughing. Optics flickering as he stared at you in stunned disbelief. "“W-what? No! I—I’ve met humans. Bulk and Team Prime’s got great ones around 'em. They're brave. Smart. Loud, but none are... I'm not going there! Plus you guys are so small. Fragile. Squishy. Not exactly built for compatibility with seven-ton alien mechs.”

You hummed thoughtfully, casually stroking Dodger's ears while the dog dozed peacefully beside you upon the co-pilot seat. “Sounds like someone’s lacking imagination.”

Wheeljack’s optics widened. “E-Excuse me?”

A smile faintly teased your lips, not even bothering to meet his gaze as you added smoothly, “It’s all about positions, Jackie.”

The Wrecker paused for a moment, spark slowly picking up it's pace as his processor begun to wonder. “…Alright,” he said at last, avoiding eye contact but definitely not hiding his curiosity. “You’ve got me wondering now.”

You blinked, feigning innocence again. “About what?”

“You know what.” He gave you a sideways glance, arms folding over his chassis. “You said it’s all about positions. Which position would even work?”

“Oh? You really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t’ve asked if I didn’t.”

“Alright, Hypothetically speaking?”

“Sure,” Wheeljack said smoothly, leaning a little closer, his curiosity piqued.

“Well…” your voice trailed off, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “There’s one that might work pretty well."

Sitting up just a little straighter, voice dropping just a touch more playful. “Imagine this—you’re on your back, nice and steady. I’m on top, sitting…” your hand raised to gesture vaguely around the level of his face. “Right about here-nice and comfortable."

Wheeljack blinked slowly, optics dimming just slightly as he processed that.

"And you…" you smirked, giving him one last teasing little glance, "would get to use... that mouth and sharp tongue of yours to explore me.”

Your grin widened as the Wrecker's engine purred, curiosity upon his faceplates melting into all sorts of mischief. As his words slipped out as a moan, "Oh... darling."

---

Your fluttered within your chest, holding Wheeljack’s gaze, as the air between you molten.

Every part of you buzzed with adrenaline. Unbelievable. Yet, here you both were crossing a invisible line with an ease that felt frighteningly natural.

Wheeljack's optics burned a vivid, focused blue, his ventilations slow but deliberate, his massive frame laying stretched out upon his berth beneath you. He didn’t move—didn’t dare move—as he watched with a hungry patience, as if giving you full control of the moment was some sacred offering.

Without breaking eye contact, you reached for the button of your trousers, fingers deliberately slow and popping it free. You could feel Wheeljack’s optics trailing your every movement, practically hearing the faint hum in his plating as you slid the fabric down your legs, revealing soft skin inch by inch. Underwear followed, pooling at your ankles before kicking both garments aside, leaving yourself in just hour oversized shirt that barely skimmed the tops of your thighs.

Wheeljack ex-vented sharply, the plating along his throat flexing with restrained tension. His servos clutching tightly onto the plush covers of his berth, optics greedily traced the newly revealed curves before him.

Hard, cold plating met your warm skin, the contrast sending shivers up your spine, while straddling his broad chestplate, knees braced wide for balance.

The size difference was startling up close like this.

You felt ridiculously small as you straddled his chassis, the slope of Wheeljack's armor creating a perfect perch for you- and it utterly thrilled you. The power difference, the way Wheeljack so easily could dominate you if he wanted, made heat coil tightly between your thighs.

Fingertips softly tracing his lips, as you leaned in closer. Your voice a playful, husky whisper. "Can I?"

The growl that rumbled from Wheeljack's frame in response was nothing short of feral. His optics burned into you, bright and unwavering.

"Oh baby... you don't even gotta ask." He rasped, voice thick with hunger.

Shifting your hips, sinking down carefully onto his faceplate, positioning your core directly over the his mouth. Bracing yourself by planting your hands against his forehelm, biting your lip at the sheer wrongness and rightness of the sensation—the faint mechanical hum of Wheeljack's systems vibrating against you.

Wheeljack let out a low, guttural growl of approval, his optics shuttering closed as he tilted his helm back slightly for better access. His warm glossa, textured with faint ridges that pressed and explored your folds with a slow, savouring precision that made your thighs tremble.

"F-Fuck!" the curse slipped from you in a gasp. Your fingers scratching and marking up the paint upon his forehelm, as your hips rocked against him instinctively.

Wheeljack groaned again, the sound vibrating up through your most sensitive places. He lapped slowly at first, savoring the taste of you, experimenting with careful, firm strokes of his glossa. Every movement seemed designed to coax out a reaction, to learn exactly how to make you squirm atop him.

As you grinded down against his mouth, seeking more. His servos finally letting go of the plush fabric of his berth, caressing your thighs with a gentle touch. Raising his servos just enough to hold you steady by your thighs, anchoring you exactly where he wanted you.

Wheeljack’s mouth worked with expert, unrelenting focus—every flick of his tongue, every deep, hungry suck drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

You clutched at his forehelm, moaning loudly, thighs quivering around his face as the coil inside you finally snapped, bouncing against his glossa. Mewling the Wrecker's name, as he explored your velvety walls.

Wheeljack groaned beneath you, venting hot air against your soaked core, servos gripping your thighs tighter to holding you steady, as you rode out every last tremor. Wheeljack didn’t stop—Primus, he savored it. Your essence coated his glossa, slick and heady, dripping down onto his lips, cheeks, and the seams of his mouth.

Wheeljack's glossa- hot, textured, insistent- swirled and flickered expertly against your swollen clit, while every hungry growl of his sent electric shocks bolting straight through you.

P-Primus! She's driving me wild! Her taste... Her overload... how it better than the richest, most potent energon I've ever sampled? Sweet, sharp and oh so fragging intoxicating!

"Scrap... you're addictive!" his greedy words escaped, just before pressing his mouth even harder against your dripping heat. Drinking your essence in, like a starved mech.

Your vision blurred, body trembling as you feel the orgasm building deep in your core, the tension coiling so tight it almost hurt.

Wrapping his lips fully around your clit, drawing hard, as his glossa delivering quick, precise strokes against your entrance- and that was it.

Head falling back, a broken, desperate moan escaping you and filling his private quarters. "Jackie!"

The climax ripped through you like a tidal wave. Pleasure zapping across your neves- white hot and overwhelming. Your thighs clamping around his helm, fingers pulling at the seams of his forehelm without thought. Needing something to hold onto as you rode out the shuddering wrecking upon your body.

Your essence spilled over the Wrecker, slick and dripping across his glossa, lips and down his sharp cheekplates. Wheeljack growled, low and satisfied, the sound vibrating deep into you as he licked and sucked every drop from your folds. His glossa sliding into every slick curve, mouth exploring with single-minded worship. Wheeljack's fan whirled loudly, struggling to keep his systems from overheating as he devoured you.

Whimpering softly, trembling atop him, still caught in the afterglow. Your body was loose, molten with release, but your teasing, wicked smile never left. Even as you paused for a moment to catch your breath, running your fingers down the side of Wheeljack's faceplates.

"You're... way too good at that."

Wheeljack finally pulled back slightly, optics gleaming up at you with a smug expression of pure satisfaction. His entire mouth, chin, and cheeks glistened with your wetness, licking his lips slowly and deliberately.

"Guess I do... have a little imagination after all." He rasped, the roughness of his voice making your thighs clench again.

"Th-That... was the hottest thing I've ever experienced."

The Wrecker shifted slightly under you, giving your half naked body a slow glance up and down. "Now... you gonna let me keep exploring? Or was that just a... scenic tour?"

Before you could tease back, Wheeljack shifted again with careful ease. Lifting you gently and placing you at the end of his berth, placing a firm pillow beneath your lower back and hips. Adjusting till he felt like you were perfectly supported. Before his servos caressed your thighs, thumbs stroking gentle circles into your skin, subtly exploring your flexibility- feeling the way your joints and muscles move beneath his servos.

Your heart couldn't help but flutter a little, as you watched this ridiculously strong, armoured mech, who could without a doubt tear through his enemies without blinking. Yet treating you with such care and precious touch.

Kneeling down, removing his buckling modesty plate with a low metallic hiss. Your breath caught in your throat as Wheeljack's sleek white and thick spike emerged, the polished surface glinting slightly under the golden hue of the ship's emergency lights. Watching him give it a slow pump, before hesitatingly placing his thick tip close to your core.

Your legs naturally fell further apart for him, simply motioning him closer with your index finger.

Wheeljack groaned under his breath as he coated himself in your arousal, sliding his tip up and down your wetness, savouring the way you trembled beneath him. "Primus, you're soaked."

Slowly- agonizingly slowly- he began to push into you. A rasp, gasp escaped you, fingers clutching onto the soft berth as your dripping core stretched around him. Feeling the slow, delicious sense of Wheeljack filling you inch by careful inch, while he watched your expression for any signs of discomfort.

F-Frag, she's takin me like... she was made... for me.

As Wheeljack pushed deeper, every inch of him stretched you even more- filling you more completely than you could of ever imagined. And when he finally bottomed out, your hips meeting the heavy, solid weight of his plating. A low growl rumbled deep within his chassis, optics glinting while looking at the sight of you stretching around him.

His free servo traced up towards your torso, catching the hem of your top, shoving it up with impatience till your breasts spilled free with a subtle bounce. Dipping his helm towards you, his mouth nipping and sucking upon the soft, sensitive flesh.

A heavy gasp escaped you, as you arched into his touch. The wet heat of his mouth, making your thighs tremble even more with his relentless thrusts against your core. Wheeljack's pace picked up with each passing moment, each movement becoming more desperate and hungry. The berth creaked beneath the pair of you, your breasts bouncing with each hard snap of his hips against yours.

The sound of your moans echoed off the curved metal walls of his private quarters, mixing in with the faint hum of the rainstorm battering against the Jack Hammer's hull.

"H-Harder... Harder-!"

"As you wish, darlin." Wheeljack grunted, his servo upon your hip moved towards your ass and giving it a good sqweeze. Spreading your legs a little more, before pushing his spike deeper into you, "you like it rough, don't you, baby? You like me. Want me to wreck and ruin this pretty frame of yours."

Every thrust pushed you higher, your body singing with pleasure, teetering on the edge of collapse. Both of your movements were a raw, frantic rhythm, condensation built up against Wheeljack's plates. His lips caught yours in a heated kiss, tongues swirling and tangling as you explored each other. Clutching onto his neck cables, as your hips rolled up, meeting his with each rough thrust.

"J-Jackie! I'm-! I'm-!-"

"Overload for me, darlin!" he panted, rutting into you harder and deeper, causing the berth to creak more under the force. "I wanna feel you on my spike! Let go, darlin- let me feel you!"

Your body clenched and fluttered around him, the pressure inside you snapping into a another, overwhelming orgasm. Screaming the Wrecker's name as your nails raked over his servos, scratching into his paint and leaving marks. As your entire body shuddered, coming undone harder than you'd ever had. Wheeljack's thrusts became more erratic and desperate, as he drove into you a few more times before finally shuddering.

"B-By the fraggin AllSpark!"

You felt him spill deep inside you, thick and heavy, as Wheeljack collapsed carefully atop of you, bracing himself upon his elbows. His entire frame trembling from the force of his release.

For a long moment, the only sound were both of your ragged breaths. Wheeljack remained hovering over you for a moment, your bodies still joined in the most intimate way possible. His vents huffed softly against your flushed skin, but his optics were fixed—absolutely locked—on the place where you both were still connected.

There you were, stretched so beautifully around the thick base of his spike, your slick folds glistening, clinging to him as if trying to keep him buried inside.

The sight alone made a shudder rack Wheeljack's entire frame. A deep, strange, overwhelming satisfaction rippled through Wheeljack's systems, something far deeper than simple release.

Bliss. Pure, unfiltered bliss.

He hadn't felt anything like it in centuries. Not after battles. Not after surviving the impossible. Not even during his wildest, reckless nights of pleasure across distant stars.

Nothing—nothing—compared to this.

“Fraggin’… stars,” Wheeljack muttered hoarsely, optics half-lidded, awe etched into every movement. His spike throbbed inside you, his frame vibrating slightly under the overwhelming surge of emotion.

He couldn’t help himself. Leaning down, cradling your face with a large, trembling servo, his thumb brushing tenderly over your flushed cheek, before planting a kiss upon your lips.

It was slow, deep, worshipful. Deliberate. Adoring. The kiss of a mech who had finally found something precious after centuries of believing nothing could ever stir his spark like this again.

A silent praise, silent gratitude pouring from him in a way words could never capture.

Reluctantly—carefully—Wheeljack finally pulled out, letting out a low, shuddering groan as he watched the thick evidence of their joining glisten between your thighs.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Simply slumped back against the berth with a heavy breathes, sprawling out as much as you both could. Staring up at the ceiling of his private quarters, listening to the faint hum of the ship's systems and the rain still drumming on the hull.

The heat of the moment ebbed into a lazy, heavy stillness. Both of your bodies slick with the remnants of your union, breathing gradually slowing.

Wheeljack couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so... weightless.

Catching your breath first, turning your head to look up at him-and out of nowhere, a soft giggle bubbled up from your throat.

The Wrecker raised an optic ridge, voice low and rough-edged from exertion. "What's so funny, darlin?"

Softly, playfully biting your bottom lip, as your eyes sparkled with mischief. "I was just thinking... you're probably gonna be in so much trouble with your boss, if he'd find out you've been... y'know... exploring the native species of Earth."

Wheeljack barked a low laugh, the sound vibrating through his frame. Without a word, he reached over, strong but gentle, and effortlessly scooping you up. Causing a tiny squeak of surprise to escape you, as he shifted, maneuvering you stomach-first across his broad, warm chassis.

You relaxed instantly against him, cheek resting against the smooth, humming metal. Feeling the steady, powerful thrum of his spark deep inside its chamber, the rhythmic pulse beating against your heart in a strange, beautiful sync.

Wheeljack ran a single large digit through your tangled hair, the touch slow and affectionate—tracing lazy, soothing paths. Tilting his helm slightly, peering down at your small form sprawled over him, and smiled—really smiled.

"Darlin," he murmured, voice filled with his usual flirtatious tone. “I don’t care what Prime—or anybody—thinks. I’m the only one who decides how much trouble something’s worth, and tonight?... Tonight was worth all the trouble in the galaxy."

The Next Morning

A warm beam of morning light pushed through the small slats in the ship’s damaged hull, catching the dust in golden shafts as the storm outside gave way to a quiet dawn. The ship continued its steady rhythm, though a few weak sparks occasionally flickered from the cockpit wiring.

You stirred slowly, breath catching with the faint ache in your core. Dodger's quiet tail thumped gently against the berth, staring at you with bright, expectant eyes. Turning your head, smiling sleepily as the dog nuzzled into your, happy to see you awake. Looking to your side and let out a soft, amused breath, as Wheeljack had left a half-crushed packet of Miko’s snacks and a small water bottle on a nearby console beside the berth.

Your smile widened just a little, as your gaze raked over a holo-pad with a message written:

Mornin Darlin, I'm afraid your pup got into Miko's snacks during our... 'exploration' last night, so blame him for the lack of nutrients. Be outside fixin the engine. Yell if you need anythin - Wheeljack

Reaching for one of the snack bars, opening it and taking a few slow bites, before washing it down with the water. Petting Dodger's head, murmuring a soft "Morning, boy," before brushing hair from your face. Heart fluttering, butterflies entangling your nerves, as your gaze looked at the floor beside the console. Gratitude swelling inside your chest, noticing that Wheeljack neatly folded your jeans and draping them over your hiking backpack.

A man in the streets, yet a Wrecker in the sheets.

The distant sound of metal clanking and muttered Cybertronian swears caught your attention as you got dressed. Curious, sliding out of the berth. Dodger followed, tail wagging, as you made your way to the open hatch and stepped outside the ship.

The air was crisp and cool, filled with the earthy scent of wet pine and moss.

Wheeljack crouched beside the smoldering engine core near the rear of the Jack Hammer, leaning in with his helm lowered and a servo inside the panel. His expression tight, optics narrowed in frustration.

“Morning,” you called softly, careful not to startle him.

Wheeljack paused mid-tinker, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk, a light teasing tone lingering within his words. “Morin darlin, sleep well?”

A smile tugged the corners of your lips, "of course I did, big boy... perhaps we could shower together next time."

The Wrecker's engine purred as he leaned against the Jack Hammer's open hood, his smirk briefly turning devilish before a Cybertronian curse escaped his mouth. Pain zapping throughout his frame as his servo slightly slipped within the engine, ruining the vivid images your words painted within his processor.

“What’s wrong?”

Wheeljack huffed, tapping the bottom of the engine's hood with the edge of a knuckle. “There's a busted conduit buried behind some bracework, but I can’t get to it. My servos are too damn big to reach into the slot.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So... you need smaller hands?”

He glanced at you, optics blinking in brief confusion. “I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to. I’ve worked on my Jeep a few times—mostly patches and hose fixes. I can do tight engine spaces. Plus, I’m small enough to fit in there. You just gotta talk me through it.”

Wheeljack hesitated, optics flickering as he eyed the open space, then you. It felt… odd. Letting a human into a Cybertronian engine. But he didn’t have many options, and you wasn’t exactly fragile, last night proved that.

“…Alright,” he said, nodding slowly, then kneeling to your level and offering a servo. “C’mon. I’ll lift you in.”

Gently scooping you up with both servos, easing you toward the open engine, letting you lean in headfirst, while using your hips to balance yourself against the outside frame of the hood. One servo planted just lightly against your hip to anchor you. “Let me know if you need me to pull you back.”

“Got it.”

“Alright—see that fuse-link just left of the orange wire? That’s the busted one. You’ll need to wiggle it free, then snap the spare in place just above it.”

You nodded, hand reaching carefully through the coils. Your jeans stretching as you leaned deeper into the engine, pressing against Wheeljack’s steady servo.

As you followed his instructions, Wheeljack kept his optics locked on your movements. More specifically… the way the jeans hugged your figure, especially with you bent over like that.

His gaze lingered.

The soft denim curved perfectly across your ass, pressing tight with every subtle shift of your body. His digit moved instinctively—just a light brush, testing texture, warmth, softness.

Primus.

He shouldn’t have noticed. He really shouldn’t have noticed. And the images within his processor, of his servos caressing and squeezing your ass last night certainly wasn't helping.

His digit twitched.

Optics flickered slightly as his digits rested against your hip. And then—just barely— sliding down… brushing against the curve of your ass.

A soft, surprised sound escaped you—half gasp, half involuntary “Oh…”

His engine purred. Literally. Giving a deep, involuntary thrumming noise—low and unmistakably pleased.

Scrap.

His servo snapped back like he’d been burned, expression stiffening as he immediately turned his gaze towards Dodger, who sat by the ship, ears perked and watching with an expression that could only be described as judgmental.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Wheeljack muttered, barely audible, more to himself than the dog.

Dodger squinted, tilting his head as if somehow knowing the connection between you and Wheeljack.

Wheeljack groaned, dragging a servo down his faceplates. “Not. One. Word.”

He cleared his throat and spoke louder, turning his attention back to you. “Alright, uh—slide the spare connector up two inches and twist it clockwise. Should lock into place.”

Wheeljack kept his servo steady, his processor desperately trying not to drift back to the way you softly moaned and subtly pushed your ass into the contact.

“Alright, now shift it two degrees left. You should hear a soft hiss—that means the line’s realigned.”

“Copy that,” you called back from inside the narrow engine compartment.

Adjusting your grip, reaching deeper into the cluster of wires and glowing conduits. Fingers fumbled for the right component, brushing metal and coolant lines. The gap was tighter than you thought. I... just need to reach a little further-

“Whoa—!”

Before panic could fully sink in, Wheeljack’s servos shot back to your hips, both servos firmly catching you just in time. His digits splayed wide keeping you from slipping, thumbs unintentionally pressing snug against the curve of your ass, holding you in place with startling precision.

“I gotcha, darlin” he said quickly, voice sharp, trying to mask the growing heat in his systems. “You’re good.”

“…Good catch,” you teased, voice low and amused, as Wheeljack carefully placed you back onto solid ground. “Lucky I wasn’t wearing a skirt, huh?”

Wheeljack’s systems faltered for a full second. “Primus…” he muttered under his breath, not sure if he was praying or cursing.

You laughed softly, the sound low and unbothered, and that only made it worse.

The low hiss of the engine igniting suddenly drew both of your attention as the power hummed back to life, the circuits responding smoothly to the completed repair.

Wheeljack exhaled. “Engine’s finally all fixed."

You raised an brow, crossing your arms, turning to glance back at the ship. Eyes scanning the hull with slow, deliberate skepticism: the twisted metal plating on the starboard side, the scorched edge of the wing panel, the multiple deep dents gouged along the frame from where it had plowed through the forest, and—of course—the cockpit, which looked like it had gone ten rounds with a sledgehammer and lost.

You looked back at him, brow arching higher. “Fixed?”

Wheeljack shrugged one shoulder and gave a small, shameless grin. waving a dismissive servo.

“The important stuff’s patched,” he said, shrugging. “I can control her just fine. Doesn’t have to be pretty—just has to fly.”

“And the torn-up cockpit?”

“Optional interior aesthetic,” he smirked.

“Completely exposed wires?”

“Ambient mood lighting.”

A laughed escaped you, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Wheeljack chuckled at that, optics gleaming. “I'm more than happy give you a lift home, unless…”

"Unless what?”

He leaned against the side of the ship with that ever-confident tilt of his hip. “Unless you want a joyride first.”

You blinked. “A joyride? In a ship that just crash-landed less than 24 hours ago?”

Wheeljack spread his arms wide, like it was the best offer in the galaxy. “We’ve got gravity stabilization, minimal smoke, and snacks. What more could you want?”

Before you could answer, Dodger gave sharp bark, looking up at you with his best “are-you-kidding-me” expression.

You grinned, patting the pup’s head. “Yeah, he says no. Thinks the whole ‘joyride’ idea is insane.”

Wheeljack snorted. “Tough crowd.”

Stepping forward slightly, giving him a flirtatious wink. “Still, I wouldn’t say no to a ride home… minus the stunts.”

Wheeljack raised both servos, mock innocence in his optics. “No flips, no barrel rolls. Just a smooth flight home.

Dodger huffed, clearly unsure about all this, but trailed after both of you, as Wheeljack gestured towards the ramp of the Jack Hammer.

---

Wheeljack leaned back in the pilot’s seat, servos dancing over the last row of controls as the ship’s engines rumbled to life. The rear thrusters flared with soft blue energy, and the hull gently lifted off the forest floor. A few sparks flew from one of the battered panels, but the craft held steady.

Dodger barked once from where he sat comfortably next you upon the co-pilot seat, tail wagging in rhythm with the ship’s vibrations.

“Strap in,” Wheeljack said with a grin as he checked his controls.

A chuckle escaped you, shaking your head. “Just get us home in one piece, Big Boy.”

You gave him directions—straight shot through the forest and just a few miles west—but you swore, after a few minutes, that Wheeljack was stalling. The ship tilted, banked, and took a slow lap around Wolf Lake, the morning sun glinting off the water’s surface below.

“Enjoying the view?” you teased, secretly enjoying the slight detour

“Just calibratin’ the balance,” Wheeljack replied smoothly, optics flickering with mischief.

Eventually, the Jack Hammer hovered just above the tree line, cresting over a peaceful clearing where your cabin stood. Nestled perfectly beside the lake, the cozy logwood cabin looked like something straight from a travel magazine. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimney, and the front porch was decorated with a windchime and stacked firewood.

With a rumble and a gentle shift, the ship hovered low enough for Wheeljack to open the side hatch. Leaving his pilot seat, keeping one servo extended. With his usual, deliberate gentleness, scooping you up from the co-pilot seat, cradling you comfortably in his palm as he moved toward the trees closest to your cabin.

Wheeljack lowered, allowing you to sit upright in his palm, legs curled to the side as your hand rested against his thumb for balance.

Reaching the edge of the cabin’s path, he knelt down, lowering you as close to the porch as he could without damaging the ground beneath him.

You didn’t move right away. Instead, you looked up at him, face warm with sincerity.

“Thanks, Wheeljack… for everything.”

Wheeljack scratched the back of his helm, a faint hum pulsing beneath his faceplates as his spark fluttered. “Any decent mech would’ve done the same.”

You tilted your head at him, amused by how awkward he suddenly became.

But then, you paused before leaning forward. And then—without warning— slowly rising onto your tip toes, one hand lightly braced on the edge of his faceplate. Placing a soft, delicate kiss to his cheek.

Wheeljack blinked—completely still—as your lips lingered for just a second longer than necessary. When you pulled back, a faint lipstick mark in soft rose-red had been left behind, subtle, but unmistakable.

Before he could stutter anything that resembled a coherent thought, you gazed at him with a teasing glint in your eye.

“Don't be stranger, Jackie.” You purred lowly, voice dropping even more, words laced with sultry mischief with a smirk upon your lips as you stepped back down from his servo. "I feel like there's still plenty of... exploring for us to do."

Wheeljack’s engine gave an unmistakable purr, loud enough that Dodger tilted his head, curious at the sound. While a sudden influx of lude ideas filled his processor.

A cheeky smile flashed across his faceplate, "wouldn't have it anyother way, darlin. I'll be back before you know it."

Briefly pausing as you took a step upon the porch, you turned back to the Wrecker, sweetly blowing him a kiss as your heart fluttered at his fulfill promise. "Don't keep me waiting."

Wheeljack stood there, momentarily stunned, his spark thrumming faster than it had in centuries. When your door finally clicked shut behind you, he ex-vented hard, whispering to himself, "frag me sideways, I think I've just... sparkbounded with an organic." And I absolutely don't regret it...

[nxtt2-u]

peaches and cream

after a solo mission goes awry, bangchan finds you and patches you up. you offer him to stay the night under the guise of poor weather, but when things escalate you can’t help but admit you’ve wanted him an unhealthy amount.

content info — bangchan x afab!reader, 6.7k words, secret agent au, coworkers/friends to lovers, sharing a bed trope bc its fun, angst/fluff/smut

content warnings — profanity, mentions of suicide, suicide ideation, depictions of a stab wound, blood, explicit sexual content, aftercare & cuddles

notes — this fic contains sensitive topics so read at your own risk. first time writing proper smut, don’t be too harsh on me! with that out the way, enjoy ^^ smut warnings under the cut

smut warnings — unprotected sex, oral (f rec.), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squirting, rough sex, breeding kink, creampie

Labored breaths fill the cramped space of your personal bathroom. You grimace at the small blade that’s firmly lodged into your side, and you plant your palms on the cold countertop to help ground yourself. Your head is throbbing with a migraine and every breath you take blossoms unbearable pain now that your adrenaline has worn off. Fuck, today did not go as planned.

You’d been abruptly called up for a solo recon mission — the higher-ups sent you to a hole-in-the-wall jazz bar with the simple task of observing your target from afar. No contact, just listen and watch. Kim Hongjoong, the leader of the mafia group ATEEZ, wasn’t supposed to know about you being there tonight. But somehow, your position was leaked and his right hand man — Seonghwa, if you remember correctly — ambushed the little booth you were seated at in the corner of the cozy establishment and tried to kill you.

He’d manage to stab the right side of your stomach, thankfully missing any major organs, before you clocked him in the face with the back of your gun and shot his chest. You unfortunately missed his heart, but it allowed you just enough time to flee the bar and scamper back to HQ. You’d rushed to the medical bay, ignoring the frazzled looks of your fellow agents as you rushed past them, but when you got to the bay you belatedly recalled all of the medics were in Venice for the infiltration mission that was going down.

Fuck, why don’t they just keep one professional doctor around? Just one would be fucking sufficient. Granted, nobody is supposed to be going in the field when this huge infiltration mission is happening, but the company should always be prepared for emergencies. This is bullshit.

You had irritably limped back to your dorm, doing your best to stifle the pained noises that threatened to slip from your lips as you rode the elevator up. Every step you took down the hallway sent excruciating sparks of pain shooting up your side and it was torture to walk what seemed so fucking far when in reality was only twelve feet at most.

When you finally made it back to your room, you immediately locked the door and slumped against it, taking a moment to regain your breath as hot tears clouded your vision. It felt like hell ever since the adrenaline worn off, but you had to stay composed in public.

Which leads you to where you are now: frowning in your uncomfortably monotone bathroom at the wound in your torso as you contemplate on how to take it out. You’re inclined to just rip it out and quickly applying pressure to quell the bleeding, but it’ll hurt like a bitch and you don’t quite trust yourself enough to follow through. What if, in your moment of weakness, misery tightens its grip on you and you decide don’t want to do this anymore, and let yourself bleed out?

It’s been years since you’ve truly contemplated suicide. Nowadays, you don’t find the urge to actively die, though if death found you again you’d certainly welcome it warmly with open arms. You aren’t compelled to make an effort to live, not really — this lifestyle is merciless on both the body and the mind, and you find your days riddled with exhaustion and anguish more often than not.

You feel alone. Alone and tormented with the pulsing pain from the stab wound, the bruising on your arms, the lack of human companionship. You miss the few friends you had before you were roped into this job, miss the bustling streets of your hometown.

You’re abruptly dragged from your internal wallowing when you hear your front door click open then shut, and the new person fiddles with the lock for a moment before that clicks too. Fuck, did you make plans for tonight with someone? You try to think back, but your mind is too clouded with weariness to properly remember.

“Who is it?” you call out, pushing off the counter to turn and crack open your bathroom door. The faint crinkling of a plastic bag reaches your ears as you use the dark wood as a shield, only peeking your head out to try and see who it is. Only a few people know the code to your quarters, and you were close with them, so you weren’t too worried.

You were more worried about flashing them with an unsolicited view of your body. The moment you’d gotten to your bathroom, you’d stripped down to just your company-regulated black undergarments in hopes of preventing more blood staining your already limited selection of clothes.

Although you’ve changed in front of your coworkers during past missions, it was purely out of necessity. You don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable off-field, even if it is your home and they’re just visitors within it. You glance down at the rumpled clothes that litter your otherwise pristine tiled flooring, and sigh. It’s gonna be a pain to scrub the bloodstains out later.

You hear footsteps trodding through your kitchen and the wrinkling of the bag comes to a stop. It’s silent for a moment before you clear your throat and call out again as you helplessly look into your living room. The angle doesn’t allow you to see much further without walking out the bathroom. “Um, hello? Who is it?”

“Oh! Sorry — it’s Chan. I was just about to call you, didn’t realize you were home,” he tacks on a nervous chuckle, and you can perfectly envision how he’s probably tugging at his earlobes with a sheepish grin as he speaks. “Did you forget we were having takeout tonight?”

You blink. Fuck, now it’s coming back you. This morning, he had called you with a smile in his voice and you both agreed on eating takeout at your place for dinner — and you were looking forward to it, truly! But then the impromptu recon mission came up, and your mind, now laced with fatigue from this afternoon’s events, completely forgot about your plans. You barely resist the urge to slam your head against the wall in self-reproach.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Chan. The higher-ups gave me a surprise solo mission today and it slipped my mind.” You quickly turn and bend to grab your clothes off the floor so you can dress and meet him in the living room, but the sudden movement enables the knife to lodge itself deeper in your stomach and a yelp tears itself from your throat against your will at the fresh wave of pain. Your knees shake as you slam a palm on the wall to stop yourself from completely crumpling right on your bathroom floor. God, how could you fucking forget?

You hear Chan’s worried voice floating through the air, but you can’t focus on it when your vision narrows to the droplets of blood pooling onto the freezing tiles below you. You wince and move to sit against the wall when you realize Chan’s gently guiding you by your shoulders, calloused hands careful over your bruises. “—you okay? Talk to me, what happened?”

You swallow, throat dry as you try to gather your wits. “Went to a bar for the mission. I had to observe Kim Hongjoong, for… intel or something, they didn’t say much. Another mafia member discovered me there and tried to take me out. He stabbed me, I fucked up his face and shot him, then came back here and went to the med bay but nobody was there. Now I’m here. Dunno how I should take it out.” Chan waits patiently for you to get the words out, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the flesh of your shoulders as he rests on both knees before you.

“Okay. It’ll be alright, just let me help you, yeah? It’s easier to have someone take care of it.”

You nod, eyes suddenly stinging as you think back to your mother cradling you against her chest when you fell as a little kid. You miss her, miss the comfort of her arms and beating heart so badly it aches more than your physical wounds. Your emotional ones are still scabbing.

Oblivious to your dismal reminiscing, Chan brings you back down to reality when he delicately lifts you from the floor and plops you down on the toilet seat, moving to grab your med kit from the counter. He kicks away your dirty clothes to make room for where he kneels before you, assessing the severity of the injury with a tight-lipped frown.

“It looks kinda deep. When I pull it out, apply as much pressure as possible and then I’ll quickly wrap it. We can clean it later; our priority is to prevent blood loss. You with me?” He taps your knee and you give a firm nod. “Yeah,” you exhale, already preparing for the pain. “Can you talk to me? Just say anything, I need a distraction.”

He smiles, though it looks the farthest thing from happy. His eyes don’t crinkle with glee the way they usually do, but he complies. “Sure. Did you know kangaroos are the most active at night? Baby kangaroos are called joeys. They can be the size of a jellybean when they’re born…” he flits about the small bathroom, gathering different things as he lists off various facts about kangaroos, and your heart squeezes a bit at how endearing he is.

You shove down the strong urge to lean up and kiss this man on his plush lips as he goes to kneel before you again with gauze in his hand, still yammering away about kangaroos. This is absolutely not the time to be thirsting over your unrequited little workplace crush.

“…they can’t hop backwards, which is so silly if you ask me. You know? Like–” you try to listen to the rest of his sentence, you really do, but everything goes a bit fuzzy around the edges when the knife is abruptly dislodged from your gut. You double over with a groan, vision momentarily blurring, but you blearily remember to apply pressure as blood spurts around your fingers and dribbles hot and gross down the lower half of your body.

Chan wastes no time in scooting closer to thoroughly wrap your waist with gauze and wipe away the spilled blood coating your skin. By the time he’s done, your breathing is labored again and deep red is already blooming a considerable amount through the fabric. Your body feels grimy from the residue of the now-erased blood, but at least you can focus on what’s happening around you now.

He sits back on his haunches and nods solemnly at his handiwork. “Great, you did so well. I know you probably feel disgusting and grimy right now, but you need to eat before anything else. I’ll grab you some clothes, wait here.”

And then he’s gone, padding out the bathroom and down the hall to your bedroom to grab you a change of clothes. You gingerly rise from your seat on the toilet lid and step over to the sink to wash your hands and splash your face. Chan returns a moment later, passing a handful of neatly folded clothes into your hands, before stepping out and shutting the door behind him.

You carefully slip into the new clothes before regarding yourself in the mirror once more. You’ve donned one of your old black shirts that drapes a bit loosely over your frame, some worn black sweatpants, and black socks to match. Of course he’d pick an all-black outfit, you think with an affectionate eye roll. He really is himself, through and through.

You fix your hair a bit then pad out of the bathroom to find Chan already seated comfortably in his usual spot on your couch, cradling a warm oyster pail of lo mein close to his chest as he stuffs his face and watches a K-drama on your TV. You settle onto the cushion beside him and rifle through the plastic bag on your coffee table to pull out your own box of lo mein and dig in.

You watch the drama together in a comfortable silence, and from what you’ve gathered of the plot so far, a K-pop fan in her 30s has gone back in time through a wristwatch to try and change the trajectory of her favorite idol’s future, and in turn, save him from his suicide of societal pressures. It’s interesting, actually — but the love triangle is driving you crazy.

“This is why I never watch romance shows!” You point indignantly at the TV, like the actors portraying the high school characters could hear you if you projected your voice loud enough. Chan observes you with an amused smile playing at his lips, though he says nothing as you launch into a heated rant about the dynamics of love triangles and how the second lead was always a good guy but left for the wolves. You even get up to pace and rub your temple, ignoring the stitch in your side as you walk back and forth behind the couch.

Chan ignores the drama in favor of twisting his body to lean back and watch you stress over this silly little show. You cut yourself off before your rambling goes on all night, and rub the bridge of your nose with a deep sigh. “I’ll be back,” you murmur, stomping off to the kitchen to grab something for dessert.

You slink back onto the couch a few minutes later with a half-empty tub of peach-flavored ice cream. You hand Chan a spoon and he quirks a brow at the flavor as you place the tub between the two of you. He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it with a playful head shake. “A friend got me this, I didn’t pick it.” He just giggles in response and you both take turns scooping bites as you both refocus on the show.

You’re not sure how much time passes when you see Chan lick his spoon clean and set it on the coffee table, leaning back into the cushions after and yawning. You blink and turn to look at the time on your stove: 12 a.m?!

“Hey, Chan, when did you come over?” You inquire, capping the tub of ice cream and licking your spoon clean as well. You rise off the couch and pad back into the kitchen to put it away again — really, how was there still ice cream left? These tubs seem like they last forever…

“Hm? Oh, like… around seven, I think? Why?” His voice rumbles through the air, nearly getting drowned out by the drama still playing. “It’s late. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you for so long,” you sigh, cocking your hip and resting it against the counter of your kitchen island as you stare at the back of his curls.

He whips around, and his expression looks so adorably bewildered you want to bite the apples of his cheeks and crush him in a warm embrace. “What? No, I enjoy being here! Don’t apologize,” he scoffs, looking mildly offended at the prospect of you thinking he didn’t enjoy one second of his time with you. “I stayed because I wanted to. Besides, you’re injured and nobody likes to be alone after bad missions.” You snort at his eagerness and opt to grab your phone off the kitchen table in lieu of replying, pulling open the weather app.

“Oh,” you frown at the screen. “It’s raining right now? Hold on, pause the show.”

His head tips a bit in question but heeds your request regardless. Sure enough, the telltale pitter-patter of rain can be heard when a gust of wind blows and slams the droplets against the side of your building, hard. Well damn, how did you not notice the torrential downpour outside?

You bite your lower lip, contemplating. Neither of you have an umbrella on hand and cab services certainly aren’t running at this hour, especially in such bad weather conditions. “It’s raining hard, dude. I don’t want you to walk back to your district in the rain — you’ll get sick. Are you alright with spending the night?”

A hesitant smile tugs at Chan’s lip and one of his large palms move to awkwardly rub at the back of his neck. “Of course, but only if it’s fine with you. I don’t want to impose, and I’ll be alright if I have to brave some rain,” he says, already rising from the couch to meet you in the kitchen.

You shake your head, moving to grab the remote from the couch and turn off the TV. “Don’t be stupid. It’s no problem: I wouldn’t make you leave, especially after you helped me earlier.”

He hums in quiet agreement and you suddenly feel a wave of exhaustion crash over your mind. You yawn, rubbing your eyes as they start to burn with sleepiness. “I don’t have a spare room. You good with sharing a bed? I won’t try anything, promise.”

He blinks. “Oh, I can just take the couch.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. This man always has to be so damn respectful. “No, your neck will be fucked up in the morning. You can’t fit comfortably on it, dumbass. Just sleep with me it’ll be fi— wait, not like that.”

Chan giggles at you but gives in and you wander down the hallway with him on your heels. You flick on the light of your bedroom and pause near your bed, eyeing him up and down. “No outside clothes on the bed. You want something to wear? I can’t stand denim on my sheets.”

Without waiting for a response, you slide over to your dresser and rifle for something large enough to comfortably fit your friend. He’s awkwardly glancing around your room when you turn back with fresh clothes in hand, and you bite back a giggle at how he dazedly admires the little trinkets you’ve collected over the years.

“Sweatpants and a shirt are gonna have to work, sorry.”

He takes it from your hands carefully and shakes his head. “Thank you, you really didn’t have to do this—”

“God, just shut up and go get changed.”

He obligingly heads out to the bathroom and in his absence you also change into gray sleep shorts and a black tank, foregoing your bra because you always find it horribly difficult to sleep with it on. You just have to pray Chan doesn’t notice and get uncomfortable with you.

You slink onto your bed, crawling over the duvet to wiggle under the covers. Your bed is placed before the center of your wall, so you choose to lay on the left side of your bed. This will allow you to keep your back to him and not jostle your wound, which is on the right side of your body.

You’re tucked under the covers, lying on your back and mindlessly scrolling through your Instagram feed, when Chan steps through the door, old clothes in hand.

You look up and nearly start drooling. He looks so unbelievably good in your clothes that your eye threatens to twitch. The gray sweatpants you lent fit him perfectly, deliciously outlining his print and giving you an even better view of his ass. You discover just how wonderfully the fabric stretches over the curve of his absolute dumptruck when he turns to set his clothes on an empty portion of your desk, patting it twice in a reassuring way.

And don’t even get you started on the way your ratty black shirt is a bit tight on his upper body, gloriously framing his pecs and huge biceps. It’s definitely going to be stretched out by the time he’s done with it. You hope your gulp isn’t too audible in the quiet of your room.

He doesn’t seem to notice your inner horny turmoil when he flips off the light in silence, tugs off his socks and adds it to the pile, then moves to slip under the covers beside you. His movements are definitely a bit tentative, almost like he doesn’t want you two to brush skin, but you don’t mind.

The rain is still relentless in its assault against your building: there is absolutely no chance it’ll clear up enough before morning for him to safely get back to his quarters. You turn off your phone and plug it up to your charger, setting it on your nightstand with an alarm hopefully set for tomorrow morning. If it isn’t, then that’s a problem for your future-self.

When Chan finally finishes settling a moment after you and the room is overall dark — save for your little standing lamp in the corner that casts a cozy dim glow over the space — you realize just how much warmth Chan radiates.

Your bed isn’t even small: it’s a queen. There’s a comfortable amount of space between the two of you, a silent agreement to stay as far apart as your situation allows, yet he’s still so warm beside you. The covers quickly become toasty with combined body heat and you flip onto your side, back towards Chan, as you tug your arms out from under your comforter in an attempt to dispel the warmth and cool yourself down.

You hear the light shuffling of fabric behind you and assume Chan does the same. You start to wonder if maybe you are the one overstepping in this situation, as he kind of did seem uncomfortable when you kept insisting it’s okay for him to be here, for him to share a bed with you.

Your brain is about to start overthinking when you feel the gentle lull of sleep calling your name, tugging your weary mind down into the comfortable nothingness labeled as rest. Before you even realize it, you’re out like a light and breathing steadily into the mellow embrace of your bed as your mind carefully coaxes you into your dreams.

When you wake, the first thing you register is the searing heat.

Your body is absolutely boiling with warmth. Which you find odd, because your room usually stays cold and you hate the heat.

You’ve never been one to favor summertime over the winter: you always welcome the crisp wind of winter with a grin behind your scarf, hands tucked happily into your pockets as you cherish the cold. The stench of other people becomes less apparent during the wintertime. Bugs crawl back to their origins in Hell to hide from the frigid temperatures. It’s so pleasant.

Whereas during summer, you always end up glaring bitterly at the squiggly heatwaves that seem to taunt you from afar. Beads of sweat run down your face every time you dare to step outside and mosquitos ravish your exposed limbs, leaving you an itchy mess when you finally retreat back to the cover of a building. Your occupation doesn’t allow much time off, either, so you rarely find a day to visit the beach or relax at a pool. Who would enjoy such a torturous season?

You blearily crack your eyes open and lift your head, trying to discern with fuzzy vision the cause of your absurd body temperature. That’s when you register your covers are kicked down to the crease of your knees, and another body is pressed intimately against yours from behind. A solid arm is strewn over your hip and, to your horror, something of notable size and firmness is also pressing into your backside. You bite your lip to stifle a gasp as you come to the very evident conclusion Chan is spooning you from behind. While sporting a boner. Fuck.

Instead of slamming your head back down on your pillow at the shock of this predicament, you delicately lower your cheek against it and resist the urge to scream as to not wake the man behind you. His hips are comfortably cradling your ass, and you gulp. It’s fine, this is so fine! People move around in their sleep. Boners are just a normal bodily function. Happens to the best of us, even. If you just ignore it and go back to sleep, you can wake up in the morning and pretend it never even happened. All will be swell.

But of course, just as you’re about to close your eyes and try to drift off again, the hand tightens its grip around your waist ever so slightly and kneads once at the soft flesh of your hip. The universe sure does hate you and loves to see you suffer, huh.

Chan mumbles something sleepily against the dip between your shoulder blades before his hips softly grind into your rear once. A whimper spills out your lips against your will and the body plastered against your back suddenly goes stiff as a board. Your eyes snap open and your joints instinctively lock up in response, too.

There’s a beat of silence, sans the sound of your quiet shared breaths puffing in and out, before Chan swiftly detaches himself and rolls back to his side of the bed with a pained groan. “Fuck— I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

He sits up, still stuttering out an apology as he moves to swing his legs over the side of your bed. You spring up from your spot with so much fervency you half expect your spine to pop. Without a second thought, you grab his bicep and squeeze, urging him to turn back to you. His head whips around and he ogles you with wide eyes when he hears you mumble something he never once expected to hear. You miss his shocked expression as your eyes are downturned to study the sheets. Wow, were they always this shade of white? How pretty.

“Say that again,” he murmurs, somehow sounding breathless though he hasn’t moved an inch from his spot on the edge of your mattress as far as you can tell. You don’t know if it’s the sleepy haze blanketing your brain that gives you the confidence to repeat yourself, but if this is your only chance to get with the man of your dreams then you’re going to fucking take it, heedless of the possible humiliation and consequences this could cause.

You swallow, still refusing to meet his eyes. Your hand releases its deathgrip on his arm, dropping down to play with your sheets. You clear your throat, somehow managing to say the sentence that would make or break your relationship with Chan again in a stable voice. “I said, can I kiss you?”

It’s like something snaps between the two of you. He tugs your body toward his with a groan, wasting no time in crashing his plump lips against yours. You gasp and he bites down on your bottom lip, and you begin to kiss back with equal, if not more, passion. He gently guides you to lay back so your head is situated comfortably on your pillow, mindful of your fresh injury as he does, and you practically turn into putty in his hands as you let him move you like second nature.

He pulls away from your mouth, a string of spit connecting the two of you as you both pant and stare at each other. His pupils are blown, and a glance down confirms your suspicions that he’s still rock hard beneath his sweats. If Chan feels big against you when he’s just half hard, then you’re honestly a bit concerned for your pussy when you think about the full package. You drag your eyes back to his face when you realize you’re staring, only to be met with a cocky smirk and a knowing glint in his dark eyes. “You like the view, baby?”

A heat different from the physical kind sparks in the pit of your stomach, and the casual utterance of the pet name quickly kindles the sparks into a low flame. Your cunt begins to pulse with its own heartbeat and you nod eagerly. He chuckles and leans back down to pepper kisses beneath your ear, your jaw, any sliver of skin he can reach. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he mumbles into the divots of your collarbone. “Wanted you.”

Chan punctuates his words with a light nip to your trapezius and you squeak. He shifts his weight onto one arm and lifts a hand to toy with the strap of your tank top, knobby fingers absently plucking at the thin band while he hungrily eyes your expression instead. “Can I take this off? Wanna see all of you.”

You hesitate, a wave of insecurity washing over you at the idea you may not be pretty enough for him, but you quell the negative voice in your head and just pray he’ll appreciate your body. You nod wordlessly, lifting your arms enough for him to tug it over your head and toss it aside.

He sits back, tongue poking at his cheek as he stares at your chest, ears reddening into a pretty shade. You feel embarrassment flush through your skin and move to cover yourself, but he immediately grabs your wrists and pins them above your head. Your cunt flutters around nothing and you feel a drop of wetness pool in your panties. Oh God, how are you going to survive this?

“Don’t hide,” Chan murmurs, voice an octave lower than his usual timbre. He leans down to graze his teeth against a nipple and you jump, arching your chest up with a gasp as you writhe slightly in his hold. “You’re so beautiful, fuck, I can’t believe I get to have this.”

All that falls from your lips are whines when he takes a sensitive bud into his mouth, alternating between suckling and swirling his tongue. He pops off after a moment to give the other side the same attention, his hands tugging at the nipple that’s freshly exposed to the cool air of your room.

He suckles a mark onto the soft skin above your nipple and pulls away to loom over you with heated eyes. You shy away from his gaze and instead tug at the hem of his shirt. “Off, get it off. Not fair how I’m the only one undressed,” you pout.

He chuckles and quickly pulls it over his head before sending it flying across your room. You absently run a hand over his defined abs, a wave of arousal washing over you so roughly that your eyes threaten to roll. “Pants,” you rasp out, almost nonsensically, but he seems to understand.

You both share a moment tugging off the last of your clothes before you’re on each other again like moths to a flame. His hands are careful when they roam your torso, wary of your wound, but his fingers quickly turn merciless again when they find the heat of your core. You cry out when he begins to circle your swollen clit, hole fluttering as it weeps for his attention.

His fingers momentarily dip lower and he groans at the copious amount of slick that greets him. Your cunt makes a lewd squelch when he dips a testing finger inside and you moan as it ventures deeper. “You’re so wet, baby, shit.”

“All for you,” you whine out, twitching with a gasp as he crooks his finger at a certain angle. He grins as he massages that gooey spot deep inside you, looking overly content as he turns you into a babbling mess beneath him.

“Yeah, baby, this cunt’s mine.”

Almost as if proving a point, he leans down a bit to let a fat glob of spit roll off his tongue and land on your clit. Your fingers shoot out to thread through his hair when he promptly leans down and latches his mouth to your pussy, slurping obscenely as he works his tongue over your most sensitive area. He mumbles sloppily into your folds, eyes half-lidded. “God, you taste divine. C’ld stay here and eat this pussy forever…”

He draws two orgasms from you like that, wrenching your thighs back open when they clamp around his head from the first orgasm. He pulls back momentarily to give you a breather, leaning up to kiss you filthily. You moan at the taste of yourself, but just as you reach down to grab his cock he’s already between your legs again and resuming his ministrations.

You kick out at how oversensitive you are, pawing desperately at his forehead to try and halfheartedly push him away. The pain hurts so deliciously good — you don’t want this moment to end.

“‘S too much, Ch’nnie!” You realize tears are streaming down your face when your cunt eagerly clenches around the digits he’s stuffed inside you, thighs quivering on either side of his head, but he knows not to stop despite your broken pleas.

He pulls you over the edge again with swift, hungry licks to your clit and two fingers prodding at your gummy walls, groaning into your dripping heat. Your second orgasm doesn’t simmer in your stomach the way the other did: this time it takes you by surprise and makes you genuinely wail.

Even Chan’s firm grip on your thighs can’t stop the way they cage his head in and squeeze while you cry out, hips bucking off the bed and eyes squeezing shut as you yank on his scalp. Your orgasm seems to last forever, sending you floating in a warm space while stars blooming in the dark of your eyelids. You eventually come down from the high, unlike anything you’ve felt before, with watery eyes and shaky limbs when you realize the absolute that’s mess between your legs and the puddle drenching your sheets. It isn’t rocket science to piece the two together.

Fuck, you just squirted on his face.

You throw an arm over your face in belated embarrassment as you hear the shuffling of sheets. It’s gently pulled away not even a second later and your face burns when you see the wetness glistening on the entire lower half of Chan’s face. He doesn’t bother wiping it before he’s kissing you, and the locking of your lips is rough and full of desire.

He pulls back to knock his forehead against yours, both of you breathing into the close proximity. “Can I put it in, baby? I don’t have a condom, but I can pull out, promise.”

You weakly glare like it’s even a question, body still jittering with an occasional aftershock. Despite coming twice with barely any reprieve, you still feel keyed-up as ever with a dull ache settling between your legs. Yet, you feel so empty. His fingers aren’t enough to satisfy you for the night.

“You just made me come twice from your mouth alone and now you’re asking?” You scoff, your snarky words contrary to how your legs are impatiently spreading further to accommodate him. “I’m on birth control, by the way. So… you, um, don’t have to pull out.”

Something predatory flashes in his eyes, but you blink and it’s gone. A knowing feeling rises in your gut and you suppress a grin. So he has a breeding kink… perfect.

He exhales sharply, but nods as he slips back a bit to wrap your legs around his hips. He scoots forward again and lines himself up, tip prodding at your entrance and you sigh at the pressure. He glances up once more just to double check, and only when you give an aggrieved nod does he finally push in.

You both moan in tandem and Chan scrunches his eyes shut when he bottoms out, leaning forward to softly press the hard planes of his stomach against your bandaged one. “Just one second, baby,” He pants into the crook of your neck. “Too.. too close.”

You giggle and bring a hand to the back of his neck, lazily scratching at the curly wisps that form there while he works to staves off a premature orgasm.

You lay in silence for a moment, your shared sweat starting to cool, before he pushes himself up again and sits back on his knees to push your thighs up to your chest. “You’re so pretty like this, all spread out for me,” Chan sighs, looking down at where the two of you meet. “Let me fuck you properly now, yeah?”

His pace is languid at first, but with every choked out whine that escapes you his thrusts start to come faster, harder. It’s not long before he’s fucking you into the mattress, the bed frame squeaking pathetically.

Your hands desperately clutch your pillow as you lose all ability to think when the front of his thighs slap so harshly into the backs of your own, over and over. With the little coherency you’re able to maintain, you doubt you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.

“Babygirl,” you hear Chan grunt as he somehow manages to thrust even harder. You barely hear him over the lewd squelching of your pussy filling the room. “Look at how well you’re creamin’ over my cock, shit!”

It takes you a moment to register his words. When you do, you crane your neck to stare at where his dick, flushed an angry red, is pistoning relentlessly into your poor, abused pussy.

True to his words, your cum forms a pretty white ring around the base of his cock and you distantly feel drool dribbling out the corners of your mouth when he angles himself to hit that spongy spot inside you.

You cry out, hips bucking until he pins them down with large hands that span soothingly over your hips. The demeanor of that gesture is such a stark difference to how roughly he’s fucking you up the bed and it makes you whimper as you realize he’s fucking you like a toy.

The closer Chan gets, the looser his lips become. He starts babbling nonsense and his words are tailed by an occasional soft whine that makes you clench. It only serves to rile him up further.

You have half the mind to realize you’re the one driving him out of his mind with pleasure, and it’d bring a smile to your face if you weren’t so incoherent at the moment. Nobody else can have him the way you can. Chan’s thrust start to turn from a steady pattern into more erratic movements and he presses your bodies together in a flat line once more, returning to hide in your neck.

“…gonna fuck a baby into you,” you hear him murmur with a groan as his hips snap jerkily. You logistically know this is unlikely, as you’re on birth control and it probably won’t take anyway, but you wrap your arms around his neck and cry out into his ear, “Yes, Chan! Please, please,” you slur. “Need your cum so bad. Need to have your babies, gon’ make you a daddy.”

He fully whines at that. “You want it, huh? Want me to pump you full and breed this fucking cunt?” His hips aren’t even properly thrusting anymore: he’s more or less just frantically humping against you, addicted to the warm and wet heat that envelops him.

“You’ll be such a pretty mama, walkin’ round all glowy with my baby. My fucking baby, yeah—” Then his hips pump deep, once, twice, thrice and his eyes roll back. “Fuck, fuck, take it all, take this dick.”

You gasp brokenly when you feel something warm flood your insides as he pulses within you, and a genuine sob wracks itself from your body when he presses a thumb to your clit, rubbing in quick strokes. You topple over the edge as soon as his hand is on your sensitive nub, and you bite your lip so hard to muffle your scream that you draw blood.

Chan collapses beside you, and the movement pulls his dick free from your cunt with a loud noise that sounds so awkward in the newfound quiet. There’s silence for a second before you lock eyes at the same time and break into euphoric giggles, coming down from the simultaneous high. He tugs you into his arms and you bask in the warm afterglow, sweat cooling on your skin as you both catch your breath.

You eventually find the stickiness between your legs uncomfortable once it all dries. With an apologetic smile, Chan carries you to the shower while you two chat quietly about random topics. He takes off the old gauze from earlier, herds you into the shower to clean you properly, then towel dries you when you two step out.

The mirror is foggy with steam from the water as you fall into another comfortable silence and he reapplies the bandages. It’s so much better than earlier since your wound is properly cleaned now and you’re no longer covered in grime and sweat from a fight.

After you’re both dry and dressed, he deposits you back into the bed with clean sheets and pads off to the kitchen to get a few things. You’re feebly fighting off sleep in the middle of the bed when he returns, and he smiles dopily when he sees your struggle to stay awake.

He climbs into bed and passes you a water bottle, urging you to sit up and drink. With a grumble, you do as told before shimmying back under the comforter and patting the space beside you. “Relax, I’m coming, I’m coming,” he chuckles.

Chan pulls his new shirt off with his sweats, leaving him in just a pair of black boxers when he clambers in next to you. He presses a kiss to your forehead and you sidle into his arms, easily dozing off now that you’re in his comforting embrace.

Your body feels so sated after how he deliciously worked you up and took you apart that it takes you absolutely no time to fall asleep for real. But just before you slip out of consciousness, you feel him press another kiss to your forehead and he sighs into your hair. “I’m so happy, baby. Thank you.”

Before you can reply, your mind is gently tugged under to that familiar realm of nothingness. Though, if he sees the minuscule smile that appears on your lips as an indication you heard him, he doesn’t comment on it when you wake and instead greets you with a loving kiss, morning breath and all.