#also the translation is p much ‘i can see you kid!’

[manitapaleta]

Sorry I'm late, I had this clear vision once of Lark in this very specific blue and pink cat apron the reads "Coffee Right Meow" and he's baking and for whatever reason he's holding a knife. Do with that what you will

Sorry IM late answering this ask lol also I forgot abt the knife part lol sorryyyy

Slightly younger lark and sparrow with a baby norm !!! Now I wanna draw all the kids as babies

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

i'm begging you for some Keegan angst🙏🏼 like perhaps he and his s/o get split up during an ambush; their s/o goes MIA and when they're finally found, they're badly injured,,, something like that. maybe some fluff/comfort at the end

happy holidays!🎊

Laughing Poets

Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

Synopsis: It was poetic the way the bullet ripped through your flesh – the spray of blood that exploded from you with high velocity. How will Keegan react when he realizes that he has to leave you behind?

Word Count: 10.8k

Warning: Angst, fluff, blood & gore, torture, Keegan calls you 'Kid' a lot, happy ending

A/N: This was supposed to be done about two days ago but I decided I hated it so I re-wrote the last half (might have switched a few things around). Enjoy, Anon, and thanks for the request. Also, not quite sure on the exact characterization of Keegan yet but I'm getting there. Slowly.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

It was poetic the way the bullet ripped through your flesh – the spray of blood that exploded from you with high velocity; so much so that it splattered the far wall of the decrepit house. At that moment, as you felt all the air being expelled from your lungs in a shuttering gasp, you could see poets from the long-gone Romantic Era scratching at thin paper with an ink-stained quill, laughing. Their charcoal-stained fingers would twitch as they write out your life with a furrowed brow, bathed in candlelight, and would smile as they slashed their signature at the bottom.

Would the poem of your life end so quickly?

Your head slams to the ground, white light erupting from behind your eyes as you try and suck back enough air just enough to be able to scream in agony. Molten heat is tearing you apart, peeling back nerves; breaking bone, and slashing past muscle with an inexhaustible surety. Dropping the modified AX-50 from your grip, the black and grey metal slams to the ground with a defining clatter as your ears ring with lightning. In the back of your mind, you hear the glass of its Thermal Duel Power Scope shatter into a million tiny pieces.

Shit, you had just gotten that from Kick a week ago. 

It was strange – the repercussions of your actions were happening all around you, but it felt like it was a world away as realization set in. You’d gotten shot? How? You got shot?! 

You wished your pitiful existence was worthy of a poem, truth be told; that it was worth more than the crimson that leaks from your left shoulder to the old, cracked, wooden ground. But that was never the case. 

Your body writhes and you wail out, head jerking back and forth in a primal display. 

You had chosen this life, whether by your own need for revenge or the sense of duty…you knew not. And now you would pay for it. 

Nobody knew you were hit, because you hadn’t told anyone through the comms, but there was also the fact that you were never meant to be this far out anyways. Merrick had fucking warned you this would happen if you stalked off on your own again, but as always, you had chosen the stubborn route. When you had seen this run-down shack of a house with a perfect vantage point, it made that predatory part of your brain sing with a need to hike to it – nestled right in between an outcropping of trees and overgrown vines atop a hill. With the threat of Federation soldiers in the war-torn town below, it was a God-send. You controlled it. You were master here.

Like a bird, Keegan would tell you, striding past, you just can’t resist a good perch, can you, Kid? 

The thing is, your Ghost Team shouldn't know you’re injured out here, but soon enough as you frantically try and grasp at your decimated shoulder with burning tears in your eyes and a gaping mouth, a stiff voice wavers through the static of your radio. The blood pools from you like an overturned ink well and your face pulls back in a desperate snarl.

The sound of gunfire was still raging hundreds of miles down into the remains of what was once the outskirts of San Diego but is now known as No Man’s Land. 

“Kid,” Keegan’s voice plays along your ears, but you’re too busy trying to force yourself up, blood hacked up from your mouth as you let out a strangled, no, “Where’d your scope go? Ajax needs cover fire two clicks to the west. Eyes up. No time for foolin’ around.”

Your skin is peeled back, and your flesh is infected with bits of your shirt and padded vest fabric inside the wound itself – like bugs crawling all over. You don’t want to think about the exit wound. The bullet had come from another sniper farther in the city, and, you knew, you were lucky you had survived the shot at all just on that fact alone. In your case, when you pulled the trigger, you rarely missed a killing blow. 

That was probably why Elias Walker had approached you in the first place – your kill count for Federation soldiers was off the charts, even with how young you were. Not quite a Ghost in full, but something in the middle; nearly there but not quite. You had to earn the mask first. Ajax liked to call you Greenhorn, but Merrick was more prone to Rookie. Kick was rarely out of his lab, so he didn’t call you much of anything. But Keegan…

“Blue Jay?” Keegan’s voice once more wafts out into the burning air, “Sitrep. Now.” 

“Keegan, push forward,” Merrick cuts through the channel and his heavy tone fills the house just as you begin to drag yourself across the floor. The echoes of the gun battle reverberate over the hills, “They’re boxing us in! Move, move, move!”  

You collapse against an overturned and broken coffee table with shaking limbs and tear-stained cheeks, struggling to find a good enough hold to press down on the wound as crimson leaks from between your fingers. A lung-shuttering gasp exits the flesh of your lips right before a burning makes itself known in the back of your throat. Not able to stop yourself, bile is forced all the way from your stomach, making a trail up your esophagus and finally pooling in your mouth. Gagging, you reel forward onto one hand and release the contents of Keegan’s ration bar from lunch back into the earth, watching the liquid concoction pool onto the ground that has grass whisps sneaking in from between the floorboards. Seeing that, and barking out another wail as long ropes of crimson drip down from your limp arm, you throw up once more. Everything is on fire. 

“When…when Ajax said getting shot felt like your skin was being flayed,” You groan, head starting to feel light-headed, “I thought he was just joking.” 

The sound of your agony-drowned voice brought a sense of urgency into your rapidly fading psyche. 

“Apply pressure,” Merrick’s imaginary voice in your head makes you straighten your spine – like he was a little angel on your shoulder hitting you with a newspaper. You call-back the memory of the Ghost as he was going over medical procedures a month back, “If your hand slips, you die, and I'm not carrying your limp body back to the Fort like a fucken’ sack of potatoes. No one can respond better than yourself in this type of high-risk situation, you understand? Panic is not an option in No Man's Land and if you think it is, you have no right being here...Make a tourniquet; tie it off, and wait for backup. Here, Rookie, practice on Keegan.” 

Doing the best you can with only one functioning arm, your fingers twitch as you card them clumsily over the pouches on your chest. Finding the velcro of your medical bag, you whine as you rip it open, flesh so sensitive that even the rough fabric of your own property is grating to feel. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you tell yourself, you most likely would have already passed out.

Ripping out the roll of medical gauze and praying you had enough, your shaking hand travels to your right shoulder, not even noticing the hurried conversations and screaming orders over the comms. 

Make a tourniquet, You think to yourself, grunting out into the air when you have to move your arm into position. The entire limb was stained red, liquid dripping off your nonresponsive fingers to the floor. What if you never regained the function of your arm again? Your thoughts were running. What if you could never shoot your rifle all because you felt the need to go too far on your own? To prove yourself?

The thoughts scared you more than you liked to admit. This life was everything to you – pushing back against the Federation, who had taken so much from you, and being alongside the Ghosts. It was what you had worked so hard for. 

Then fight for it, You don’t know why Keegan’s smooth voice comes to you at that moment, but as you pull the gauze so tight around your open wound you scream and see stars; nearly keeling over as well, it brings forward a steely determination, Don’t expect everything on a silver platter, Kid. But then again, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already know that.

“Fucking hell,” Face contorted with unmatched distress, you suck down breaths and let the gauze soak up your life; blood in deep puddles already seeping through, “I need to move – t-tell the others…”

“Blue Jay’s not responding,” Keegan speaks over the static of the comms channel, “I’m doubling back.” 

Your functioning hand latches onto the radio, weak fingers slipping for a moment as your body sways forward. Struggling, you stumble to your feet and steady yourself on the termite-eaten wall near the window. You peak out and try to spot the enemy sniper with wheezing breath and a sweat-flooded forehead. 

Pressing down on the radio to speak, you’re appalled by how hard the simple act was. 

Am I dying? 

“Don’t Keegan – in order to break the line you’ll need everyone to be there,” You have to blink away the blurriness of your eyes, “I’m spotting twelve tangos near the storage facility. Merrick, I’d suggest taking a left and circling the flank.”

Merrick responds, “Good eyes, Rookie. Ajax, on my six!”

Your vision swirls, forcing you to suck in a sharp breath and splay your legs shoulder length apart so you don’t fall forwards. You pointedly avoid look at your wound.

“You want to explain why you weren’t responding?” Keegan’s voice is stern, hiding an edge somewhere in its tone that you choose not to acknowledge, “This isn’t a game!” On a far-off building, you spy a glint, making your attention snap to it like a cat and a mouse—sniper scope. 

There’s that Bastard, Your fingers twitch with hatred, glossy and tear-clogged eyes narrowing. If you had the ability to shoot right now…

A bullet nearly takes your head off, splintering the frame of the window before lodging into the floor.

“Shit!” You yell, reeling back; forgetting for a moment you were on the open channel.

“Greenhorn, what’s going on over there?” Ajax finally graces the line, “You doing something stupid again?” You don’t know why you hesitate…why you’re so cautious to reveal to them that–

“That’s it,” Keegan snarls, “I’m going to your position.”

You shake your head, your mind so jostled that you don’t say anything for a moment until you realize that no one can see you.

“I took a bullet to my right shoulder.” You concede, voice low with self-hatred, “Clean through, nothing to worry about, just won’t be able to cover anyone…C-can’t feel my arm.” 

The line goes dark for a moment, and as you listen to your own ragged breathing that leaves you more hunched over the longer you stand up, it suddenly explodes. A cold shiver travels down your spine; sweat drips from your nose. Your eyelashes flutter.

“What the hell do you mean you got hit!?”

“Son of a Bitch, Rookie, give us your position, now. We’re pulling back.”

“No!” You yell, growling, and shaking your head, “This is a key location to taking back San Diego – there are vantage points, cover, hell, even weapons caches left over from before the war in one of the military bases. We need to secure this town. I’m fine!” But they weren’t listening, even if everything you were saying made sense. 

They can’t ruin the operation over one person, You told yourself, heart pumping a mile-a-minute, No one I’ve worked with has ever done that before and the Ghosts sure as Hell shouldn’t be the first. These guys were Special Operations before ODIN destroyed half the US – they know better.

But you were forgetting one critical detail. The Ghosts aren’t just any other team; they care about their own perhaps even more than the missions they get sent on. 

But I’m not one of them, You grunt to yourself, letting your eyes close and knocking your head back into the wall behind you. The fact makes you want to cry, but you’re forced to acknowledge the sore spot later. 

God, your arm felt like it was being burned to a crisp. You grunt and grit your teeth as another wave goes through you.

“How long ago did you get hit!?” Keegan barks and the sound of shouting from below your perch momentarily increases.

“I..” You try and think. How long had it been? More than seven minutes couldn’t have passed. 

“Answer me!” 

“F-fuck, I don’t know! Four-five minutes ago!” Yelling makes your head throb, a deep booming that echoes like a drum in your consciousness. 

The door to the house squeaks as it opens. 

Eyes snapping to the wall that separates the living room from the foyer, your voice cuts out immediately. Keegan was fast – lethally fast – but the town below your perch was at least a few miles, this was because your AX-50 was specialized at long-distance shots. It would be no good in the heat of an ongoing ground battle. I mean, hell, it only held seven shots; even with the modifications you had added on by yourself. 

The person who had opened the door wasn’t a Ghost.

And that meant they were your enemy.

Doing the best you can to move stealthily, you unclip the combat knife from your belt and listen with bated breath as you slink over to the doorway. You hate the way your hand shakes as it holds the hilt but revel in the fact that your left arm is numb enough to not cause you to bellow out. Holding your breath, you lean against the barrier on your good shoulder and bring the blade up near your chin. 

There are hesitant footsteps that shake the fragile frame of the building, and you feel the reverberations travel up your feet and make your skin shiver. Goosebumps form along your arms. 

Creeeek, crack-clack

The floorboards squeal like a stuck pig, the old boards splintering off as an unseen assailant’s feet cautiously move through the house. The sound of heavy breathing comes closer, nearing the doorway to the room you say stone-still in. 

Your radio flares to life.

“Rookie–” It only takes a moment, but Merrick’s voice is the signature at the end of your poem; whatever you would have heard from the man was lost. 

A Federation soldier dressed in camo and grasping a shotgun rampages around the corner. 

—

Keegan knows he’s too late when he sees the run-down visage of the shack with its front door open.

I taught her never to leave the doors behind her ajar. 

The Ghost had been training you for months – taking you somewhat under his wing, albeit reluctantly. Elias was clear when he gathered everyone together, train her to be like us. And they had all done just that, Keegan more harshly than anyone, but that wasn’t to say you were untalented. 

The stoic Ghost had yet to see a more talented sniper than himself, but you came in as a close second. You were the perfect asset, able to stay back when everyone else went in. You were the cover, the master behind the curtain that clears a path with a pull of a trigger. The Ghosts owed many missed nicks and scrapes to you and your calls. So when Keegan had heard you stop answering over the comms; not responding to Ajax’s hurried quips…

Keegan’s heart hammers as he ascends the front steps overgrown with weeds and wildflowers, the Honey Badger Assault Rifle held white-knuckled in his grip. As if on autopilot, the man switches the safety off and enters, face behind the fabric of his balaclava. The contorted visage of the white paint over the front created quite the nightmare and paired with the black eyepaint Keegan could only be compared to a beast. 

The slight clinking of the rope hook tied to his waist and the metallic bit and bobs in his vest was the only sounds he made, the years upon years of perfection ingrained into the way he breathed; the press of his feet to the floor. Keegan would only allow someone to hear him if he wanted them to, even if he was the size of a boar.

His cerulean eyes flicker down the hallway, but nothing moved beside the stale wind – smelling only dirt and…

Blood, Keegan’s nose twitches, eyes narrowing. The man tries to ignore the way his heart picks up pace.  

Had he really grown so attached to you that he would forsake his teammates to come and check on your situation? Perhaps the stupidest thing he could do to himself was begin to enjoy your presence. But that didn’t change the fact that you were his responsibility, and in the back of his mind there was a nagging concern. 

He had grown to care for you, and that was unexceptable.  

Keegan enters the living room with his rifle held ahead of him, scanning the room for tangos before he lowers it. Empty. 

And then he sees the remnants of a struggle. Head going back and forth the Ghost follows a trail of gore along the floor, an explosion of crimson over the wall behind him, and feels his chest rumble in a growl over the image of a broken AX-50. His breath stills.

The metal was dented, and the scope shattered, leaving glass over the ground like marbles. Keegan felt a dangerous heat enter his blood, eyes flashing; a specific type of rage growing in his gut and twisting his intestines. 

“Where are you, Kid?” He mutters, fingers flexing over the trigger of his weapon. Where did you go? His throat tightens, lips thin. Merrick’s voice comes over the radio with a hard edge.

“Keegan, sitrep. How’s our girl doing? Evac is on its way and we’re pulling back. Getn’ pretty hot over here.” Keegan takes a moment before rushing over to your signature weapon, letting his own fall against his chest and bounce off his vest. Grasping the gun you worshiped by the blue strap, his eyes go along its long body, spying the custom modifications and intricate detailing over the stock. Tiny Blue Jays are scratched and covered in crimson; the colors faded.

You had painted it yourself when Keegan had taken a liking to referring to you by the callsign, and he had never really had the chance to look at it until now. Staring at it for a moment longer, his thumb lightly swipes away a droplet of blood, letting one of the birds once more be visible. Keegan swings the rifle over his back and feels the heaviness of it – the weight of the customizations and the top-grade material. This was your pride and joy along his back, moving with every flex of his shoulders with the barrel hitting the back of his knee. 

He carried it was a sort of reverence; a delicateness that was never connected to his name.

She’d never leave this behind without a fight. 

Keegan’s tense fingers go to his radio, eyebrows pulling in and eyes emotionless. But the stubble shake of his hand makes him want to punch someone. Whoever had done this to you would pay.

“Blue Jay’s gone.” He states, monotone, “House is empty with signs of a struggle.” 

The man turns back to the doorway, glass crunching under his feet, and walks back out into the hallway. 

“What do you mean ‘gone,’ man?” Ajax butts in, and over the comms the sound of bullets hitting metal creates a ringing sound, “She’ll bleed out!” 

“Move!” Merrick’s voice sizzles out as a grenade goes off, and the line cuts for a moment as Keegan nonchalantly comments, 

“All good?” 

“We’re taking heavy fire. Without the girl’s backup, we can’t stay here – Ajax and I are heading to the Evac point and’ll draw their attention into the woods. Find that damn kid, Sergeant.” 

“On it, Sir.” Keegan releases the device on his vest and turns his hidden head. He sweeps the rest of the shack with a heavy weight on his shoulders, taking notice of a constant trail of blood throughout the hallway. With every moment passing the weight of the situation settles in his gut.

“C’mon Kid,” He whispers, voice gruff, until he finally goes to the busted-down back door and finds the body. 

It was laying face down in a bed of wild grass, a thin breeze moving its shirt sleeves. A shotgun lays a few feet from the corpse, surrounded by old rubble and a small downed treetrunk; it was still smoking, dark metal caressed by dirt. Keegan rushes over, taking in the motionless branches of the forest and the knife still lodged in the Federation soldier’s head. 

Tapping the man with his foot, the Ghost goes to grab the blade by the hilt and rip it out. Hearing the shink of metal separating from flesh and feeling the spray of blood over his tactical glove. 

Just as he feared, the knife belonged to him. His body coils.  

Keegan had given it to you after you lost your own on the last mission, the black blade a perfect match to the one currently sitting on his waist. He had wanted it back, but you had teased and asked what if I needed it in the future with a raised eyebrow and body leaning into Ajax who sat next to you. Begrudgingly, Keegan had deadpanned and said he expected you to return it after you found a replacement. But you had just smiled at him, lips pulling back into a bright display and wrinkled eyes. Your face had glowed in the daylight, shadows disappearing and the heavy bags everyone was sporting under their eyes vanishing on yours. Keegan had felt his chest hitch, even if outwardly he remained as stoic as always, and that was it.

The man had dropped the conversation and had never asked for the blade back. In fact, something had swirled in Keegan’s gut the next time he saw his knife strapped to your waist, the band holding the hilt tight against you and bunching your shirt up. It was pathetic, Keegan admitted when he had frozen at the sight at the time, legs jerking, but seeing something of his own on your body had made his heart go wild; eyes so obviously boring into you that your cheeks had gained a sheen of embarrassment that day. Keegan had stalked away, unable to admit to himself that something was going in inside of him that he had no control over.

That was the point of no return, he realized. The overturned inkwell onto the thin parchment. 

You were the poet and him the words in your head, using him without a clue. 

“Fuck,” He growls, gripping the knife so tightly it digs into his gloves and hurts the flesh inside. His head turns to the forest, burning eyes roving for any sign of you even as a strike of pride filters through him. Injured and disoriented, you had taken down a man two times your size with only his knife and your wits. Now that really got his blood pumping.

Besides a thin trail of blood drops over the grass, leading far into the tree line, you had all but disappeared. Keegan’s heart was pounding, ready to run in after you.

She couldn’t have gotten far, especially not with a wound like she described. I’ll catch up. I have to.

“Keegan we need you at the Evac point, ASAP!” Ajax screams, voice strained, “Else we’re going to be coming home in body bags, man!” 

“I don’t have Blue Jay yet–”

“There’s no time,” Merrick yells out, and Keegan hears the whizz of bullets from over the line, “Federation soldiers are storming us – get here now! Or you’re getting left behind. That’s an order, Sergeant!” 

She won’t survive, Keegan tells himself, forcing down the mucus in his throat, not by herself. 

Ghosts don’t leave their own behind. Merrick undoubtedly planned to return when the heat was off them; send a recon force to the area to look for signs of life. Keegan clenched his fists, eyes dead as they stare off into the trees and expansive foliage. This area was notorious for its high cliffs and steep dropoffs – one wrong move and everything was over in an instant. The earthquakes were worse. Ever since ODIN was fired the tremors had been constant. 

The odds weren’t in your favor even without adding in a possibly fatal wound.

Keegan takes a step forward, inching closer to the treeline unconsciously with firm feet. 

“Keegan – do you trust her!?” 

“What?” Merrick’s loud comment had shaken Keegan, making him freeze; eyes wide. He was only one step into the wild, perhaps only one step closer to finding you. Did he trust you? What kind of question was that? The woman who always fooled around with Ajax, pushed Marrick’s buttons to a point the man had begun to respect you? Blue Jay, who always made a point to bring Keegan into conversations and try to get him to smile at her – carrying herself with elegant confidence? 

Did he trust you? How does one even describe trust? After everything that’s happened, could he place his trust in someone else other than his Ghost brothers? Keegan’s jaw clenches, head looking back and forth before slowly going to sneak a peak at the body behind him. His chest tightened. 

He already had an answer, but found that he couldn’t say it aloud. 

Apparently, the moment of silence gave his friends what they needed.

“Then get your ass back here! The sooner we have a chance to regroup we’re comin’ back and gettin’ her. Rookie knows what she’s doing…we’ve given her every lesson we could. It’s up to her for a while.”

“Trust in her, Keegan” Ajax chimes, “Just as she trusts you.”

Keegan turns his back to the forest, hearing every step of his feet over the ground as they carry him away from you. 

“Copy.”

The words are firm, but the ink of them bleeds.

—

You wake up chained to the ceiling, shoes gone, and socked feet dangling over the floor. Blood from a new gash on your head trails over your right eye and leaves the already flickering movement of your eyelashes more constant as the liquid dribbles to your tense jaw in a steady flow.

It had happened so fast – far faster than your already addled mind could have comprehended. A group of Federation soldiers had been camping out in the woods and had sent only one of their men into the shack you had deemed too far out of the way for any up-close confrontation; the rest had stayed and waited. The minute your back was too close to the tree line after you had lodged Keegan’s blade into the lone man’s skull, they had grabbed you. 

Apparently, they dragged me back into town, too, You growled to yourself, how could I be so dumb?! 

The only upside of this situation was that in order to question you they had to keep you alive long enough to get you to speak. Already the heavy padding over your numb left shoulder calls to you like a siren song; the dichotomy of the position you were in almost made you laugh. The Federation soldiers had you hooked up to the ceiling like a butchered pig but took the time to dress your wound so you wouldn’t bleed out. 

You wiggle your fingers, the lack of circulation already leaving the top half of your body tingly. Next, your feet. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you’ve been drugged, because the words from your head seem to spill from your lips unprompted and the pain of your situation is dull; muted.

“Hell,” Your voice is loud, tone slurred, and rough. Oh yeah, definitely high off something, “If you wanted to tie me up you could have just asked me!” 

Opening your eyes as full as you can, you look around weakly and lock onto rusted metal walls and a set of large warehouse doors. 

“You brought me to the warehouse? How stupid could you be?” You say aloud, twisting your neck around before the clinking of chains stops you, “Isn’t this near the old logging company? This is close to the edge of the town! If I wanted to escape I’d be gone in five seconds.”

Your drugged snickering echoes off the walls, bouncing back at you mockingly. Soon enough footsteps sound off from beyond the closed door, many, many feet marching down an unseen hallway. You smile, thinking, finally, and hear the blood from your head drip to the floor every other second. The warehouse door slides open with a shriek and your vision blinks out, black momentary shrouding you before it filters back. 

Three men enter the room, all dressed in the black and gray camo of the Federation – straps and combat vest so similar to your Ghosts that in your state you confuse the two. They even wore black balaclavas and the one in the middle is a similar build to your Sergeant, tall, and built like a damn bear.

“Keegan?” You whisper, head tilting to rest on your strained arms as your eyebrows pull in before sparks of pain fly. Was that…you have to shake your head, skull suddenly burning. No. There’s a thin moment of clarity before that haze re-settles. 

This isn’t right. That is not my Keegan. Not my Ghosts.

The middle man leads the other two at his sides, nodding his head behind him and the door begins to close; the others peel off and go to guard the entrance, leaving you and the man to have a conversation semi-alone. 

He stops a few feet from you, eyes a deep brown and boring into your body. Your lips pull back.

“There are more simple ways to question someone besides stringing them up, man.” Your sentence cracks halfway through, but you don’t notice. 

The man just stares, tilting his head to the side. After a moment of eye contact, he speaks.

“You are not a Ghost.” His voice is accented – Spanish is most likely his first language.

“Yeah, trust me,” You groan, head once more pulsing. Your feet shimmy over the ground, toes lightly brushing the concrete, “No one’s more fucked up about that than I am. I train my ass off–” 

A sold punch is landed to your gut, tossing your body back as the chains above you squeal. The air is expelled from your lungs in a series of deep coughs, lungs rattling as spittle flies from your lips, you feel your organs shake inside of you. It takes a few moments for you to catch your breath and dispel the sledgehammer blow, but already the man is talking when the bulk of your panting has barely slowed.

“You are going to tell me a way into Fort Santa Monica,” He pulls a knife from his waistband and takes a step forward, putting the blade directly on your right side. Your clothes crease where the tip presses and needle-like sparks fly from your flesh, “Or I will have to ring the answer from you like water in a rag.”

With a pounding heart, your mouth runs unprompted, “Ghosts don’t break, asshat. And I may not be one of them, but I certainly know that I won’t let my boys down.” 

What the hell did they give you? Keegan had warned you to never say too much when captured. Don’t make ‘em angry unless you want a reminder of the power they have at that moment. But it wasn’t like you could help it anymore–

The blade sinks through hot flesh, and inside the warehouse, a high-pitched scream flows outside; scattering birds and beasts alike. 

This continues for three long days. 

—

Keegan was stone-still as Elias bend over the meeting table, a map of the town and surrounding forest where you had gone missing spread out. Everyone was silent, and Keegan has to shuffle his feet to reduce the tension in his thighs and shoulders; his hands tighten over his chest. Ajax is the first to speak over the tense air as Merrick repeatedly itches at the skin of his bald scalp from where he stands behind a chair.

“We have to move,” The Ghost growls, and when no one responds Ajax hits a closed fist to the table, “soon, Elias.”

The slam echoes over the room, bouncing off the walls.

“Ajax,” The man in question shakes his head, “What we need to do is think this through. Form a proper plan and carry it out with more intel.” 

Elias pulls back to his full height but Keegan’s eyes stay locked on the map, flicking mutely over the marks and topography. 

It’s been three days, He tells himself, She’s probably dead by now. The files already have her labeled as MIA.

Under his balaclava, his jaw clenches in feral denial. Why did the thought of that fact make him want to go out and search for you himself, regardless of Elias’s sound logic? You couldn’t be dead. Missing was better than that – missing meant he could find you.

Perhaps it was the same emotion that had given him a sinking feeling when, two days ago, the entire Ghost Team had gone back out to the forest under the cover of darkness to search for you. All Keegan had found was the footsteps of multiple Federation soldiers and signs of one of them dragging something heavy behind his back. 

It was obvious what had happened, and as he had slowly turned his head down to the town lit up by spotlights, the only thing that had stopped him from tracking you down was Elias’s heavy hand on his shoulder. Keegan’s eyes were lit with a dangerous light, glinting with the promise of revenge. 

He wanted you back – he would get you back – regardless of the consequences. No one messed with you and lived, whether that meant the revenge was carried out by your own hand or by his doesn’t matter. That town would be purged. Keegan would see to it. 

The Federation had made it personal. 

“She’s getting tortured!” Ajax yells, insight voicing what everyone already knew, “Greenhorn would rush in if it was one of us out there instead of her!” 

“Then it’s a good thing we’re here, isn’t it?” Elias runs a hand down his face, army shirt and cargo pants noticeably wrinkled. No one had slept while they waited for more recent intelligence on the number of tangos in the town, “We can’t be rash. They’ll know we're comin’ for her if we mess this up.”

“Elias,” Merrick finally speaks up, placing his large hands on the chair’s back and leaning into it, “You know we all trust you to make the call…but I have to agree with Ajax on this. We’re practically leaving the Kid behind if we wait any longer.” The stocky Ghost scratches at his beard, “You know what they’ll do to her.”

The older man has a soft spot for you, Keegan realized with a roll of his head and a crack of his neck. All of them had a soft spot. Waiting here was like keeping a group of trained attack dogs from a target – most of all Keegan. Patience was supposed to be his ally, and he had taught you just the same, so how had it left him so stupendously?

Elias grunts, crossing his arms. He looks over to the only person who had thus far been silent and brooding in the corner. A dark cloud was heavy over the Ghost’s head, anyone could see it. A man at the edge of an already fraying rope of sanity. 

“Keegan?” Elias asks, gruffly, already knowing the man’s emotions and thoughts, “Do you have anything to add?”

Normally Keegan was one who would wait for a sure answer, but in this instance, the next words he said rocketed out of him before he could fully think over the gravity of what they meant. Always the cautious one, the times he wanted to rush in blind could be counted on one hand and on less than five fingers…but that was before you. Before the hours the two of you spent together training, building trust, and protecting each other in the field with knife and bullet. 

All that mattered was getting you back to him. And the words wrote themselves, curved, under the gentle influence of an ink quill. 

“I’m bringing my girl home.” 

A moment of silence tightens over his throat; the stoic man’s feet move from under him as his eyes slightly widen. If he had the ability his face would have blossomed with a blush, but even so, the embarrassment was visible to those who had known him the longest. 

Shit, he hadn’t meant for it to sound like that.

Keegan dares to look back at Elias, only to find the leader smirking, a knowing glimmer in his eyes that leaves him freezing like a mouse under the gaze of an owl. 

“Well, then, let’s go get your girl back.”

Ajax snickers and him and Merrick spare glances, amused, nearly saying about time.

—

Your body lightly swings, blood in a pool below your feet and rippling as another drop enters the flood. Your nose is broken; bleeding, just like your ribs. Cuts litter your skin, clothes are ripped and shredded and swarmed with crimson both dried and new. Your combat vest had been ripped off, the rough material thrown somewhere behind you by enraged fingers and ripped apart for any indication of a blueprint of your Fort or useful intel.

The Federation soldiers had left you alone with your thoughts not five minutes ago and to your credit, you have not broken. Not even after everything – the hits, stabs, and beatings that left you sobbing and biting back pleas. Throughout all of it, Keegan’s voice stuck with you; you had drowned in good memories in the small moments you were able to breathe without being slugged in the chest. 

The way Keegan would send you soft glances when he thought you weren't looking and how the blank-faced man kept your skills sharp as a way to make sure you were safe. His rare smiles; comforting interactions when you were up late practicing with your rifle. A weak smile filters over your bloody and bruised face, eyes blinking closed as the air is expelled from your lungs in a deep sigh. 

“You’re going to get a sore neck if you keep doing this, Little Blue,” The words startled you, eyes widening from where one looks through the scope of your AX-50. Your head jerks back, finger immediately dropping from the trigger you were just about to pull. 

“What the actual fuck, Keegan!?” Hair whips around you as your body turns, facing the man leaning against the doorway as a nightly breeze rustles through the outside firing range, “Has no one told you not to sneak up on the person with the gun?”

“I was the one that told you that, Kid.” He raises a brow, strong jawline on display for the moon. 

It was rare that the man took off his balaclava when in your presence, and you took a moment to stare from your position on the ground; your heart jerks against the concrete before you shove the feeling in it’s tissue down. 

Keegan’s presence made the heat on the back of your neck increase, hands getting clammy over the metal of your gun. You flex them in what you hope looks simply like a resetting method.

“Well, then you’re not good at taking your own advice...” You grumble, huffing and fixing your posture, looking back out over the field and the white target over six hundred feet away, “And my neck is perfectly fine, thank you.”

“It won’t be if you keep getting up and creeping out here every night. I thought I wore you out today?” The memory of getting thrown to the ground more times than you could count during a sparring match made your muscles remember to ache, “Or do I need to ramp up the difficulty? You almost pinned Ajax today.” You suppress a wince and send a quick glance over to the Ghost, who pushes off the wall and sighs, stalking over to you. 

“If you think you need to,” Licking your lips, you feel his heavy shadow over your form. You replace your cheek to the stock of your rifle, once more seeking to line up the shot as quickly as possible, “And you did ware me out.” Muttering, you feel yourself get lost in the wave of the sensation of purpose – superiority singing in your veins. 

This rifle was your quill, and with it, you signed the signature of death on the poems of others’ lives. 

This was your calling, and not a moment later, not feeling the reverent eyes on the side of your face as Keegan stills his breath, you pull the trigger. It lands just a millimeter from the center of the target. Your jaw tightens and you tell yourself, ‘not good enough’ with a narrowing of your eyes. 

The action wasn’t missed. 

“You’re at this every night, Kid,” Keegan stands by your left thigh, his eyes digging into you, “Don’t pretend like I haven’t noticed.” 

You pull back, shame coursing through your veins. You had tried to be stubble, but were you really that bad? 

But of course you were, your cheeks head, you lived in the Ghosts’ barracks. They all knew you were sneaking off at night to practice. Your lips thinned at that realization; you really had a lot to learn.

“Blue Jay,” Keegan prods, the authority of his rank now leaking into his tone; it has you straightening unconsciously, “Answer me.”

“...I just need to be better,” You mutter under your breath, going to line up another shot. 

A hand on the scope jostles the view, making you pause and tense. Your breath stills in your chest, feeling body heat beginning to leak into your shivering form. 

No words are spoken in that silent minute, but you know enough about your Sergeant to tell when he wants you to stop doing something. Keegan’s silence was a mystery that you had only just started to unravel for yourself. Your hands loosen enough for him to take the rifle from your grasp, bringing it up into his grip delicately. 

Shuffling up to your knees, you place one hand on your thigh as the other goes to rub at your eyes, feeling the fatigue leak out onto your fingers. 

“You’re not going to get better if you keep forcing your eyes open,” Keegan mutters, and his form knees down next to you. The rifle was placed on the ground a few feet away. A warm hand lays on your shoulder and you stifle a hitch in your breath managing to inhale the scent of gunpowder and fresh-cut grass; hickory wood. You have to blink away the sleep that settles on your eyelids. 

How was he so warm?

“How do you know that?” You grunt out, itching your eyebrow. You don’t register right away, but a deep chuckle settles warmly on your chest as the man at your side releases it.  Reverberations like a purr make you sigh slowly.

“You’re good, Little Blue,” Keegan’s hand goes to your chin, and your cheeks heat as he directs your gaze to his gently, thump and first finger firm. His eyes flicker over your face, taking in every line and imperfection before settling on the black and blue bags that have lived on you for weeks. In turn, you study him – the strong jaw line, usually hard eyes leaning towards soft and caring. You liked when he looked like that; more than anything, you liked when he looked at you like that, “don’t reduce your skill to anything less than what it is. Practice is good, Kid,” Keegan lowers his voice, and your eyes stay locked, “But I can’t watch you ruin yourself.” 

Your heart stutters, and your body becomes soft under his touch.

“...but I don’t want to let anyone down.” Eyebrows turning in, Keegan pauses a second at your comment, fingers on your chin tightening for a moment before it begins to travel. 

Heart pounding, his touch leaves electricity behind with every scrape of his callouses and healed scars. His eyes stay trapped on yours, watching every minute emotion and movement from you and your hands shock-still in your lap. 

“Let ‘em down?” Keegan huffs, the breath ruffling your hair, and his hand settles over your cheek. He continues as his large thumb goes to pet the skin of your undereye, leading your eyes to flicker shut as he mutters your name, “Not a damn chance. You’re a natural, Kid. Hell, you get some proper sleep for once and maybe one day you’ll be as good as me.” 

Even with your eyes closed, you couldn’t help the smile that bloomed over your face, feeling his eyes softly fall over your visage.

“Promise?” 

You missed the small twitch of Keegan’s lips, “...I promise.” 

Shaking yourself out of the memory, your body plays dead as the warehouse door once more opens. A plan had formed, taking root and digging into the small tissue of your brain. 

“Why isn’t she moving?” The voice of the Middle Man was enough to make your body tense, toes twitching. No one seemed to notice before you once more went slack, “Get her eyes open!” 

Twin pairs of feet slam to the floor, coming closer; soon hands are slamming into your ribs, shaking you back and forth. The bones in your chest move strangely, disconnected from where they were supposed to be. But you hold back your screams, a thin, lip-bitten whine stuck in your mouth. 

Your body whines to a stop when the blows halt. 

“I said get her eyes open!” Words are yelled in Spanish, and if you were in the right state you would have been able to translate them. 

Merrick made sure you were fluent in multiple languages and was one hell of a rough linguistics teacher. Every day you had kept a count of how many swear words he let loose. The undefeated record was fifty-five in one session. 

“Let her fall, then! She can’t be dead.” The last half is muttered, followed by a tapping of fingers over palms. Your ears twitch at the sound of receding steps, fast feet, and then the sound of a pulley system and rattling chains. 

Your body drops, slamming to the floor, and head bouncing off the concrete like a ball. You don’t have to play dead at that moment, because you’re sure that you passed out, a crack resounding in the bone of your skull and shaking your brain. The chains around your numb arms loosen, leaving your bloodied wrists burning as the air hits them. 

Staying still, your body lays sideways, but small trails of water dribble out from your tear ducts. 

Just a little longer, You try and tell yourself as circulation comes back to your arms. Shadows dance behind your vision, people moving by you and circling like wolves. Your limbs want to writhe back and forth, help make the needle-like stippling in your nerves go away if only for a millisecond. It was a battle of will. Move or don’t. Be a Ghost, or be helpless.

Well, when you put it like that…

A hand grabs your shoulder just as you clock the two others standing behind you, waiting silently for any signs of life. The gloved hand moves to the pulse point on your neck, heavy fingers digging into the sensitive flesh. One breath. Two.

And then you jerk up and headbutt one of the soldiers right in the nose. Pushing back the black dots that nearly swallow you whole your hands rip out of the lost chains and throw your body at the man. Grabbing his shoulders, curses and sharp barks fly out over the air, and just before the bullets from their guns rip through you, your broken figure twists to shove the man in front of you. 

Shots make your ears ring, but the spray of blood comes from the Federation soldier you used as a human shield, screams playing in your head like a symphony. Quicker than a switch, you grab the pistol strapped to the now dead man’s waist, and the minute the body ahead of you stumbles and hits the floor, you fire. 

The twin soldiers drop like flies, and the recoil of the gun leaves your weak hand flying back. Clattering to the floor, the weapon stays stationary as you pant and gasp down deep breaths. Blood stains the floor as well as the chains still on the cracked ground, and the vile substance flows from the three men that release death rattles. 

Your shattered mind thinks of a snake’s hiss before the sound divulges into a deep gurgling as you stare with blank eyes. Their forms twitch and jerk, brain dying or already dead.

But there was a spark of pride in you that stayed as your hands slap to the floor, pushing your body up with muffled wails and gritted teeth. You shimmy up to your feet and grab the gun on the way up, looking around as you stumble before righting your shaky legs. 

Looking around dumbly your limp arm pulses, and your mind runs so fast the festering wound on your head feels like cigarettes are being put out on it. 

Someone had to have heard those shots, You reason, and gasp as you walk forward. Your bones don’t feel right. They aren’t supposed to move like that – like they were just floating inside of you not attached to anything. 

Blinking rapidly, your vision blurs as the first shouts spring up from outside. 

Gotta move, Limping heavily you go as fast as you’re able to the warehouse doors, pushing on the metal as sweat falls down your nose.

Your body aches, muscles constantly tightening and then loosening within seconds of each other. It was getting increasingly harder to push back the need to scream in agony as the adrenaline in you seemed to disappear. Taking to breathing out of your mouth to help out your broken nose, you nearly fall onto your face as you shimmy out into the dirt perimeter surrounding the building. 

First, you see the town. Your eyes widen, focus suddenly less on yourself as you take in a sheen of smoke rising up. The raging shouts hadn’t been coming from Federation men rushing to the warehouse – in fact, they were rushing past it. People zip from the corner of your eyes into the treeline, abandoning the houses and buildings with screams of, fantasmas, fresh in the burning air.

Ghosts.

“They came back for me?” Rough and broken, your voice makes you flinch when you finally hear it. Your vocal cords were damaged. 

And they torched the whole fucking place! The gun is like iron in your grasp, heavy and cold. Or maybe it was your hands that were the cold ones? You couldn’t tell, but as you lean back into the metal of the warehouse exterior you smirk, blood breaking out from your chapped lips.

Vision once more peeling out, you drop the pistol and slide down, mind floating far above your form and doing jumping-jacks in the clouds. You don’t know how long you’re slumped like that, neck compressed against your chest as your lungs fight for air, but the next thing you remember is panicked shouting.

“--Found her! Warehouse! Blue Jay, open your eyes!” Your eyebrows furrow as strong hands grip you tight, manhandling your body to the ground so you’re laying on your back, “Open your damn eyes, Kid!”

There’s a sound of frantic breathing before the tearing of velcro. Pressure is put on your shoulder. 

“Ah!” You scream, bearing your teeth and raging at the sensation of firm hands and an unrelenting weight.

“That’s right,” The smooth voice says, “Keep responding, keep making noise for me.”

“Kee?” You ask, only able to half-open your eyes and call out his nickname that you had never actually used aloud before. If possible, the weight is ramped up ten-fold, and you have to wonder if the Ghost is putting a knee up on you to try and stop the bleeding. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Keegan grunts, and his body comes into view as your eyes clear, though one is more muddled than the other; like a body of water filled with mud. Afternoon light shines off the man’s combat vest and back attire, his signature balaclava looking like it had been messed with and run over with rough hands. His black face paint is patchy and in places streaked. Keegan looked tired, you numbly realized as a chill made you shiver, “Look at me.” 

You were. 

His eyes snap to meet yours, and you’re taken aback by the creases around them; the wrinkles straining his forehead and nose bridge. The color is darker as well, no longer a calm and blank blue but a fiery shade, burning and boiling water. They flash when they already see you looking at him, and his high-hackled shoulders minutely lower as they soften to give you that look that you love. You pray only you’re privy to that look because it makes your shaking hands heat up.

“You have reall–really pretty eyes,” You whisper, voice cutting out, “You know that?”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” He says, eyes flickering away and scanning your body. Behind the fabric you see his lips pull back in a soundless snarl, “But If you think they’re so pretty you’ll have to trouble keepin’ yours locked on ‘em, right?”

You can’t laugh, so the small exhalation from your mouth will have to do. Your eyelids flicker.

“Hey,” Keegan’s hand goes to your cheek, jostling your head so hard you groan, “The hell did I just tell you, Blue?”

“...Hurts,” You whimper, tears gathering as your lips twitch. 

You can only do so much to push back the inevitable, and every breath feels like someone’s shoving your chest into a table saw. 

Keegan moves one hand from your shoulder and sets it on your cheek, tilting your head to the side, “I know it hurts, Blue, but you gotta keep lookn’ at me, okay? You’re doing good.” 

It was the softest you had ever heard him speak. His finger brushes your undereye and makes your eyelashes flutter open.

“There she is,” He grunts, and with a start, you see he’s pushed up his face covering, the fabric a bundle on top of his head. Your face heats at his handsome visage, roaming his lips and cheekbones, “there’s my girl.”

“I didn’t know if you were going to,” Fluid pools in the back of your mouth, and you cough before you can continue, sprinkles of phlegm and blood spraying Keegan’s attire. He doesn’t seem to care, “come back for me,” Uttering the words weakly, you feel yourself speak as if separate from your own body, a willing participant watching just beyond the way of sight. 

Keegan’s eyes narrow, face pulling closer unconsciously as if he were trying to shield you with his body from the gunfire far off behind him. Across the field, familiar voices had started to ring out.

“Why the hell would you think that? What kind of dumbass made you–” He stops when your eyes sneak away in shame, numb lips pulling down as tears make your sclera red. A pause ensues before a deep sigh falls from his lips; Keegan taps his thumb on your cheek until you look back at him. His face is tense, but a blatant surety is in his tone, “I would never leave you behind. If you had trouble figuring all that out until now, then you don’t anymore. Got it?” 

“Copy, Sarge,” Your eyebrows soften, body going slack and loose. Keegan’s hand is so warm, “You know...I really would have liked to go out on a date with you.” 

Eyes going out of focus, your head lulls before Keegan can rip you back to the present with his deep words just as the ground reverberates under you. They say the sense of hearing is the last to go, and that rings true, because the last thing you remember is Keegan’s voice yelling your name so gutturally that you almost miss Merrick’s voice. 

“Blue! Shit, Elias, we need Med Evac down here, now! She’s down!”

—

The Med Ward was just how you remembered it, but the man sitting in the chair near the window was new. You were no stranger to the alcoholic scent of the rooms, the blinding overhead lights, and the coarse bed sheets. Around your body, the tight bindings restricted you from sitting up and walking, so for upwards of ten minutes you had stared at Keegan’s figure. 

He was sleeping, in nothing more than a black T-shirt and cargo pants. His head was tilted to the side and his arms crossed over his chest; legs out and crossed at the ankles as his combat boots rest on the tile. You should wake him up. You should, but you haven’t and probably won't. Keegan’s dark hair is glowing in an early morning light, making it glow amber and cover him like a halo. 

The pillow under your head is hard, uncomfortable, and stinks of bleach, but instead of worrying about it, your mind was running over what you had said before you passed out.

“You know...I really would have liked to go out on a date with you.”

Fuck me, Cheeks heating, your eyes flicker down his body, catching his veiny arms and watching his chest steadily rise and fall. Had you really said that? 

Your head begins to hurt, and not only from the tight bindings and the gauze pad around it. 

“You’re staring, Little Blue.” Gasping, your eyes widen in their sockets at the sleep-dipped tone. 

Keegan’s eyes slide open fluidly as if he were never asleep in the first place. His head moves to right itself and stare directly at you, blinking slowly. Locking gazes, you freeze as your jaw goes slack – it was a good thing you were on pain meds because otherwise, your ribs would be aching at the way your breath halted. Stuttering, you let the room lapse into silence as he watches you. Keegan’s lips flicker into a smirk. 

Standing he stalks over to you and drags the chair behind him. Getting about a foot or two away, he stops and flips the chair forward carefully before sitting down once more. Keegan leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees as you watch. 

“...You feeln’ alright? Need me to get the nurse?” He has black and blue under his eyes, colored iris’ strained. Keegan was a man of few words – his actions always spoke louder; like how he let you keep his knife, or told you to go to bed when you were up late shooting. 

At that moment the cold Ghost’s hand went to your arm, lightly brushing over the bandages and pauses to see if you register any pain. When he doesn’t see any discomfort, he settles his grip and runs his fingers over your skin. 

You blink. 

“I’m good.” The words come out breathlessly, and where his touch continues to rove, sparks light under the skin.

Keegan’s soft sigh enters the cold air, and his gaze flickers to the floor for a moment. His jaw clenches, like there was something in his head that refused to come out of his lips. The man’s scream still haunted you – how he yelled your name so raw and vulnerable. You had never heard something like that from him, not even when he had to have you stitch him up one time during a mission.

I’m never letting you anywhere a needle again, He had said with his face flushed of color. You really were bad at sutures. 

Smiling to yourself, you lift your hand with every bit of cotton sticking to your brain and shimmy it out of his delicate grip. Not wanting to hurt you he pulls back and looks with wide eyes at what you were doing. 

“Kid, I don’t–” His comment is halted when your fingers graze his cheek, just the tiniest hint of stubble making your fingers itch perfectly. Freezing like a bird, Keegan’s sights are set on you, confusion bleeding into this expression as his lips pull into a line. 

This was stepping a line you hadn’t crossed before, but you didn’t really care all that much. 

Caressing his jaw, your hand cradles his face. To your surprise, Keegan leaned into you, tension leaving and body going slack like putty in your grip; a second later, his hand comes and encompasses your own, molten heat radiating into your bloodstream. Your heart skips a beat when his eyelashes flutter closed. 

“Tired?” You ask, slightly amused.

“No,” Keegan grumbles, face blank, and you flinch as a laugh barks from your lips. Not a good idea. Weaving his fingers so he can grip your hand more tightly, he peels you from his face and opens his eyes. 

Watching you and clocking your emotions, he lays your hand to his lips and lays a gentle kiss, lips moving over your skin as he places another right after. You’re surprised you don’t catch on fire – especially with that look on his face.

How could a man so cold be as gentle as he was with you?

“You worried the boys,” He says when he pulls back but still holds your hand close, “Ajax nearly strangled Elias to get him to hurry up and go after you.” 

Smirking, you hum, “And you? Were you worried, Kee?” Teasing with the nickname, you watch as a small smile forms over his face, eyes lingering so beautifully on your visage.

“No,” You raise a brow at the bare answer, but he wasn’t done, “I was damn near terrified.” Licking your lips, you watch him track the motion, and he rises and leans closer to you, “What gave you the right to make me feel like that, Kid,” His breath fans over your cheeks, and your eyes flutter when his nose caresses your own. You can feel his eyes bore into you, unrelenting as they look over every pore and mark. 

Keegan’s lips whisper over yours. 

Yes, Your mind sings at the contact, and a small whimper falls into the air. 

“...Who gave you the right to make me want to be yours?” All but growling the words out, his lips descend onto yours, firm but still gentle. He would never hurt you, even if he wanted to feel you against him. You were injured, and that reality never failed to leave his head.

So for now, he would kiss you as if you were the most delicate of glass; worship your skin and bestow on it everything he couldn’t say. 

As you both move together, his hands come up and grab at your jaw as your own travel to rest on his chest that looms over your own, mapping out the dip of his muscles and the way he shivers when your nails rake into the fabric of his shirt. 

This was what you had wanted, to feel him move over you and flex as your fingers go to grip at his hair. 

Pulling back, the man pants in breath with you, lips were swollen. It was quite the sight, and you swore you felt your pupils dilate just by staring at him. Keegan hums deep in his chest and then places his forehead gently to your own – careful of the bandages and, most likely, stitches that live under there.

“I lost your knife,” You whisper out, and almost cringe at the needy tone of your voice. Were you really this infatuated with the man? …You already knew the answer to that question.

“Don’t worry about it,” Keegan grunts, and keeps the knowledge of the fact that the blade was already paced back in your room by his own hands to himself, “I’ll make sure you pay for it when you’re well enough to be discharged. Can’t have my Blue Jay leaving weapons behind, now can we?”

It’s safe to say you prayed for a speedy recovery, just like how poets of days long past wished for a gentle rain or mist-filled morning – if only to have something to quietly worship. 

[pastryleclerc]

je vais t'aimer

requested: yes/no

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader (one shot)

warnings: slow burn smut (the act itself is about two pages long, it's also my first!!), my bad english (and possibly bad writing), language, established bf/gf relationship, some fluff of charles and the reader making music together and being domestic towards the end, lots of text in between the lyrics - please imagine yourself singing in one go, reader is described to have brunette hair and blue eyes, mentions of death and dying, oral (fem and male receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!) but reader is said to be on the pill, cock warming if you squint, also slight breeding kink towards the end, please comment if you find anything else and i'll add it to the list

word count: 4.846 words (with lyrics), 4.352 words (without lyrics)

a/n: hello guys 🥰 finally it's here - my first fic! i truly can't believe that i wrote an almost seven page long one shot but here we are. 🤩 the inspiration for the fic was "je vais t'aimer" by louane from the movie "la famille bélier" (the original was sung by michel sardou) - go and give the song a listen if you can :) i've proofread the text but i'm sure there will be a few mistakes, especially when it comes to grammar and commas, since english is not my first language. also, i feel like the ending is a bit rushed. 😅 feel free to let me know what you think as feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome 🙏 if you can find the symbolism used in this, i'll give you a cookie 🍪 in addition to that there's a hint to one of my favorite shows - leave a comment if you know what it is 😉 (italics = lyrics, brackets = translations) - here we go, i hope you enjoy this :) | *"Tonnerre de Dieu" is an idiom meaning something like "Bloody hell!"

🔎 directions | 🔎 masterlist

The cool summer breeze coming through the window – which was left open after last night’s activities – softly grazed her skin. The warm sunrays that rested upon her eyelids awakened her slowly. It was an early Sunday morning in the Monégasque summer – almost too early for her liking – so she blinked a few times but ultimately decided to close her eyes again, hoping to get a few more hours of sleep. Trying to escape the rising sun she turned towards where she thought her lover would be laying, hoping to snuggle up to him while enjoying the last day of their free weekend. But when she reached out her warm, delicate hands, all she could feel were empty sheets that had started to become cold already, indicating that her boyfriend had been out of their shared bed for a while now. So much for staying in bed.

Slowly Y/N sat up, letting out a yawn while stretching her arms above her head. By doing so, her own sheets slipped down her body, uncovering her very naked breasts. She sighed to herself, memories of the previous night came flashing back shortly, making her miss the brunette boy even more. Her heart yearned for him, thinking about the love and intimacy they shared. So the young woman made it her mission to find her other half. She swung her legs over the edge of their shared bed – her warm feet meeting the cold floor – and walked into her adjacent closet, fishing a fresh pair of panties out of the drawer. Forgoing putting on any more clothes, she went back into the bedroom and picked up the shirt her boyfriend wore yesterday and slipped it on. She tried to open the door as silent as possible, already hearing the faint sounds of a piano, and went to the top step of the staircase. From there the young woman could see her boyfriends bare back as he played the keys with his delicate fingers. Y/N noticed how the muscles of his back, moved with the rhythm he created, absolutely mesmerizing her. She couldn’t believe how such a beautiful man was truly hers and decided to watch him a little longer before making her way downstairs with the softest steps she could possibly muster as to not make him aware of her presence.

Charles Leclerc was up early. He didn’t understand why, as it was his weekend off and he had stayed up late the night before – he should be exhausted. Looking to his left, he saw his girlfriend and smiled at her sleeping form. His heart tugged at it’s strings at how filled it was with love for Y/N. His mind remembering the events of the night before. The look in her eyes gave her own love for him away, as he deeply stared into them while making sweet love to her. Their foreheads stuck together as they exchaged words of affection, some more dirty than others. For a second the young racing driver thought about waking the woman beside him up to take care of his now throbbing member but ultimately decided to not disturb her peaceful slumber. The brunette leaned over and gave his girlfriend a soft kiss on the forehead before he slowly, as careful as possible, sat up in bed and let out a yawn. He started to look for his boxers that should have been left somewhere in the room. When the Monégasque had found them he stood up and tip toed to the piece of clothing, which was laying by the bed post, and put it on. Before Charles left the room, he turned around once more and took one last look at the sleeping woman in their shared bed – half smiling at the sight – and made his way downstairs to work on his music.

Long arms snaked around his torso and a kiss was pressed to his neck. „Good morning, mon amour,“ his girlfriend whispered sweetly in his ear. If he didn’t know what music sounded like, he’d probably say this might have been it – the angelic voice of the woman he loved. Charles body automatically leaned back in her arms and he rested his head on her shoulder. „Morning, mon cœur.“ he smirked at her, squinting his eyes while he looked at her. She kissed his stubbly cheek, her left arm moved to lay over his exposed chest: „Why are you awake already? I’ve missed you.“ The older man shook his head slightly and he was able to smell his girlfriends hair: „Couldn’t sleep anymore I guess.“ Y/N hummed in response. „So you decided to leave me all alone and replaced me with your piano?“ She mumbled in her lovers neck and left a hickey. Charles hissed. „You found me after all, didn’t you? How about you join me?“ He slid to the left and patted the now free space on the bench. The woman behind him grinned and wrapped her fragile fingers around his firm chin, turning his head to look up at her. Their eyes met, completely enamoured with one another. Slowly both started to lean in until their lips finally touched for their first official good morning kiss on this early Sunday morning. The drivers hand moved to lay on her neck, deepening the kiss as both of them let out a sigh. He took it as his opportunity to slip his tongue between his girlfriends parted lips, making out with her some more, until she pushed him back slightly by his chin. „I thought you had asked if I wanted to join you?“ Y/N smirked at Charles and got the biggest smile out in response, showing off his beautiful teeth. „That I did!“ His opposite giggled and gave him on last kiss on the cheek.

She moved away from him and sat on the bench to his right hand side. Turning his head to look at her, he asked her: „Would you like to sing for me?“, knowing she had the most beautiful singing voice in the world (but don’t tell George he said that, he’d fight him for his life trying to defend Lewis). Her head now turned to look at him too: „I’d love that. Can I make a wish.“ Charles heart skipped a beat at her question and he stared at her as if she hung the moon, the sun and all of his stars. „You don’t even have to ask, you know I’d fulfill you all your wishes without a second thought.“ The young womans eyes got teary hearing those words from her lover of two years, knowing he loved her as much as she loved him. „Je vais t’aimer, mon beau.“ Her boyfriends wrinkled as his lips spread out into a smile: „Toi aussi, ma belle.“ „No, idiot, the song from ‚La famille Bélier‘.“ She laughed loudly, infecting the other Monégasque with it’s brightness and who soon joined her, shaking his head. „I knew that of course.“ Smirking, Y/N rolled her eyes, knowing full well he didn’t. Charles eyed her from the side and cleared his throat while cracking his knuckles, before his warm fingers touched the cold piano tiles again to form the opening notes oft he 1976 tune.

À faire pâlir tous les Marquis de Sade (To make all the Marquis de Sade pale)

À faire rougir les putains de la rade (To make the whores blush in the harbor)

À faire crier grâce à tous les échos (To be shouted through all the echoes)

À faire trembler les murs de Jéricho (To shake the walls of Jericho)

Je vais t′aimer (I will love you)

Y/N tried not to look at Charles while singing the all too familiar song but she couldn’t help it. He was just so gorgeous. The way his fingers moved across the tiles amazed her, watching his forearms flex while doing so. A simple yet so effective move, which – in a dangerous mix with the obscene lyrics coming out of her mouth - went straight down to her core.

À faire flamber des enfers dans tes yeux (To make hell blaze in your eyes)

À faire jurer tous les tonnerres de Dieu (To make all the thunders of God swear*)

À faire dresser tes seins et tous les Saints (To have your breasts and all the saints raise)

À faire prier et supplier nos mains, je vais t'aimer (To make us pray and beg our hands I will love you)

His cheeks reddened hearing her sing those lewd words which were meant to be for him only at this very moment. Her hand touched his biceps, moving up and down, and it sent cold shivers down his back straight to his dick. He loved sharing such intimate moments with her, just the two of them – sometimes they watched a movie, other times, like today, they made some music together – but as soon as her long fingers moved across his naked skin, he always knew he was gone for and there was only one way this would end. And she knew it too.

Je vais t′aimer comme on ne t'a jamais aimée (I’m going to love you like you’ve never been before)

Je vais t'aimer plus loin que tes rêves ont imaginé (I’m going to love you further than your dreams have imagined)

Je vais t′aimer, je vais t′aimer (I’m going to love you, I’m going to love you)

Je vais t'aimer comme personne n′a osé t'aimer (I will love you like no one has dared to love you)

Je vais t′aimer comme j'aurai tellement aimé être aimé (I will love you as I would have loved to be loved)

Je vais t′aimer, je vais t'aimer (I’m going to love you, I’m going to love you)

The young woman put her head on her boyfriends shoulder while singing, as she moved the hand – which was wrapped around his biceps – to the veins on his forearm and finally landing on his right thigh. Slowly she caressed the exposed skin, making the bulge in his underwear grow. The air between the two lovers became thicker with sexual tension second by second. Charles just really wanted to hear her sweet voice sing but now he was about to hear even better sounds coming out of her mouth and her teasing showed just how close she was to giving him herself all over again. And he loved every bit of it.

À faire vieillir, à faire blanchir la nuit (To age, to whiten the night)

À faire brûler la lumière jusqu'au jour (Burning the light until the day)

À la passion et jusqu′à la folie (To passion and to the point of madness)

Je vais t′aimer, je vais t'aimer d′amour (I will love you, I will love you with love)

À faire cerner, à faire fermer nos yeux (To be identified, to close our eyes)

À faire souffrir, à faire mourir nos corps (To make us suffer, to kill our bodies)

À faire voler nos âmes aux septièmes cieux (To make our bodies fly into seventh heaven)

À se croire morts et faire l'amour encore, je vais t′aimer (To think you’re dead and make love again, I’m going to love you)

The words sung perfectly described the love they shared for one another. They were each other light in the darkness of this world, especially Y/N for Charles. She was his anchor and saving grace whenever he had a bad race and she was there for him through it all – the ups and downs of racing ever since they had been kids, the deaths of his father and Jules, the travelling, the distance, the winning, the losing and everything in between. Everytime they had sex it felt like the very first time. And everytime they finished it felt like they had died and gone to heaven. He was excited to feel this way again and he knew she felt the same way. Their passion for one another almost exceeding the point of madness where they couldn’t go long without seeing, touching and talking to each other and not turning crazy about it. Charles and Y/N burned for each other- their love a blazing flame that never seemed to die – they were the bane of each others existence and the objects of all their desires and wildest dreams. For the last chorus the young woman let all of those feelings out and every word was meant only for her Monégasque lovers ears – the one man she ever wanted to spend her forever and beyond with.

Je vais t'aimer comme on ne t′a jamais aimée (I’m going to love you like you’ve never been loved)

Je vais t'aimer plus loin que tes rêves ont imaginé (I’m going to love you further than your dreams have imagined)

Je vais t'aimer, je vais t′aimer (I’m going to love you, I’m going to love you)

Je vais t′aimer comme personne n'a osé t′aimer (I will love you like no one has dared to love you)

Je vais t'aimer comme j′aurai tellement aimé être aimé (I will love you as I would have loved to be loved)

Je vais t'aimer, je vais t′aimer (I’m going to love you, I’m going to love you)

Charles fingers lingered on the piano, finishing the final note. They stayed silent for a little longer, letting the past few minutes catch up to them, the only sound being heard were their breaths that were in sync with each other – mirroring the rapid beating of their hearts. The woman moved her right hand from her boyfriends thigh and placed it upon his chest. „I love you, mon amour, thank you for letting me share this moment with you,“ she whispered in his ear and left a kiss right below it. The racing driver next to her turned slightly and put his hand on her cheek, his thumb caressing the warm skin. „Anytime again, ma belle.“ His dimples showed due to the soft smile that made it’s way to his face. And also his girlfriend couldn’t help but reach out for him, letting her hand linger on the side of his neck. The two of them knew what was about to happen, so Charles put his arm around Y/Ns waist, pulling her even closer (if that was possible) and their lips radiated towards each other, as if they were two magnets, finally reuniting in a breathtaking kiss.

When they broke apart, Y/N took the initiative and took her sweet time kissing down his body, leaving a few hickeys on the way – from his cheek, to his neck and his abs, until she ended up on her knees in front of the piano, facing Charles‘ crotch. Looking down on his girlfriend, he moaned her name: „Touches moi, s’il te plaît…“ Smirking at that, Y/N let her hands glid up his thigh. „Of course, baby boy, let me take care of you.“ Slowly she caressed his bulge while maintaining eye contact before dropping her head to leave some more kisses on his thighs. Then she moved her hand into his shorts and boxers to free his semi-hard dick. Charles shuddered when her cold fingers touched his warm dick and he bit his lip to keep in the moan he so badly wanted to let out. „Don’t hold back, baby, I wanna hear you. Show me how good I can make you feel.“ The girl encouraged him while stroking his hardening length. „Mon dieu…“, Charles whispered under his breath and threw his head back. At that she smirked and stuck out her tongue in order to lick a long stripe up the underside of her boyfriends dick, sucking on his tip where she left another kiss. The brunette driver locked eyes with his girlfriend who just swallowed his precum and continued to watch her as her mouth wrapped around his length again and went further and further to take him in fully. „Oh.“ His moan spurred her on and she started bobbing her head up and down, as her hand went to massage his balls. Charles so desperately wanted to keep focused on the woman in front of him but he ultimately lost control and fisted his hand in her hair, in order to form a makeshift ponytail and started pushing her head down on his dick harder. „Chérie - I’m gonna…“ His breathy voice got cut off by a groan he couldn’t hold back. As if his girlfriend could sense it, she had moaned on his dick and stroked his thick thighs, silently telling him to come in her mouth. A few seconds later Y/N heard Charles let out an especially loud moan and felt his sweet cum shoot down her throat. The young woman released his dick from her luscious lips with a loud „popp“ and opened her mouth to show Charles that she had swallowed it all. With hazy eyes he smirked down at his girlfriend and wrapped his hand around her chin, his thumb lightly stroking her cheek. „Good girl.“ He leaned down to leave a kiss on her forehead, then helped her stand on her two feet again. „Let me return the favor, amour.“

Charles stood up and deeply stared into his girlfriends eyes while slowly taking steps forward, backing her up into the piano. „Cha…“ Y/Ns voice was desperate and she closed her eyes as he reached out his hands. She waited for his touch, which never came. He closed the lid of the piano, then returned his attention to the smaller woman, his eyes so full of lust for her. His head bent down and he feverishly kissed her which she easily returned, their tongues exploring each others mouths, as if it was the first time they made out. The racing driver put his hands on her butt and softly kneaded the skin there, before leaving a slap on her right ass cheek, making her gasp loudly. „Jump.“ He said with his signature wink. Y/N did as she was told and wrapped her legs around his torso, as he sat her on top of the piano. „You look so good in my shirt. Much better than I ever did, ma jolie.“ His girlfriend giggled and his hands glid along her curves taking them all in. Charles kneeled down until his eyes were lined up with her ankles. He left the lightest kisses up her legs, alternating between the left and right one, while moving his hands up their sides. When his eyes were on the same level as her core he pulled her crotch closer to his face by her hips. „Ahh!“ A squeal left the girls lips as Charles took her by suprise. The latter laughed slighty. „Excuse-moi, Chérie.“ All was forgotten though when he kissed her cunt through her panties before he pulled them down. The excitement rose in his chest and he licked his lips, whereas his girlfriend felt a certain anticipation, wating for him to continue. Moving his face closer to her already dripping core he left a longing kiss on her clit, as his right hand came up to assist him – one of his fingers went in between her folds collecting her juices. „So wet for me already, bébé.“ He then wrapped his lips around his own finger, tasting her. „And so sweet.“ Y/N was in a state of pure bliss already, humming approvingly. „All for you, ma vie.“ Charles nodded. „Yes, all mine.“ The Monégasque started sucking on her clit again, acting as if his life essence is made up of the sweet sounds that escaped her throat. One of his fingers finally entered her, moving in and out in a steady rhythm that coordinated with the way his tongue moved along her clit. It felt as though she was his instrument: His fingers moved delicately inside of her, playing out a tune of moans mixing with the breathy calles of her name, truly showing his artistic skills aside from the piano. Two of his fingers were inside of her now, preparing the young woman for later, as he alternated between scissoring her hole and stroking her g-spot.

As Y/N felt her orgasm approach, her hands flew to her boyfriends fluffy hair, pulling on the loose curls. „Charlie, ne t’arrête pas!“ She moaned, feeling the tight knot in her lower stomach starting to loosen up. Spurred on by the soft massaging of her hands he moaned onto her clit. That was the last note missing in their steamy melody pulling the girl over the edge as she came with a loud scream of his name, squirting her juices into his mouth. He lapped at her lower lips, trying to collect all the juices he could get, before rising from his kneeling position. Her uneven breaths started to calm down again as she noticed the state of his chin through half-lidded eyes and let out a shaky laugh. „I’m so sorry, mon Chéri.“ Charles slightly leaned over her, moving his hand to her back, as he wrapped her right leg around his waist to pick her up and get her into a standing position in between him and the piano again. „No need to be sorry, mon ange. I enjoyed every second of it.“ At the second sentence his voice lowered an octave, accentuating every word into her ear. He nibbled on her earlobe moving down her neck, leaving a small hickey there. „Should we move this to the sofa for the big climax of our wonderful duet?“ He asked into her neck, knowing the couch was closer. „Yes, please.“ She breathed out, her head still thrown to the side, letting Charles have his access to her skin.

He took her hand in his and lead her to the other part of their living room. There, she regained some control when he turned around in order to kiss her, and she put her hand on his chest instead, pushing him back into the soft pillows. Charles smirked as he was under her spell once more. He patted his thighs and his girlfriend smiled, placing herself in her favorite seat, facing him. Once more the two lovers found themselves lost in each others eyes, before slowly leaning in, their lips meeting in a loving kiss, much softer than the ones before. Y/N moved her hands along his abs once more, moving over his bare chest to his toned shoulders. His own hands found their way to her wast, moving towards the hem of her – no, his – shirt, slowly lifting it above her head and throwing it somewhere behind him. The sudden cold air made her nipples harden, sending a shiver down her back. Charles smiled up at her – taking in all of her naked glory – and licked his lips in anticipation. His right hand moved to her breast, his lips latched around the other. „Ohh, Char…“ The young woman moaned and watched him suck on her tits. The fingers of his right hand fumbled with the small bud before he went to switch sides. Wanting to feel more of him, Y/N rubbed her body along his legs. Smirking, he removed himself from her boobs. „So impatient, ma jolie.“ His girlfriend laughed. „I mean, can you blame me? Everything about you turns me on immensly. Mon dieu, je t’aime tellement.“ The heat of her bare core meeting the cold skin of his thigh – he had already forgotten that her panties still layed somewhere by his piano – reminding him about the truthfulness of her statement. „Je t’aime aussi, mon cœur.“ The two stared lovingly at each other once more before the woman moved her hands down to the waistband of her boyfriends boxers – the only article of clothing left to separate their most intimate parts – and she couldn’t stand his advantage at all. „Take them off, baby.“ He smirked and tapped his hands on his girlfriends waist to signal her that she would have to get off him first. Y/N lifted her butt so that he could pull the garment down, letting them hang by his knees.

With his underwear out of the way, the woman above him slowly sunk down on his dick, stabilizing herself by putting her hands on his shoulders. At the feeling of Charles length entering her wet hole, they both let out long moans. „Putain!“ Y/N placed one of her hands on his cheek, making him look into her eyes – then she started to move. Slowly she lifted herself off him and sunk back down. The two lovers found a steady rhythm, their bodies creating a sweet melody once more. Charles hands wandered to his girlfriends ass, leaving a slap there before he kneaded the soft skin, soothing it in the process. His love let out a yelp and started to bounce on top of him faster. Her hands now rested on his waist, as she let her head fall to his neck, making her body lean on his. The new angle made both of them feel the movements more intensly – their breathy moans and husky groans filling the already sinful aria of skin slapping on skin to it’s full extent. „Chérie…“ the driver moaned into her ear, kissing his girlfriends shoulder. „Regarde-moi.“ Y/N lifted her head look at her boyfriend, who moved on of his hands to the back of her head, pulling her closer and locking their lips in a desperate and messy kiss. As they pulled away for air, both could feel their orgasms approaching. With his hand, Charles kept the woman close to him, the sweat on their foreheads mixing. „I’m so close.“ She deeply stared into his eyes, nodding frantically. „Moi aussi, Char.“ Then he steard to trust his hips up into hers, supporting her sloppier movements. Suddenly all the different components became too much for her to handle – from his hands on her body, his dick filling her wet core, to their erratic breaths conjoining in lazy, open-mouthed kisses - her body overstimulating as it reached it’s climax. The relieving wave washed over her and she came with a loud, high-pitched scream of her boyfriends name. Her walls clenched around his dick, sending Charles over the edge too, who let out a deep growl followed by a hitched cry of her nickname. The driver still held her body close as she collapsed on top of him and he started stroking her back in order to calm her down.

It felt like minutes before either of them moved again – the Monégasque just enjoying the feeling of her naked breasts on his skin, his partner listening to the sound of his beating heart. Charles even thought about taking her again, but that’s a thing that could wait until later. Right now, all he wanted to do was staying right here with her in his arms. But his girlfriend had other plans, as she was the first to sit up again. At the feeling of Charles dick still inside her both let out a groan, before laughing. „Merde, I almost forgot about that.“ Y/Ns hands caressed his cheeks as she dipped her head to leave a short but sweet kiss on his lips before she tried to lift herself off his length. She hissed at the feeling of the cold air of the living room hitting her warm entrance and noticed the way Charles cum dripped out of her hole. „Mmh, I love seeing that.“ The man in question stood up and pulled up his boxers before he stepped closer to his still very naked girlfriend again and held her close. „Can’t wait for when you don’t take the pill anymore. Gonna fill you up all nicely until you’re pregnant with our child, mon amour.“ He whispered seductively in her ear. The woman tried hard to keep her composure at his words, but the goosebumps on her skin gave her away. She wanted to have a child with him, as much as he wanted it, but only after they had gotten married. Leaving a last kiss on his lips before going off to search the shirt she was wearing earlier, she switched the topic while looking around the room with Charles following her around. „I’m starving, how about breakfast?“ Y/N smiled softly at Charles before putting on the piece of clothing, having found it laying behind the couch. „Oh yeah, let me help!“ The driver beamed as his girlfriend passed by the piano, picking up her panties, turning around afterwards to face her boyfriend – laughing at him. „Surely, ma vie, I’ll let you cut some veggies but that’s it, idiot.“ Charles jokingly rolled his eyes. „I’ll do anything, as long as it’s with you.“ She blushed at his words, softly hitting his chest with a wink. „Sweet.“ The two of them pulled back the curtains and opened the windows on the first floor of the apartment in order to let some fresh air in, before going to the kitchen to fix their brunch.

The two lovers spent the rest of their day cuddling on the couch, watching some movies and just enjoying each others company before ordering some takeout in the evening.

disclaimer: all work posted on here with this disclaimer was written by me. i do not consent this work to be published or translated on other sites than my own (@pastryleclerc on tumblr or wattpad). picture credits to their rightful owners

copyright: ©️ 2023 pastryleclerc on tumblr, all rights reserved

[tieronecrush]

I’m finally sending you a request!!

it’s a bit based on Waking Up In Vegas by Katy Perry with Javier x reader.

they have known each other since high school but haven’t seen each other since after graduation, until one night they bump into each other in Las Vegas, while both are there for their friends’ birthday parties.

At some point it’s only them left at the bar and they spend the night drinking, talking about each others’ lives and other things 🫢

they wake up the next morning in the same bed, hangover and married.

I already know I’m going to love this!!

FINALLY have finished this, thank you so much for your patience friend! <3

(re)union with elvis

rating: E

word count:

summary: ask above!

warnings: alcohol use, drunkenness, silly decision making, chatting about marriage/kids/life, discussion of failed previous relationships, vegas marriage, elvis getting annoyed, making out, fingering, unprotected p in v, sloppy drunk sex with ur new husband lol, discussions of annulment/ending marriage, use of spanish (all translated), etc.

Eyes open to sunlight beaming in through the wide opening of the blackout hotel curtains. You shut them again immediately, turning over away from the window, stopping when your hand brushes something next to you. Your eyes spring open again at the feeling, taking in next to you the dark, touseled hair, relaxed brow, hooked nose with a full mustache above plush lips.

Javier Peña.

You completely forgot about the little reunion you had last night at the bar with your high school crush.

And clearly forgot that the two of you ended up coming back to your room—no, wait, this is not your room. Same hotel, though, you can tell from the similar art hanging on the walls and the same blanket at the end of the bed. Must have been nearly missing each other the whole weekend you’ve been here.

A grumble from the man next to you turns your attention back to the bed, pulling you out of your thoughts. Half awake, his arm moves and slings across your waist, tugging you closer. He hums and his eyes slowly peel open, widening as he fully awakens in the low light. His arm stays loosely over your waist, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he faces you.

The two of you take in your bare skin against each other, under the scratchy sheets. Warmth radiates between the two of you, Javier fully pulling his arm away and sitting up, the sheets still covering his lower half as he looks down at you.

“Um…did we…?” Javi’s voice hoarse with sleep and a hangover, right hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as he swallows the words that he doesn’t necessarily want to speak out loud, in fear of awkwardness that already coats the air.

The moment pulls a laugh from you, completely involuntarily, and you fall from your side onto your back. With a slow nod in confirmation, you shrug your shoulders with the sound of sheets rustling.

“Guess so,” you chuckle again and a smile stretches across Javi’s lips, a scoff of a laugh as he shakes his head.

“Is it bad I’m kind of mad I got too drunk to really remember that?” his eyes drag along your form under the thin bedsheet, hand coming up to his face to pull his thumb across his bottom lip from the corner, “Don’t really know if it came up last night, but I had a huge crush on you in high school.”

“The Javier Peña had a crush on me?” you tease, shades of memory from last night at the bar with him coloring your mind, seeing his sheepish grin as you beam back at him, “Think you did mention that last night. And pretty sure I told you that I also had a huge crush on you.”

Both of you giggle softly again, your face shifting into a wince as your head pounds from the sounds and strain of laughing. Your hands come up to your face to wipe under your eyes and rub circles in your temples, groaning quietly and opening your eyes to Javi’s face dropped in shock.

With a quizzical expression aimed at him, you open your mouth to question him when he suddenly takes your left hand and crosses the arm over your chest as he brings it closer to him, eyebrows furrowing as he studies your fingers. When you follow his stare, your stomach drops when you see the golden band with a plush oval diamond. His thumb runs over the gem, pressing the ring into you and you can tell it’s cheap, the gold coating a flimsy metal ring.

Javier’s eyes meet yours again, wide eyes and raised eyebrows matching yours, “Uh—-um, I—Did we get married last night?”

Music thumps around you, sending vibrations from the shaking floor throughout your body as you stand in the middle of the dancefloor in the club. Your friends surround you, all dancing along to the pop song with you. It’s a long weekend at the end of summer, and you and your closest friends from college all gathered in Vegas to celebrate your younger friend’s thirty-fifth birthday. She was always a bit of an extra person, so when you received an invitation via email to join her in Las Vegas for the weekend, you weren’t quite surprised that she was going big for her birthday. And besides the fact that you were having fun celebrating with your girlfriends, it was nice to get away for the weekend and let loose completely.

Your drink swishes in the cup in your hand as you dance, facing your friends and unaware of the man approaching you from behind, leaning in asking you just loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Care to dance, beautiful?”

Immediately, you roll your eyes at the question, typical of a man to be so blind to a woman having fun with her friends and not wanting to be bothered. A rejection sits on your tongue as you turn around over your shoulder, lips pursed in a sour pout.

The man comes into view, a lilac short-sleeve button-up stretched across broad shoulders and tapering into a waist and thigh sculpted into tight blue jeans. Your eyes flutter back up to the man’s face, soft brown eyes striking into your chest and a warm smile showing off his teeth from under his trimmed mustache.

A gasp slips from your lips out of reaction to the sight in front of you, your own smile widening to match his.

“Javi Peña? From Laredo?”

His arms move out at his sides, showing himself off for you to consider the answer to your question with a chuckle.

“I knew it was you,” he smiles sweetly as you pull him in for a hug, squeezing your arms around his shoulders. From under the fabric of his shirt, you can feel his muscles flex under as he wraps his own arms around you in an embrace, one of your hands dropping to his back and feeling the deliciously taut strength. He smells like tobacco mixed with notes from his cologne, vetiver, musk, and lemon tingling your senses as you take another breath in your hug before pulling away. Your hands remain on his shoulders as you look him up and down, meeting his eyes with an incredulous laugh.

“I can’t believe it’s you! God, it’s been…”

“Years? Don’t remind me I’m old, I already feel like it in this whole city,” he laughs.

You hit his shoulder gently before dropping your arms back to your sides, rolling your eyes playfully as you grin.

“Oh, hush. You can’t say you’re old cause that makes me about to be old. You were only a grade above me, Peña.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t spend years running on rooftops and trekking through the jungle in Colombia. That shit ages you. You, on the other hand, don’t look a day over twenty-one. Bet they had to check your ID coming in here, didn’t they?” He sends a wink to you, smile quirking up to one side as it turns into a smirk, the look releasing butterflies in your stomach.

“You probably asked them to check your ID to follow all the rules, Agent Peña. Never pictured you becoming a cop when I knew you in high school, Javi.”

“You think I follow all the rules, hermosa?”

You grin and shrug your shoulders, leaning in closer to hear him better as he continues.

“Hate to tell you, but I am not above breaking some rules to get the results I want. Not too far from the ‘me’ you knew in high school.”

“Hm, guess I have a lot of catching up to do with you,” you nod to the bar across the wide dance floor, “Wanna grab a drink and chat? My treat.”

He rolls his eyes this time, shaking his head as he leans in, lips brushing your ear as he speaks to you, “Couldn’t live with myself if I let a woman as beautiful as you buy me a drink. You go find us somewhere to chat, I’ll grab us a drink.”

Goosebumps trail down your spine, nodding at the instructions and giving him your usual drink order. The two of you linger near each other in the middle of the sea of bodies before you step away first, brushing past him in search of somewhere for you to talk.

A couple of hours have passed since you and Javi have retreated to the corner of a booth in the back of the club, multiple empties on the table in front of you and a few tequila shots taken courtesy of both of your friend group’s happy for your little high school reunion.

Over the course of your catch-up, you’ve learned about his time in the DEA, now retired back to his father’s ranch in your hometown of Laredo. You could tell from the quip of his lip that he was omitting details at certain parts of the stories he told, likely covering up unsavory bits that would paint him in a bad light. It would have likely done little to quell the flames of lust that were licking inside of your torso, the slow and low lilt of his voice going straight to your core whenever he made a flirtatious comment or told a harrowing story about chasing down bad guys all around Colombia. You pictured him hot, sweaty, relieved with his chest heaving, immediately placing the visual in a different location — over you, under you, behind you. You weren’t picky in your choices.

 The long-abandoned high school crush you had on Javi came rearing back with a vengeance, heart rate pounding in your chest to the point you were convinced he could hear it over the music. It was an intimate position to be in, hip to hip with his arm around the back of the booth, leaning into each other's ears to speak, breath cascading over each other’s necks and shoulders.

You’d told him about your time post-high school, going to university not far from him in Texas, and receiving your degree. You’ve held a handful of jobs over the last fifteen years or so, ending up with a new position not too long ago. It brought you back to Laredo, purposefully, in order to care for your aging parents. Javier understood your troubles, despite the fact that Chucho was still healthy and working the ranch with him, he still felt the need to slow his father down by shouldering the majority of responsibilities to keep the business running.

Life was turning ordinary for the two of you, and surprisingly, the topic of marriage or partners or family of your own was not brought up until now.

“So, have you met anyone? Married, kids, the whole nine yards?” Javi questions, his eyes leaving your face to stare at the ice clinking around with the whiskey in his glass. It made you smile, his reservations in waiting for your answer. You’d wondered the same thing yourself — who had been lucky enough to lock down Javi Peña?

“Nope. Well, not right now. I actually was engaged in my early thirties to a guy I had met while living in Austin, but as it got more and more real that I would actually have to marry him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t supposed to happen. Turns out he was cheating on me for months with his coworker who he always went with on ‘business trips’. So, no marriage, and no kids for me.”

Javi’s eyes come back to you, sympathy washed over his features as his arm strewn across the back of the bench curls his hand to play with the hair at the back of your neck.

“Shit, I’m sorry, cariño. Sounds like a stupid motherfucker to mess things up with you.”

You wave off the comment, shrugging nonchalantly,  “Nah, I mean, clearly I’m not marriage material cause haven’t been snatched off the market still in years. And they actually ended up getting married, so it worked out for them in the end.”

“No, that’s total bullshit. You’re incredible — you were incredible already in high school, and now? Just another level.”

You snort, covering your mouth with your hand as you shake your head.

“Tell that to all the age-appropriate eligible bachelors. If there even are any at this point,” you say with a laugh to break the tension building, swallowing down your nerves as Javi locks his eyes on you, raking them down and back up quickly. His tongue prods out to swipe his lips, shrugging his shoulders as he looks back into your eyes.

“I’m an eligible bachelor. Age-appropriate, if that’s a dealbreaker.”

“Oh, c’mon, no one’s got their ring on you? Really?” you can hear how surprised you sound, unable to hide the disbelief in your tone.

Javier laughs and keeps his eyes on you as he speaks with a smirk playing at his lips, “Nope…Well, not sure if you remember her, but I did almost get married to Lorraine. Told me she was pregnant, and I was gonna do the right thing. The night before the wedding she told me she got her period…” he takes a swig of his whiskey, eyes falling from yours to the table in front of you, “Left her standing at the altar alone the next morning. I was back at my pop’s house, packing up to take my job with the DEA. Left the US not long after.”

“So, someone’s nearly reigned me in, but didn’t work out.”

“Did you want to get married and have a baby? Or do you still want to, I guess?” you pause and internally scold yourself for the overly personal question spurred on by your inebriation, “I’m sorry, Javi, that is not my place to ask when I’m drunk off my ass.”

“S’alright, cariño. I asked you first, technically. Only fair I answer, too,” he smiles to himself before setting his glass down, turning in his seat to face you more, “I did want to back then, just didn’t feel right with Lorraine. Kinda like what you said, it felt off the closer it got to actually doing it and when I saw an out, I took it…But now? Now, I am—God, it’s a little embarrassing, but yeah I do want all that. The wife, kids. T-ball practices or dance recitals and date nights. I dunno, though, think it might be too late for an old bastard like me.”

A hand of yours rests on his midthigh, shaking your head with an encouraging smile, “Definitely not too late for you, Javi. You’re a handsome, great man. Bet I’ll be hearing around town that you’re shacked up in the next year,” a soft laugh falls from your lips and Javi grins while his eyes drink you in, lingering at your lips. The heat of his stare makes you squirm, adjusting in your seat and sipping your drink.

Just when the tension was mounting from the moment, your best friend from college walks over, one of Javi’s friends following and both approaching your small corner of the club. They tell you that both of your groups are heading back to the hotel, the same hotel, and you deflate as you start to gather your bag next to you. Javi’s hand reaches out and squeezes your thigh gently to grab your attention, one look shared between the two of you that was an invitation to stay and keep talking. With a smile, you silently agree and tell your friends that you’ll make it back together.

Your best friend dawdles, and as you’re about to tell her that you’ll be alright, Javi reassures her with his kind smile, “I’ll get her back safely, you have my word. Fought off drug dealers and soldiers and a few sicarios in my day. She will be back at the hotel and chipper for the girls’ birthday brunch tomorrow. Cross my heart.”

Both you and your friend laugh, standing to give her a hug goodnight and telling her that you’ll be just fine, to which she replies, “Probably more than just fine. Tell Javi he can join us for brunch when you wake up with him tomorrow.”

You gasp and roll your eyes as she walks away with a laugh, heading out of the bar with your friends before you sit back with Javi, jumping into a whole different conversation.

The early hours of the morning have crept in, cool desert air from around the city wisping around your skin as you stroll down the strip with Javi. The two of you are leaning against each other in a drunken stupor, giggling wildly as you talk to each other and get stares from other people out at this hour — which is a lot, it’s Vegas.

Javi’s arm is around your waist, hand curled at your hip and his fingers rub gentle circles that send your nerves firing throughout your entire body. Your own arm is resting against his back, feeling those same muscles as earlier. He’s strong, steady, even in his inebriated state, and safe. In any other situation, you’d be anxious to walk back to the hotel along the street, too many characters milling about for the alcohol to keep you calm. But with Javi next to you, there’s a freedom in it, the way he makes you feel protected despite the short amount of time you’ve been reunited. Even in school, he was a troublemaker but only in the way that he stood up for people, got into fights on behalf of the underdogs, always concerned with fairness and righteousness. It was honorable, that he always was a protector, wanting to do right by people that were affected by those doing wrong.

Ramblings about life filled the space between you two, bright lights blinding you against the midnight skies. Javier is in the middle of saying something when you stop in your tracks, the sight across the street captivating your attention as your own light blinks with an idea in your head.

It’s a small wedding chapel, a carport out in the front with a classic car parked in the middle, and kitschy decorations littering the outside with a hot pink and cream color scheme painting the facade.

Javier walks a step or two before his arm around your waist tethers him back, his eyes looking at you before turning toward the opposite side of the street. He laughs to himself, tucking into your side again as smiles.

“How many people got married tonight, d’you think?” He leans his head to the side to rest on yours, the small affection making your idea seem even better in your wasted mind.

“I dunno. But I could guarantee two if you wanna,” your head turns to him on your left, a Cheshire grin stretched across your face as a giggle slips from your chest. Javi looks at you, confused for a moment before it all clicks, and his expression turns to one of surprise.

“You’d wanna do that? With me?”

“Why wouldn’t I? We spent the whole night talking about how we both wanted to get married and have kids and all that, why not do it with each other? I mean, I had a massive crush on you in high school. Would be my dreams back then coming true,” you say with a laugh, biting your lip as you await his response.

It’s a beat of silence as he contemplates the offer, surveying between you and the chapel across from you.

“Fuck it. Let’s get married, cariño.”

“Yes! Let’s go before we chicken out,” an infectious smile fills your face, eyes crinkling as you rush across the street with him, hand-in-hand. Upon entering the chapel lobby, you’re greeted by a chipper employee behind a large reception desk. The two of you give over your IDs, anxiously waiting with each other’s hands linked together, sharing quiet, excited laughs. Once everything is settled, the employee directs you back to a room to get ready in, offering a too-small suit jacket to Javi that sits two inches above his wrists, a sight that sends you into a fit of laughter.

He brushes off your teasing and takes the bouquet that another employee arranges quickly for you, holding it as you lean over and primp yourself in the mirror by cleaning up your makeup and fixing your hair.

Javier stands behind you, watching you with tender eyes and a faint smile on his face. Making eye contact with him in the reflection as you finish, heat spreads at the back of your neck and across your cheeks at the way he’s looking at you.

“Ready, hermosa?”

Turning around and standing to your full height in front of him, bouquet held out to you. You take it, wrapping your hand around his and nodding.

“Ready, Peña.”

“Think I should be saying that to you,” he winks and drops his hand from yours, turning and grabbing something off of a table across the room. Crossing back to you he holds up a costume veil, eyebrows raised in questioning, “Wanna complete the look?”

“Of course. Don’t think I would look like a bride without it since I’m not wearing any white,” you grin and stand still in front of him, letting him put the headband securely behind your ears. Delicate fingers lift the veil to cover your face, a warm, closed-lip smile lighting up his eyes.

“Haces una novia hermosa. You make a beautiful bride.”

The sincerity laced in his voice despite the drunken haze chokes the words in your throat, only answering by taking his hand with your free one and leading him over to the chapel’s double doors. He gives you one last look before slipping in first when you’re called up, whispering to you, “See you in there. Don’t get cold feet now.”

After a couple of minutes, the doors open for you again, and immediately you’re faced with Javi standing next to a costumed Elvis impersonator. The traditional wedding march playing through tinny speakers, everything overwhelming you to the point that when you make eye contact with Javi, the pair of you break out into uncontrollable giggles. His shoulders shake as tears prick your eyes from the ridiculousness, your tipsy minds thinking everything is extra funny.

Calmed down at the altar, you stand across from him and half listen to the officiant attempt to maintain his accent throughout the ceremony. Each of you exchanges drunken repetitive vows, given cheap rings that were paid for at the front desk. Javi slips yours on and squeezes your hand, giving you his to do the same.

At that moment, rings and vows given to each other, knock-off Elvis pronounces you husband and wife by the power vested in him by the state of Nevada.

“You may now kiss your wife, dude.”

Javier chuckles as he reaches up to lift your veil away from your face, leaning in as he drops it at the back of your head. One hand cups your jaw, the other dropping to your hip to pull you in closer. He catches your lips in a kiss that’s all teeth from your smiles, mouths relaxing as he deepens the embrace when your arms wrap around his neck and the flowers rest at his back.

He huffs into your mouth, tongue tracing your lip and slipping against yours when you open your mouth for him. A soft sigh melts your body into his touch, the two of you completely wrapped up in each other.

“Alright, alright, lovebirds. We got another wedding to get to so you guys are gonna have to quit sucking face in here and take your party of two outside. Congrats,” the officiant has dropped his character, Javier pulling away from you and glancing at him.

“Thanks, Presley. See ya,” he calls out over his shoulder as he takes your hand, receding down the aisle, throwing off his jacket, plus your veil and bouquet on the desk as you make your way out of the chapel building completely.

It’s a rush from the elevator when it reaches Javi’s floor, limbs fumbling over each other as you frantically stumble down the hallway, mouths attach in a potent kiss. Javier’s touch is only adding to your intoxication, clouding your mind with his wandering hands and his tongue against yours.

He grips your waist as he reaches his room, pressing you against the solid wood door as he exhales into your mouth. Pulling away mere millimeters to speak, his low and gravelly voice rasps out to you.

“Front right pocket. Room key’s in my wallet,” he kisses you again, hands moving from your waist to your ass as his lips trail from your mouth and along your jaw. Your own fingers slip into the front pocket he directed you to, taking out his wallet and attempting to fish out the plastic card as his teeth graze at the sensitive skin on your neck.

“Fuck, Javi…Here.” You pass the key card to him and he unlocks the door, wrapping his arm around your back and walking you inside the room as he catches your lips in a rich kiss, a whimper slipping from your mouth and into his. The plush mattress hits the back of your legs and he lets you go to fall backward onto the bed, staring down at you with his chest rising and falling quickly and swollen lips parted.

“Cristo, eres hermosa, cariño. Te deseo tanto. Puedo tenerte, mi esposa?” Javier lifts one knee to rest on the mattress, leaning over you and pressing open-mouth kisses at the open chest of your night-out dress.

“Javi, that all sounds very sexy, but I think I need a translation,” you sigh as he tugs the neckline of your dress down, exposing your bare breast to the chilled, conditioned air. Javier chuckles as you gasp from his thumb brushing over your pebbled nipple, darkened eyes combing up to meet yours with a devilish smirk.

“I said ‘Christ, you’re gorgeous, darling…’”

His fingers slip a strap of your dress off of your shoulders. 

“And ‘I want you so bad…’”

The other strap.

“And I asked ‘Can I have you, my wife?’”

With one tug to the body of your dress, your full chest is bared to Javi, who in that moment you realize is technically your husband.

Your sexy, heroic, competent, charming husband.

Damn, your drunk self kind of hit the jackpot.

“Can I, baby?” he asks again, one hand reaching down to palm his growing bulge in his jeans. The sight makes you salivate, this man above you asking to have you, telling you how badly he wants you, calling you his wife.

A rush of arousal floods between your thighs and you nod, lifting yourself to sit up on your elbows under him.

“How do you say ‘my husband’ in Spanish?”

Javi’s smirk deepens, the dimple in his right cheek cavernous with the satisfaction painted on his face.

“Mi esposo.”

“You can have me any way you want, mi esposo.”

The groan that comes from Javier is guttural, as if something is unleashed in him and rumbles it’s way out. He moves with a fervor after those words, stripping you of your dress and lacey panties, carelessly tossing them aside. You sit up fully, working his button-up undone as he fumbles with his belt and jeans. As you push the material off of his shoulders, he kicks off his pants, left naked from his lack of underwear.

You chuckle softly at the choice and bite your lip, looking up at him playfully.

“Guess you’re always prepared for a quickie.”

He smirks with a slow nod, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Didn’t know where the night would take me. And now I am incredibly glad for my choice.”

A gasp leaves your lips as he kisses you passionately, pushing you back to the mattress as he climbs over you. Your legs spread for him, leaving him room to nestle between your thighs. Everything is blurred in your inebriated minds, burning touches on sensitive skin, teeth grazing with purple bruises left in their wake.

His fingers slide through your arousal, collecting your wetness with two of his fingers, slipping in and out of you at an expert pace. The heel of his hand rubs against your clit, the combined stimulations and your laxed body working you up quickly to a peak. Moans and whimpers of his name fill the space between you, coming down as he guides you through your orgasm.

With the fingers once inside of you, he strokes himself, glistening in the low lighting coming from the neon outside on The Strip. Your fingers dance across his strong chest, feeling the muscles of his biceps flex under your touch.

“You okay, amor?”

His voice is hushed, tender and sweet.

“I’m okay. More than okay. I want you, please, Javi. Please, mi esposo.”

“Fuck, say it again, cariño.”

The head of his cock pushes into your tight walls, feeling the delicious stretch of him inside as he gives you only a few inches of himself.

“Mi esposo.”

A moan slips from his mouth, kneeling between your legs and filling you completely with one strong thrust.

“Again.”

“Mi esposo.”

A hypnotizing rhythm is found in his hips, fucking you deeper with each hard snap of his lower half. His thighs hit against the backs of yours with slaps, alternating with your own moans and whimpers, deep grunts from Javi.

“Fuck…” he breathes with a long exhale, head rolling back to reveal veins in his neck. Fingers grip at your thighs, one drifting up to toy with your nipple before it drops between the two of you to circle your clit.

“Javier—Fuck, gonna come…” you whine, eyes screwing shut as the coil inside of you tightens with a burn.

“Eyes on me, cariño. Wanna see your face when you come for me.”

At the next hit of himself against that particular spot inside of you, your eyes snap open as the coil snaps, walls clenching around him with repeated moans.

“Oh fuck, Javi, yes…”

“Good girl, good fucking girl…”

With a few more thrusts, he spills inside of you, twitching as he lets go of a moan of your name. Once the both of you have come down from the highest peaks of the night, Javier slowly pulls out of you and falls back to the bed.

“Do you think we’re gonna remember any of this when we wake up?” you ask, laughing softly as you slip under the sheets with Javier, fatigue catching up with you from the long night.

“God, I hope so. Don’t want to ever forget anything that’s happened since we got into this room,” Javi winks as he extends an arm for you to cuddle into, faint laughter from both of you.

“I can’t believe we got married by an Elvis impersonator.”

“And he was so bad at it.”

The two of you are now in a fit of sleepy giggles, laying your head on his chest and his hand behind you playing with your hair.

“Go to sleep, cariño. Got breakfast to get to in a few hours.”

You groan and close your eyes, adjusting your position next to him.

“You’re invited too, y’know.”

“I’ll gladly come with. Now sleep, esposa.”

“Night, Mr. Peña.”

“Night, Mrs. Peña.”

Between the two of you, you were able to piece together most of the previous night. The memory of the horrible Elvis impersonator and the wild chapel interior made you laugh hysterically again, Javi wiping the tears from your eyes when you couldn’t stop.

Once everything had been recounted that you could remember, save the details of the last activities of the night — those were certainly memorable, just not spoken out loud — Javi studied his ring before taking your left hand with his, eyes trained on the two pieces of jewelry laying together.

“So, what do we do?”

You’re silent for a few beats of your heart, loud in your ears as you sit up, pulling the sheet to cover your chest and facing the man next to you.

“No idea.”

The next words were laced over each other, your voices interrupting the other:

“Is it weird to say that I don’t regret it?”

“I don’t know if I really want to retract it completely.”

You laugh out of the tension built, shrugging your shoulders and nodding your head for Javi to speak first.

“I don’t know if I really want to say that it was a horrible idea, that we should completely backtrack it…” He cards his fingers through his hair nervously.

“I mean, yeah, probably shouldn’t have this be legally binding marriage for the rest of our lives, but maybe we could, I don’t know, try some version of us?”

Relief washes over you at his thoughts, fiddling with the ring on your finger.

“I agree. I think just like, being married fully after this would be silly, but it also doesn’t mean that if we do something about that, we would never have to see each other again.”

“Exactly,” he nods confidently, eyes locking on yours before they drop to your lips. You make the move to lean in, capturing him in a slow, morning kiss much different than yours from late last night.

When you pull away, Javi’s smirk is plastered on his face, hand holding yours and running his thumb over the ring.

“So…an annulment? And then a date when we’re back in Laredo?”

“I’d really like that, Mr. Peña,” you say with a grin, pecking his lips.

“Alright, it’s a plan then,” he nudges his nose against yours before giving you one last kiss, “Now I promised I would get you to the birthday brunch, so let’s get this show on the road, Mrs. Peña.”

tagging some mooties: @beskarandblasters @swiftispunk @joelsversion @lunapascal @addictedtotlou @deathwife @johnwatsn @darkroastjoel @pedrospartner @atinylittlepain @soaringcloud @wannab-urs @javiscigarette @yazsos @northernbluess @pr0ximamidnight @theelishad @thetriumphantpanda @dinsdjrn @midnightswithdearkatytspb @ladamedusoif @cannolighost @undrthelights @jksprincess10 @bearsbeetsbeskar @perotovar @leslie-lyman @cupofjoel @egcdeath @mrsquill

[devilishchaos]

Heyy idk if u take requests but can u do where the reader have a girl with ruben and they’re celebrating the ucl win on the pitch etc and the their child starts playing with ronny and they assume that the girl and ronny have a tiny crush on eachother yk cute moments etc🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

Moments like this | Rúben Dias Imagine

Rating / genre: pure fluff

Pairings: Reader x Rúben Dias

Warnings: use of pet names "babe", "baby"

Word Count: 1 059 words

AN: Hello! idk if I take requests, I received this one and this is my first ever request, I loved it and thank you so much. <3 I unfortunately don't speak portuguese so I used google translate, if you find any mistakes don't hesitate to let me know. On another note - I absolutely love Ronnie and everybody from City! I kind of added a little bit more plot so I hope it is okay and I also made it kinda long, like why am I like this? but hey I loved working on this, so I hope you enjoy it :) x

p.s. while I was working on this Mr. The Sexiest Man Alive posts this picture..like sir, are you trying to unalive me or sth..respectfully tho..Rúben stop playing with me and let me have your kids <3 :p x

This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

“Is your missus here tonight?” John asked his best mate Rúben, from across the room, as all Manchester City players were getting dressed in their kits and were preparing to attend the Uefa Champions League final tonight. Rúben turns away from his locker, trying to brush out a crease that had formed in his shorts. 

“Yes, she flew with the kids. They landed, like two hours ago.” He tells him, going to the mirror to begin fussing with his hair, even though he would just be pushing it back out of his face anyway. “This puts even more pressure. I’m basically obliged to perform well.” 

“She flew alone with two kids for what four hours?” Bernardo joins the conversation, grinning at Rúben. “She is a wonder woman.” 

“She definitely is!” John agrees, walking over to pat Rúben's shoulder comfortingly but he shakes his head, already nervous at the idea of his kids watching him. After the loss in the final 2021 and in the semi’s in 2022, Rúben promised his family to win the next time around. And now it was hitting him hard - he never breaks his promises. The pressure was definitely skyrocketing through the roof. 

*

It all happened very fast. You needed a couple of seconds to process that Rodri in fact had scored a beautiful goal. Which meant that City took the lead 1-0. There were approximately 20 more minutes and if City were able to handle the tension, that meant that the guys would complete a treble. You knew what that meant to them, to Rúben. Everything was at a very high stake. Your stomach was in knots and your leg bobbed up and down with anxiousness as you were looking at the clock, counting down the seconds until the end of the match, until the referee's final whistle. 

After what felt like the longest extra time that you’ve experienced in a match it was finally over, when the end of the match was announced everybody in the VIP sector (the families of the players) stood up and raised their arms in joy, cheering in excitement. 

“George. Azlia. Come on! Let’s go congratulate daddy!” you took them by their hands and somehow managed to get down to the pitch. 

The three of you push your way through the crowd on the soccer field. It was hard for you to see the way in the ocean of bodies. Then John taps lightly on your shoulder and points at a gap you can pass through. That’s when you see him. He has his back turned to you, engaged in conversation with a staff member. He doesn’t see you, but it’s like he feels you coming, and turns around, his gaze landing to you. Without looking back at the man behind him, he excuses himself and starts making his way over to you. 

“Papai!” George screams as he breaks away from your hand and runs to your husband, obviously he can't contain his excitement anymore. Rúben kneels down to be on the same level as him and he runs straight in his arms. You picked up Azlia as she was struggling to keep up with your pace with her little feet, because you wanted to get to Rúben faster. 

As you finally reach him you walk right into his open arms, your hands fisting his jersey. It feels so good to be holding him. 

“You did it! I’m so, so, so proud of you, amor! You did so good! I’m so happy for you! A treble, wow..unbelievable!” you said quite loudly in his ear with a smile that hurt your cheeks. 

You raised your head a little and he bent down a little, so you could share a kiss. As you pulled away, you gave him a kiss to the side of his mouth and ran your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Eu te amo, meu amor.” he said to you, looking directly into your eyes wanting to look into them forever. 

Not breaking eye contact you replied just a heartbeat later “Te amo mais.” 

“Da-da,da-..” Azlia babbled in your arms, reminding you guys of her existence. 

“Eu também te amo, princesa.” Rúben said as he kissed her chubby cheeks. 

*

The awarding took place very quickly. You moved away with the rest of the wives, girlfriend and family members of the players and found yourself jumping from conversation to conversation. Everyone was so excited. Except the kids. They didn’t understand what was happening and just ran away the second the ceremony was done. 

You were frantically looking for Azlia when you felt two big, strong hands on your waist, bringing you into a hug from behind. 

“What are you doing, love?” Rúben asked with amusement. 

“I’m looking for Azlia! I can’t find her! George ran away with Roman and Riaan, and I swear Azlia was standing right beside me and now she is gone.” you said while turning in his arms, to face him. 

“Baby she is a one-and-a-half-year-old, with tiny little legs. How far can she go?” he chuckled, as you continued to search for her with your eyes. 

“Oh, there she is. Taking pictures with the other kids.” you finally spotted her, taking a picture with Kyle, his sons and Ronnie. 

“Baby, chill. These kids are having the time of their lives. They can’t stay in the same position for more than 10 seconds. Look at them running around!” Rúben assured you. That made you smile, but not as much as when you watched Ronnie chasing Azlia around and the two pig tails on top of her hair were bouncing with every step she took.

“Aww, look babe, Ronnie is showing Azi his medal. How cute!” you pointed at them for Rúben to see. 

“He is now putting his medal on her..” Rúben stated quite shook “Yo, Foden, watch your son!” he then shouted in Phil’s direction, who stood all the way to the other side of the pitch. 

“Rúben! Oh my God! Baby..they are kids..” you hit his chest lightly, bursting into a fit of giggles. 

“I have a medal, too..I’m gonna go show it to her.” and with that he left you watching him attempt to come close to Ronnie and Azlia, but when they saw him approaching them - they ran away laughing.

[vampiresareqt]

WHY Iñaki HAS BEEN Luffy SINCE THE BEGINNING!!!

A summarised history of Iñaki Godoy Jasso and his parallels to Monkey D. Luffy

I'm sure Iñaki tried to keep his composure so hard. (Our Cry Baby) But on his way home he broke down in tears and laughter (Such a Joyful boy)

Just to make this video even stronger; Iñaki's goals as a child were to make people laugh and to use his genuine smile to make others smile. He CRAVES freedom too!

And at one point he even wanted to become a competitive eater, 'cause HE LOVES FOOD!

REACHING HIS GOALS

Source: [x]

How much did he want to reach his goals? He was once bailed on by one of his partners in a play where he had the role of the mischievously grinning Cheshire Cat (Also fitting wtf) He was like 8???

And while he was panicking at first, he improvised his way out of it, saw the smiles and laughter of the crowd and DID NOT WANT TO GIVE UP. He felt the freedom of acting and expression and the joy of seeing people laugh. He literally said he wanted to continue acting CAUSE OF FREEDOM!!!

He later pursued comedy, 'cause of his love of cheering people up...

If you don't really remember the significance of "freedom" when it comes to Luffy,

"Sometimes, an honest smile is more than enough."

He values smiling and making others smile. And just like Iñaki, one of Luffy's key assets is his wide smile! So when Iñaki did his research on Luffy he didn't want to make it too complicated at first. He narrowed him down to that smile we love and aimed to perfect it. And of course, as the smiley person he is it came naturally.

This also kinda parallels Luffy's "Don't care about the story, just get me to do something." mindset. In this case, Iñaki going for an audition kind of blind, then simplifying Luffy's character and then building on it with 100% determination is so reminiscent of our boy. He ended up appreciating and admiring Oda-Sensei so much after getting involved. And making him laugh came naturally to him as well.

Helping people is important!

He loves doing charity things. Especially knowing his little sister endured a lot of hardships, he as a young child did a campaign against bullying and to raise awareness... "The Jasso-Godoy Family are the group leaders of CAP Grupo Mexico in Mexico City, Mexico and their own non-profit!!!"

"Mia is beautiful the way she is. Any way she is, I'd still love her. If there is someone at school... or anywhere, be nice to them, okay? I am her brother."

Watch the heartwarming video below!

He is very flexible in ways he can do so many things, versatility, but also physically, he loves jumping around and doing tricks and even when he gets hurt he smiles, cause he learned from it and had fun...

In this video he is introducing himself and talking about his versatility. Saying "Whatever you want me to do, I'll be at your service." So if you have goals in your movie or show, he will do his utmost best to make it a reality.

Hope I translated it correctly...

Always a Pirate

He has also always had something with the sea and pirates... Foreshadowing

In the same TikTok he was talking about his mischief he showed us a pic of him as a kid, where he is wearing a pirate themed Spongebob T-Shirt. EVEN THE POSE IS VERY LUFFY!

In one of his Insta posts, while he was on his 80 day trip around the Caribbean he posted an even older pic of him and his sister Mia WEARING PIRATE OUTFITS.

I immediately said he bares a striking resemblance to young Luffy smiling.

UNCANNY!!!

So in the end...

Even without mentioning any of these childhood things Iñaki experienced before finding One Piece. Just that short audition clip made Oda laugh instantly and overwhelmed Oda with Luffy vibes. JUST FROM IÑAKI'S GENUINE ENERGY!!!!!

So people saying Oda's Haki predicted Iñaki is like... I could kinda believe that. Or maybe the reason why the Live Action did not start production till about 4 years later, is because we had to wait for Iñaki to grow up to the same age as Luffy, 17, for Oda to meet the person who best represents his beloved main character.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Absolute Submission to the Queen

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors.

Blank, and ageless blogs will be blocked.

I did everything I could to help Emma, even to the point of being ridiculed as a "dog" when she injured her leg.

I held her in my arms wherever she went so she would never walk, and I always stayed by her side in case she needed something.

Of course, that may not have been what she wanted, but I unexpectedly enjoyed it.

It wasn't that I was happy to kneel in front of others.

(What I like is...)

Silvio: "I'll serve you thoroughly throughout the night."

To fulfill her command, I just had to bathe her and change her clothes.

However, when I tried to put her in the bath, she resisted and struggled.

Emma: "P-Please close your eyes."

Silvio: "Ha?"

Emma, completely naked in my arms, covered her face and issued a new command.

Silvio: "Are you kidding? If I close my eyes, I won't be able to do anything."

Emma: "You can do it."

Silvio: "I can't."

(If I did that, I wouldn't be able to enjoy your embarrassed reaction.)

Even though she's usually sassy, she got shy and flustered when I tried to serve her.

I enjoyed it more than anything, so closing my eyes would defeat its purpose.

Emma: "You said it's okay to rely on you."

Silvio: "I also said I might not listen depending on the content of the request, remember?"

Emma: "Are you sure you really can't?"

Emma: "Even though I'm used to being seen, being naked like this is still embarrassing."

Our eyes met through the small gap between her fingers.

Her face went red due to embarrassment, and that oddly turned me on.

(Damn it. Is she doing this on purpose?)

I felt like I might end up making a fool of myself if I continued to stare at her.

Silvio: "Tch. Fine. I just have to close my eyes, yeah?"

Emma: "Thank you so much!"

Unable to back out now with her looking so pleased, I closed my eyes and confidently made my way to the bathroom.

Emma: "Prince Silvio, can you really not see anything?"

Silvio: “I’ve closed my eyes as you instructed.”

Emma: “Yes, but despite that, your steps seem pretty confident.”

Silvio: “I can manage short distances.”

Silvio: “But from here on, I’ll have to feel my way around.”

I navigated the space with my hand and gently placed Emma in the bathtub.

Now, the real challenge began.

Emma: “You can go back to the room.”

Silvio: “Denied. I’ve decided to serve you, remember?”

Silvio: “Besides, you should’ve resigned yourself to it by now.”

Emma: “Ugh...”

(Where's the soap? Oh, here it is.)

Even though I couldn't see, I managed to mentally map the area as I moved around.

After gathering all the stuff, I returned to Emma's side and heard a splashing sound.

Silvio: "Don't run away. Come here."

Emma: "Eek! Just for today, okay?"

The bathwater rippled again, and I felt her presence nearby.

I reached out and felt something soft, and Emma suddenly pulled back.

(What was that just now?)

Emma: "Where are you touching!?"

Silvio: "I can't see anything, so what do you expect?"

Silvio: "Besides, you shouldn't be running away like this, especially when it's not your first time."

Emma: "No matter how many times I experience it, I'll never get used to this!"

(That's such a cute thing to say.)

Emma: "Prince Silvio, can you help me?"

She reached out and grabbed my hand.

Emma: "My back is here."

I touched the spot she guided me to and slid my fingers along her spine.

Silvio: "Then, let's start from here."

I lathered the soap on the cloth and glided it over her back.

(She's trembling.)

Of course, it wasn't fear that caused her to tremble.

I tried to move beyond her back and lightly grazed a soft spot on her skin with my fingers, causing a sultry sigh to escape Emma's lips.

(Is she aware that, despite her shyness, her body seems to be anticipating this?)

After finishing her back, I moved on, gliding my fingers over her arms, shoulders, and chest.

Emma: "Prince Silvio..."

Silvio: "I'm not looking."

Emma: "That's not the point... Ah!"

I pinched her pointed peaks, and the water splashed loudly.

After thoroughly attending to that area, I inserted my hand under her arm and lifted her up.

Emma: "It's okay, you can stop now!"

Silvio: "What do you mean it's okay?"

(Even with my eyes closed, I can tell.)

After tracing the lines of her body, I moved and rubbed my hand into the space between her legs, and a different sensation entangled with my fingers.

Silvio: "Hey, open your legs more. I can't wash it like this."

Emma: "I don't need you to wash it anymore."

Silvio: "I'm still not finished."

Emma: "I don't care if it's not yet finished! You're acting weird."

Emma: "I couldn't bear it anymore."

(.........)

Emma: "Please carry me to the bed like this."

Silvio: "I guess I have no other choice."

(Even though she's acting shy, she...)

Suppressing the surging desire within me, I wrapped her hair and skin in cloth as she emerged from the bath.

Despite being tempted by the sultry sighs I occasionally heard, I managed to carry her to the bed.

Silvio: "So?"

Emma: "I don't feel like sleeping."

Silvio: "Why?"

Emma: "My body feels hot."

Silvio: "Should I let some air in?"

Emma: "You know that's not it."

Silvio: "Then give me clear instructions. How do you want it?"

I fumbled around her body, but she suddenly grabbed my hand and guided it to her breast.

Emma: "P-Please make me feel good."

(You should be clear like this more often.)

(That way, your body can only rely on me.)

With my eyes closed, I took her nipple into my mouth and rolled my tongue around it.

I continued to lick her entire body like a dog and buried my face between her legs.

Emma: "Ahhh…ahhh…"

Silvio: “Does it feel good?”

Emma: “.........”

Silvio: “Can’t you hear me?”

I licked and flicked my tongue to lap her nectar. However, I couldn’t see her reaction as I had my eyes closed.

Silvio: “Can I open my eyes now?”

Emma: “.........”

(Silence means yes, right?)

(I’ve been following her orders so obediently up to this point, so rebelling just a little bit should be fine.)

I opened my eyes and peered into her face, where I saw her sexy, blushing cheeks and longing eyes that shot through me.

Emma: “Please don’t look at me.”

(Ah, damn it.)

(It’s impossible for any man to not want to see this face and devote himself to it.)

(This is why I want to serve you, even if I have to become a dog.)

I penetrated her bath-fresh body as she desired, and she completely surrendered herself to me.

(Once you’ve tamed a dog, you should take responsibility for it until the end.)

Part 1╎Part 2╎Premium End╎Special Story

[dittydipity]

what is kagepro? - a quick guide

you may be seeing the word "kagepro" around a whole bunch, especially during august, but what the hell is it?

you may have heard or seen something from kagepro without realizing it! you know that vocaloid song, kagerou daze, about the kids who get hit by a truck and are stuck in a timeloop of saving each other? that's actually one of the songs from kagepro.

kagepro, short for the kagerou project, is a series created by vocaloid composer jin (also known as shizen no teki-p). it's a mixed media series that has music, manga, an anime, movie, a radio talk show, books, etc but i’ll try to keep it simple!

basic premise: people who die on 8/15 are taken to another world called the kagerou daze and if they return to the real world, they will have gained a “snake ability” that will turn their eyes red when used. a group of teens that have these abilities form a little gang but are thrown into an endless timeloop.

THE MEDIA

if you want to get into it, there’s a bunch of different ways you can do it, but do keep in mind: each form of media is NOT just a different adaptation of the story.

kagepro is a timeloop story, and each form of media is actually a different timeline (or “route”). the music videos, the anime, the manga, the books - each one is only a piece of the whole story. that’s why many people may have seen the anime, mekakucity actors, and gotten super confused because the anime is actually one of the last routes haha.

but the order of media that has been generally agreed upon to be the most coherent is music videos -> manga -> light novels -> anime

a lot of kagepro media, esp the light novels and manga, are hard to find since they’re almost entirely out of print, but there’s translations or e-book versions of them available, or if you skip them there’s summaries that people have made. you can also ask me if you want :]

music videos

i’ve actually made a couple playlists for the songs! one is in release order and the other is in story chronological order (mostly).

release order: - i tried to get all the original ia/miku versions of the songs with the original pv if there was one - a couple might be a little out of order since some songs came out together in the same album

this is the order that fans got the music, so if you want to try to figure things out and put things together the way we did you can go with this order!

chronological order: - tried to grab some english covers where i could, but if you don’t like eng covers there are plenty of noneng covers or you can use the videos from the other playlist. there's plenty of really great covers out there! - exceptions to the “chronological”: children record acts as the cover/opening song for the series and summertime record is the ending song for the series - some songs aren’t in here bc they’re not part of the music route (they’re mostly from the newer albums and are kinda like ‘epilogue’ songs after the ending of the anime/good ending or are songs made for the anime)

THE STORY

if you don't want to go through all the media yourself, here’s a video explaining the whole story by breadbox/david toth! he also has other really great kagepro videos

[a bit of an extra] a very common misconception about the story/mechanics: people do not have to die in pairs or with somebody else on 8/15 to enter the daze. i didn’t realize this myself until super recently

all in all, the kagerou project is a story about finding strength and support from the people around you, moving on to look towards the future, and overcoming trauma.

there’s definitely other people who have also made guides or summaries or videos that are much better and cover much more than i did, but i hope this was a decent introduction!

feel free to reach out and/or ask me anything! i'm sure there are also plenty of people who would be willing to help newcomers understand kagepro as well :]

happy kagerou day!

[loslentesdepedrito]

I'm Your Wife- Chapter Six

Jack gif by: @coredrive My Masterlist

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Five

Next Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Seven

Word count: 4.3k+

Chapter summary: Jack visits Ángel in the hospital, bringing the gifts he bought. During the visit, you find yourself reflecting on your relationship with Jack—both before and after your engagement. Also, your husband, Javi, and your ex-husband, Jack, try their best to not kill each other. (Picks up directly from ch. 5. The flashback scene is bold and italicized.)

Rating: 18+ No explicit content, but this is an 18+ page. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the aviators.

Warnings: Angst, jealousy, light suggestive stuff, pregnancy, divorce, childhood disease, mention of death, mention of the death of a child.

You were abruptly pulled from that memory when you heard a soft “¿Mami?”

Your head snapped towards Ángel, who was awake from his nap, his hair adorably messy.

"We've been calling your name," Javi says, no longer in his chair. He's now pouring some milkshake from a third cup into a smaller one for Ángel.

"Sorry, nomas estaba pensando ([I] was just thinking),” you say as you get up to give your son a kiss.

“¿En que, mami? (In what, mommy?)” Ángel asks, tilting his head to look at you.

Before you can reply, a knock echoes in the room.

"Come in," Javi says, loud enough for the person behind the door to hear.

The door opens, and Jack enters with a blue bag in hand.

"Mr. Daniels!" Ángel greeted him, clearly happy to see him.

"Hi, buddy," Jack responded, glad to see that Ángel was taking a liking to him, even if he didn't know their true connection.

"How are you feeling?" Jack asks, genuinely concerned.

"Good, thank you," Ángel replies politely, lifting his cup to take a sip. "My dad gave me some milkshake," he adds with a small smile.

At the mention of Javi’s name, Jack turns to Javi. "Javier," he acknowledges with a slightly sour tone.

"Hi, Jack," Javi responded without bothering to look up from what he was doing.

"I got something for you," Jack says, placing a gift bag on his son's lap. Ángel's head instinctively turned to look at Javi with big questioning eyes, silently seeking permission. 

“Puedes abrirlo (you can open it),” Javi said softly, granting him permission.

Ángel eagerly reached into the bag, pulling out tissue paper and tossing it over his shoulder onto the floor. He excitedly reached into the bag with his small arm and pulled out a boy's denim jacket. It was a dark blue wash with silver buttons and yellow stitching all along the jacket. The jacket had several pockets, and Ángel immediately started sticking his small fingers into them. The most noticeable feature was a deep red patch at the back of the neck area. In the center of the maroon leather, the word "Jean" was meticulously stitched in bold, white thread. The stitching wasn't perfect, nor was it meant to be; it almost appeared as if it had been hand-sewn. Near the bottom right corner of the patch, a quartet of squares appears, not arranged in a straight line, but it looked better that way. Each square bears a single letter, together spelling out "S-H-O-P."

“¡Qué chulo! (so cute!)” Ángel exclaimed in awe as he tried to put it on, getting halfway before realizing that his right arm had an IV.

"I love it! Thank you so much, Mr. Jack!" your son exclaims with genuine joy. It almost makes up for all the Christmases Jack missed with Ángel - almost.

"No need to thank me, buddy," Jack replies, delighted that Ángel liked the jacket. Kids usually prefer toys over clothing, but ever since Ángel met Jack, he's had cowboy fever.

"I have the same one," Jack adds, the idea of matching with his son warming his heart. Jack couldn't help himself but buy items identical to the ones he already had in his closet.  "You can wear it when you get out of here and go to the ranch," Jack explains.

Ángel responds happily and giddy, his excitement bubbling over.

"Keep looking, there's more," Jack encourages his son to explore the rest of the gifts, eager to see his reaction.

“Muy bien (very well), Mr. Jack," Ángel says obediently, forgetting Jack doesn't know Spanish. He reaches into the bag and pulls out a book.

"One hundred fun facts about Horses," Ángel reads out loud and gasps.

"He loves books," you fill Jack in.

Jack was going to say, he didn't get that from me, but he held back and instead replied, "he got that from you."

"Can I read this now?" Ángel questions, clutching the milkshake in one hand and the book in the other.

"There's still more,” Jack points at the bag.

Ángel seemed astonished, asking as if he couldn't believe it, "More?"

"Just one more," Jack laughs at his son's excitement.

For the third time, Ángel reaches into the bag, his face contorted in confusion as he struggles to pull out the item with one hand. "Ma," he calls out and hands you his drink. You hold it for him, and with both hands, he successfully retrieves the last item from the bottom of the bag.

He takes out a black box with the word 'stetson' printed in white ink. Your son rattles the box, but his eyebrows pinch in the middle; he can't make out what's inside the box.

He finally reads the text and asks, "What is a stetson?" Not waiting for an answer as his curiosity got the best of him, he takes matters into his own hands and opens the box, revealing a layer of white tissue paper inside. This time, he's more careful. With his small fingers, Ángel gently grasps the paper from both ends in the middle and pulls it apart.

"Wow!" he exclaims as he sees a black hat upside down. He delicately removes the hat from its container and flips it over to examine it with wide eyes.

Ángel looks at Jack with a smile that warms Jack's heart, a smile he'd do anything for, even if it meant crawling to the depths of hell and facing Satan himself, just to keep it on his son's face.

He begins, "My grandpa gave me a hat—" but his sentence is cut short when he eyes Jack's own hat. He then turned his attention back to the smaller hat in his hands, his face contorted with intense concentration. "Wait... it's just like yours, Mr. Jack!"

The smile that Jack offers in response is just like Ángel's. He can already envision his son wearing everything he's given him. The prospect of having his son resemble him, even in a small way, fills Jack with emotion. Tears prick Jack’s eyes at the thought of his son looking like a little version of himself, without the mustache, of course. He can’t wait for the day his son will be his spitting image, from head to toe, or more appropriately, from the top of the hat to the tip of his boots. Now he just needs boots, Jack thinks, making a mental note to purchase them soon.

"Do you like it?" Jack asks.

"I love it!" Ángel exclaims.

Without hesitation, he places the hat on his head and grins when it fits perfectly. "My glasses didn't fall this time!"

Laughter envelops the room, and you can't help but wish for this kind of co-parenting relationship with Jack.

“Papi, look, it looks a little like the one grandpa gave me,” Ángel says not resisting showing his dad, as he does with everything.  

It was indeed true; Chucho had gifted his grandson a straw hat. The moment Ángel received the hat, he'd given his grandpa a giant hug and then raced to show his dad.

Javi had never shared his son before, so watching him interact with Jack was a bit difficult for him. But he knew it was for the best, and he held onto the certainty that Ángel would always be his son, no matter what.

"Sí, mijo, te ves lindo (Yes son, you look nice)," Javi honestly praised Ángel's appearance, trying to focus on the happiness of the moment.

Jack, in the same boat as Javi, felt his heart chip ever so slightly every time Ángel called Javier "dad." He made a conscious effort to push aside these feelings and to fully enjoy the present.

"It’s perfect, right?” Jack asked, wanting reassurance.

“Yes, Mr. Daniels. Thank you,” Ángel replied, gratitude in his eyes, and he invited Jack to sit down next to him.

Jack complied happily, impressed by Ángel's ability to win him over so quickly.

“Can you tell me more about your ranch, please?” Ángel gazed at Jack with puppy eyes, and Jack couldn't resist.

He chuckled at how quickly his son could melt his heart. "Sure thing."

“Wait! I want a picture first,” Ángel suddenly announced.

“I’ll do it,” Jack offered before you or Javi had a chance to react.

Jack stood up from his chair, retrieved his phone from his pocket, and started setting up the camera. While he was busy, Ángel adjusted his jacket to make sure it wasn't slipping off the shoulder where his arm wasn't through the sleeve.

“Ready?” Jack asked, his finger poised over the top right button to take a picture.

Ángel didn’t reply with words. Instead, he looked up at Jack and said, “Cheese,” remembering to smile.  He held the pose while Jack's phone captured several clicks.

“Thank you, Mr. Jack,” Ángel said gratefully.

“Thank you, buddy.” 

Jack moved to his gallery to look at the pictures he had just taken and let out a sigh of frustration when he noticed the quality wasn't what he had hoped for.

“Maybe I need to get a newer phone,” he grumbled, slightly annoyed.

At that moment, Javi's voice came from behind him, growing nearer. “Probably because I heard the Smithsonian wants to contact you to make a deal so they could display your phone for their 1930s collection,” Javi deadpanned, handing his own phone to Jack. “Here, use my phone. I'll make sure you get the pictures.”

Jack accepted the phone with an eye roll, gave a begrudging nod, and muttered a terse 'thanks' before asking his son to smile once more. This time, Jack was satisfied with the pictures he took and returned Javi's phone.

A palpable tension lingered between the two men as they settled back into their respective chairs, the strained atmosphere refusing to dissipate but remaining held in check within the confines of the hospital room.

Sipping on their milkshakes, Jack raked his brain for a story to share, while you removed your son’s jacket to allow him to lay back more comfortably.

Once Ángel was nestled against the pillows, Jack began his story. “During nights at the ranch, the stars are beautiful. The most beautiful starry nights…”

starry nights

starry nights

starry nights

“And that is The Big Dipper,” you pointed at the sky and traced the constellation with your finger. It was a collection of seven bright stars in the shape of a ladle, its handle stretching out across the sky like a long handle on a giant celestial spoon. It was a clear, beautiful night, and the stars seemed to shine especially bright.

“Over there is Orion,” you traced with your finger again. Orion was one of the most recognizable constellations, with its three stars forming Orion's Belt.

“and there-” you turned to look at Jack, expecting to find him gazing at the stars as you had been. Instead, he was looking intently at you.

“What are you looking at?” You asked, puzzled as to why he wasn’t following your descriptions. “Am I boring you?” You wondered, a mix of genuine concern and offense in your voice.

“Nunna that,” he replied in his thick drawl.

“So?” You prodded.

“I just love you,” he said, his expression filled with adoration. Jack looked at you as though you were the most incredible thing in the world.

You couldn't help but laugh, maybe at the intensity of the moment, or maybe at the expression that sent your heart racing, or perhaps a combination of both. You reached out, ran your fingers through his hatless hair – a rarity – and pulled him in for a kiss.

A few months later, he proposed to you, and just like that, it seemed that overnight, he had changed.

The night Jack proposed, the air was filled with the scent of love and the promise of a shared future. Bodies exhausted from the intimate celebration, you both drifted into sleep with the utmost excitement for your upcoming wedding and the prospect of spending the rest of your lives together.

As you dreamt sweetly about your wedding day and all the plans you and Jack had lovingly discussed, Jack had an entirely different dream – one that would alter the course of your lives. In this dream, he was visited by his high school sweetheart, his first wife. She came to him, tearful and broken, a ghost of heartache, accusing him of replacing her with you. Over eight hours of sleep, Jack relived every shared moment, each memory etched into his mind, right down to the devastating memory of burying her along with their unborn son.

In his vivid dream, Jack meticulously compared the two of you, scrutinizing and contrasting your every feature, your every virtue. He reached the conclusion that his first wife was his one true love, his happily ever after. He placed her on an unattainable pedestal, and you, unfortunately, received the short end of the stick. In his altered and frantic mindset, still within the dream, Jack reassured her that you could never replace her because you could never be her. Jack decided that you could never measure up to the ideal woman he had built in his memories of his first wife.

Life had cruelly snatched her away, and in a perverse twist of fate, you became a living and painful reminder of everything he had lost and everything he could never regain. The woman he had lost became an unattainable ghost of perfection, and you, no matter how wonderful and loving, were forever held hostage by the shadow of her memory.

As the morning sun streamed into the room, you opened your eyes, anticipating the warmth of his presence beside you. When he wasn't in bed, you thought he might be in the kitchen making breakfast, so you searched for him happily, looking forward to sharing a bath to relive the delicious soreness from the night before, with thoughts of another round lingering in your imagination. However, your excitement turned to disappointment when he wasn't anywhere in the house.

Hours later, when he finally returned home, his behavior was curt, and he vaguely mentioned having something to do. Initially, you brushed it off, blaming his behavior on the stress of work, assuming it was a one-time thing. 

Then, a week passed; Jack distanced himself even further, rejecting your touch and avoiding PDA, which he used to love. The warmth that used to define your connection was now replaced by a chilling void.

Conversations about his day once shared openly, became scarce, and when you broached planning your wedding, he conveniently found errands or claimed overtime at work—anything to avoid the topic.

Your once lively conversations dwindled, and the late-night talks on random topics became a distant memory. Your hopeful wishes for Jack to return to his previous self remained just that—wishes. Instead of reverting, Jack's behavior worsened. Thinking back on that post-engagement morning, it was as though a different Jack had awakened: someone you wouldn't recognize in the years to come, leaving you confused about what you might have done to bring about this change.

Unbeknownst to you, Jack had finished his story. You returned from the memory you had tried so diligently to bury, only to realize that Jack was explaining to his son that he needed to leave.

“I’ve gotta go to the pharmacy and pick up my medicine," he told Ángel. Although Jack didn't specify the medicine he needed to collect, both you and Javi were well aware that it was the injections he needed.

Ángel's face fell with disappointment, evident in his now-diminished smile. But he quickly bounced back before Jack could offer more apologies.

"It's okay, Mr. Jack," he said with a brave smile, even though his eyes betrayed his disappointment. 

"Medicine is very important," Ángel added matter-of-factly.

Jack smiled at the boy's maturity. "You're absolutely right."

"I'll see you soon, right?" Ángel asked with a hint of concern in his voice.

"Whenever the hospital allows," Jack replied cautiously, refraining from disclosing his procedure, as Ángel wasn’t aware of the pending surgery, and Jack didn't want to lie to his son.

Ángel accepted Jack's answer and thanked him for the wonderful gifts before saying his goodbyes.

"I'll see you out, Jack. The exit you normally use is closed, so you'll need to go through the sky bridge," Javi offered.

"Sure," Jack agreed without protest.

He was just about to say goodbye to you when Ángel suddenly exclaimed, "Oh-uh…”

All three of you turned your heads, concern etching your features.

“Tengo que ir al baño (I have to go to the restroom),” he said anxiously. Typically, he didn't need assistance, but the IV made it complicated to go to the bathroom by himself.

Javi immediately offered, “Lo llevo yo (I’ll take him).” Given your pregnancy, taking care of Ángel was challenging, and Javi didn't want to jeopardize the well-being of all three of you. So Javi had willingly taken over the physical tasks of caring for him. He didn't mind – he loved looking after his son.  Besides, he didn't want you walking Jack out, given that he remembered Jack referring to you as his wife. A part of him would always hold some resentment toward Jack, but his priority was his son.

As you focused on helping Ángel with the sheets, Javi approached Jack, his jaw locked, and in a low tone, he leaned in, warning, "If you try anything..." His stern expression and brown eyes bore into Jack's, conveying a clear threat. The warning only reached Jack's ears, and Jack remained silent, reminding himself to behave in front of Ángel.

Javi then forcefully bumped shoulders with Jack as he moved past him to assist Ángel in the restroom. You missed this interaction, and when you eventually glanced at Jack, he was seething. It had been years since you had seen him so angry – precisely nine years, to be exact. Confusion clouded your mind, leaving you standing there, staring at him, and he did the same. Your attention was drawn away from him when Ángel said his final goodbye.

"Let's go," you told Jack and proceeded towards the door.

Jack gives his son one last look and sees Javi guiding him to the restroom inside the hospital room.

With that, Jack is on your heels. You are five steps ahead of Jack. As you walk ahead of him, you find your mind drifting to your relationship with Jack. You classified your relationship with Jack in two phases: pre-engagement and post-engagement. Pre-engagement Jack would lace your hands together every time you were out in public or have his arm wrapped around your waist or shoulder. He wanted everyone to know that you were his, and he was yours.

Post-engagement Jack underwent a drastic transformation. He no longer held you in public, except for that one instance when there was construction on a street that had forced him to help you across a blocked and narrow sidewalk. He also began to walk ahead of you, not just a step or two, but so far that you sometimes had to wait for the traffic light to change and he would be on the other side of the street. After several attempts of trying to catch up with him, you eventually stopped trying to keep up and accepted this new reality. 

Now, ironically, the roles had reversed, and you were walking ahead of Jack, with no intention of slowing down once you crossed the skybridge. Jack used long strides to catch up to you. Fortunately, the two of you were the only ones crossing the bridge that connected the children's wing to the parking lot, or else it might appear as if he were following you. Desperately, Jack wished to be by your side and engage in conversation. About what? Anything, really. He wanted to talk about the weather, the stars (something you once loved discussing but which he had grown annoyed with), or even something as random as worms, as long as it led to a conversation. He hoped to make you smile and laugh, even if it meant discussing the most mundane topics. Jack briefly wondered if this was how you had felt during your marriage – always yearning for his presence and conversation. He was already aware of the answer: yes.

As he rounded the corner, he saw you and swiftly pressed the elevator button. The doors opened with a soft ding right in time for Jack to step inside. You promptly pressed the button marked G1, initiating the descent. Jack's mind raced as he desperately sought the right words, knowing he had only a few precious minutes before you returned upstairs. Once you were outside, he finally summoned the courage to speak, but you broke the silence first.

“I’m begging you, Jack, do not flake on this. You heard Ángel's doctor. If you back out while he’s on chemo-”

“Do ya really think I would do that?” Jack's hands went to his waist, his eyebrows furrowing with anger and surprise. “To my own son?” He sounded genuinely shocked that you would even consider such a possibility.

“No...” After a pause, you decided to be honest, “Yes, Jack. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but it's the truth. I don’t know if I trust you. I want to. But I know better. I need to keep my guard up. I can’t risk it, not when Ángel is on the line. I did once, and look how that turned out.”

“Ya think I don't think 'bout that often?” Jack's voice rose. “Okay, I know what I did…” He paused and took a deep breath. “I won’t do that again. I will never abandon him. Ever. I will not fail him again.”

You repeated to yourself, Don't cry, don't cry.

“And you think it was easy for me to forget?” you continued, voice trembling. “I thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. After you proposed, you... you changed!” 

"I remember that once, I dropped off lunch at your office because I got out of work early, and I wished I never left work." The tears welled up in your eyes as you recalled the painful memory. "I was in your building, on my way to your office, when a guard stopped me before I got to the reception. I explained that I was going to drop off food for my husband, and he asked me who I was married to." You continued, “Of course, I said your name, and you know what he said?" Without giving Jack a chance to speak, you added, "He said he was under the impression that your wife had passed away."

The color drained from Jack's face.

"It was so embarrassing, Jack. I didn't know what to say." You covered your eyes with both hands. "He and everyone on the floor thought I was crazy and making shit up." After a moment of silence, you continued, “At least Ginger was there, and she took me away into a hallway. I begged her not to say anything. I just went back home and cried my heart out."

Jack looked like a fish out of water, struggling to find words.

You pointed your index finger at his face and said, "Yeah, do that for like two minutes with a Tupperware of food, and you'll look exactly like me." Your dry laugh turned into a scoff.

"I'm sorry. Jesus, Sugar, I'm so sorry."

You heard the emotion behind his words and snapped, “Oh, don’t you fucking dare cry.” You were furious that he wanted to cry when you were the one who had gone through this. Years ago, you would've never dreamt of him feeling the burden of your pain, one that he had caused. You would've shielded him and shouldered everything, but you had changed too.

“I already cried enough for the both of us,” you add.

That made Jack want to cry more, but he quickly composed himself and fought back the unshed tears.

He comes closer to you, cupping your face in his hand. You shiver. Not because you feel any warm feelings you used to. Quite the opposite; you shiver because his hand is so cold.

"I'm sorry for hurtin’ you, baby," he says sincerely, looking into your eyes.

“Don’t,” you say, smacking his hand away. “Don’t call me that and don’t ever touch me again.” It's as if the palm of his hand gave you a freezer burn.

Suddenly, you hear heavy and hurried footsteps behind you.

From the corner of your eye, you see one of the security guards from the lobby.

“Is there a problem?” the security guard asks.

Jack looks at the guard annoyed as if he interrupted something. “I’m talking with my wife.”

“Oh my God, stop saying that! I’m not your wife!” you exclaim, frustration lacing your voice.

“Ma’am, is this man bothering you?” The security guard is about to intervene, concern evident in his tone.

“No! He was just leaving, sir.” You manage to give the best smile you can muster to the guard, doing your best to reassure him. 

Jack, still looking irritated, takes a step back, giving you some space.

You grab Jack’s jacket and spin him around so he could look onto the parking lot. In a hushed voice, you whisper-yell, “Jack, don’t make a scene. If you get in trouble, you won’t be allowed into the hospital, and then Ángel won’t have a donor.” You didn’t know that would happen if the security guard kicked him out, probably not, but you were just saying things to make him leave.

Shit, shit, shit, why do I keep doing this? he asks himself.

“We’ll talk another day, Jack,” you sound deflated.

“Right now I have to get back and explain everything to Ángel since he’s getting surgery tonight,” you say.

That sobered him up.

“Okay. Call me with any updates. Text me too. It don't matter what time.”

You nod and turn to go back to your family.

A/N: I've created an account exclusively for reblogging my writing: @loslentesdepedrito-library . Feel free to follow me there if you'd like to be notified about anything and everything I write!

This is the fastest I've ever created a graphic (even though it took me a week 😳), yay! The next couple of weeks will be busy for me, but I hope to upload the last chapter before the end of the year. I know! I just have a lot to catch up on since I went on sick leave :(

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy @mishasminion360 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @stileslvr @pedrostories

[autumnalfallingleaves]

heck it have a TON of my own changling hilda hc's

Hilda found out she could still change into a troll during a heated game of dragon panic, and its safe to say everyone panicked a little when she suddenly became stone

The transformation is (at first) emotion based. Whenever Hilda feels extreme emotion, she goes troll mode! If the feelings are sudden then she just poofs into her troll form but if her feelings build up then some signs of her changing can be seen:

Bits of her skin turning into stone and her hair getting a bit more grey.

Her teeth getting more sharp and jagged.

Her eyes glowing like a trolls eyes.

Slightly longer nose.

At first she was scared of scaring her friends and others off by suddenly becoming a troll, but over time as troll acceptance grew she felt more comfortable saying that she was half troll.

Over time she learnt how to willing become her troll self, and whenever she willingly becomes a troll her body ignites in troll flames before they dissipate and reveal her troll self, and when she goes back to being a human its in a puff of smoke.

Also when she does willingly become a troll her outfit doesn't magically vanish, instead its represented by flora! Her clothes are colorful lichen, her scarf is a yellow vine around her neck, and her hat is a black flower!

Like trolls, instead of getting cuts and burses when injured Hilda gets cracks and fractures. These translate to scrapes when she reverts back to human. But the most horrifying aspect is that Hilda's troll from can break if put under too much pressure or force. (One time during a nightly picnic with her family and friends she fell off a cliff and landed on her arm, which broke off. Everyone else had to quickly rush to the trolls and ask if there was anyway to fix this, and luckily there was. [idk what it be, maybe some rare flower?])

There were a few times she turned in public:

When she got her first sparrow scout badge, she jumped for joy when she claimed it, turned into a troll, and thanks to the spotlights turned into a rock and broke the floor.

The first time Frida kissed her...with all of their parents in the next room.

There's more times but I can't think of any rn

Johanna has had to explain that her daughter can just go troll mode sometimes to many people, so most of Hilda's friends and some other people know about this.

Another weird changling think is that sometimes she just gets "Troll Flashes" and just turns into a troll for no reason at all. So she packs a sunhat and gloves just in case she feels like she's going to turn into a troll, to keep outta the light.

Hilda can fight the "turning into stone" bit depending on 1: The lights strength (its easy to fight simple light blub light, but a spotlight is a tough battle) and 2: amount of coverage on her body (the more skin showing, the more she'll have to fight)

She doesn't like the sounds of bells now, its tolerable as a human but gives her headaches as a Troll. One time during a celebration involving a big bell she got knocked out when it started ringing. David gifted her some pocket muffling headphones to lessen bell pain.

Whenever she is turned to stone its like a form of sleep, so from her pov she's turning into stone, then she's breaking out even though its been few minutes or hours later from when she became stone.

A troll taught her troll curse words, now she is unstoppable!!! /j (this one is more silly :P)

I love these!! I adore seeing how different people go about with their own versions of Changeling Hilda :D I think it's cool that you have Hilda's troll-ness not being a secret, like how I (and I think other people?) have done. Kid's even weirder now lmao

(And if you haven't seen it already and you're interested, I'd recommend checking out @formallyuninformed 's Changeling Hilda stuff for some angst related to your fourth point ;) )

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag. 

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had. 

God, you’d never have friends like that again. 

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen. 

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up. 

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment. 

A city now filled with killers. 

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil. 

Not good. 

Shit. Karver, where did you go!? 

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US. 

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air. 

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed. 

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy. 

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.” 

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been. 

So that was where you came in. 

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.  

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.” 

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty. 

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back. 

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips. 

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple. 

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses. 

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing. 

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured. 

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper. 

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same. 

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come. 

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder? 

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death. 

Your mark has been met. 

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow. 

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze. 

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman. 

The Reaper. 

Oh, what would they think of you now? 

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times. 

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all. 

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries. 

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete. 

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling. 

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set. 

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group. 

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play. 

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching. 

“Hm,” their command affirms.  

 Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–” 

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different. 

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances. 

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow. 

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit. 

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys. 

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant. 

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat. 

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate. 

Price grunts under his breath. 

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask. 

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?” 

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over. 

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves. 

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion. 

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’. 

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand. 

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all. 

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.” 

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell. 

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate. 

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.” 

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer. 

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?” 

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in  – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book. 

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit. 

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over. 

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted. 

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm. 

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before. 

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows. 

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture. 

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.” 

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head. 

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant. 

The room is more silent than Ghost is. 

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.” 

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow. 

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.” 

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time. 

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered. 

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague. 

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim. 

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes. 

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.” 

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders. 

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now! 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.” 

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do. 

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping. 

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself. 

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission. 

And Ghost. 

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks. 

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt. 

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work? 

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky. 

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.  

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch. 

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens.  He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.” 

“Sir!” 

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been. 

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back. 

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself. 

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest. 

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly. 

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily. 

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time. 

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen. 

But there were ups to this constant downward slope. 

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market. 

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.” 

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks. 

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters. 

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky. 

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull. 

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean. 

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me. 

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

 Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt. 

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant. 

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice. 

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked. 

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point. 

If I had known…you frown. 

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.” 

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it. 

Like blood lining the street. 

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you. 

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you. 

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver. 

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins. 

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch. 

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days. 

Your Captain scurries after. 

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type. 

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude. 

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle. 

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case. 

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth. 

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement. 

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?” 

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.” 

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms. 

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?” 

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’ 

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat. 

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’ 

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves. 

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report. 

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued. 

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom. 

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat. 

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race? 

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute. 

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted? 

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound. 

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.” 

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit? 

“Now that’s dark.” 

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights. 

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore. 

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you. 

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?” 

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how. 

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left. 

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely. 

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath. 

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets. 

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles. 

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare. 

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious. 

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.” 

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh. 

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow. 

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way. 

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around. 

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you. 

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around. 

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led. 

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–” 

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it. 

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after. 

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you. 

Boxed in. 

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it. 

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you. 

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it. 

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you. 

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps. 

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious. 

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah! 

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!” 

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs. 

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement. 

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.” 

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant. 

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that. 

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow. 

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee. 

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.  

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time. 

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter. 

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant. 

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now. 

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip? 

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side. 

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate. 

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years. 

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated. 

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks. 

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet. 

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should. 

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors. 

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth. 

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong. 

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you? 

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[the-himawari]

A3! Outing Event Translation - You're my first and last love. (4/11)

*Please read disclaimer on blog

---

Sakuya: And so, gathering together all our ideas from today… A sweets making class, a flyer and costume exhibit, a hands-on makeup experience, and selling merch. We have a lot to work with here!

Azami: Maybe we can pull off somethin’ decent if we combine them with the other teams’ ideas.

Sakyo: Hold it. There’s still one more guy who hasn’t contributed an idea yet. Oi, Usui. Don’t you have anythin’?

Masumi: …

Misumi: Anything’s fine, Masumi~.

Masumi: …What about a letter writing corner?

Sakuya: That sounds great!

Sakyo: Huh? You just wanna write one for Director, don’tcha?

Masumi: So what? What about your idea? You just want to make sweets for Director, don’t you?

Sakyo: Don’t lump us together. It’s not about Director. Sweets are a classic for White Day, aren’t they?

Masumi: In that case, letters are a classic way to express your gratitude.

Sakuya: P-Please calm down, you two!

Misumi: Nooo fighting!

Masumi: We aren’t fighting.

Sakyo: I’m not even touching him.

Hisoka: …They’re like kids.

Azami: For real. By the way, we could’ve just used our troupes for the teams this time. Why’d we go outta our way to choose through a lottery?

Sakyo: This is an event for MANKAI Company’s fans. Seeing as all the members are participatin’, it’s meaningful if we do something that transcends the borders of our troupes. Well, we also thought that stayin' in our troupes could lead to biased opinions. That’s why Director suggested we do a lottery with all of us mixed together this time.

Sakuya: If we all work together, then I’m sure it’ll be a wonderful event!

Azami: I mean, I guess so. But it’s pointless if our efficiency also drops because of that.

Hisoka: Zzz…

Sakyo: —Tch. We’ll disband for today. All of you, give some more thought into what you wanna do, got it?

-pause-

Masumi: … (What I want to do for a White Day event…) (Director is the first person I want to express my gratitude to. That’s why I want to do something that makes her happy.) (But I’m sure Director will like anything I do. She complimented me and gave me the okay for the letter writing idea I came up with earlier.) (But that’s not what I want. I want something that will make her happy from the bottom of her heart—) …The only thing I can think of is a play. *Sigh*…

-pause-

Sakuya: —And so, we’ve come up with even more plans…

Azami: Just like our first meeting, none of ‘em feel quite right.

Hisoka: …Nothing sticks out.

Misumi: Hmm… is the triangle shop no good after all?

Sakyo: We never said it’s no good. But that alone ain’t gonna fill up the whole day.

Masumi: … (Maybe a play is our only option…)

Azami: I’ve been thinkin’. Is doin’ a play like usual off the table? I mean, we’re a theatre troupe ‘n all.

Sakyo: I understand what you mean, but we’ve got 24 members… We were fortunate enough to line up everyone’s schedules. It’ll be hard to prepare the script and costumes for all 24 of us if we start now.

Sakuya: That’s very true. Our invitation to the event also came on such short notice…

Sakyo: Right. And even though it’s called a hall, I don’t think there’s any area that’s like a stage.

Hisoka: Is there not much space?

Sakyo: The layout is kinda complicated. Given the structure of the building, the organizers probably wanna use this event to see how it can be used.

Azami: Once again, I’m amazed at how flippant they are about this…

Sakuya: In any case, I’ll make a note of the play. If there aren’t any more ideas, then let’s close today’s meeting.

Hisoka: …Sure.

Masumi: …

---

previous | next

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter ten: a hidden gem, my own goldmine

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 10k

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, mariposa, etc.), polite southern manners, feeling familial and self-pressure, ESTABLISHED relationship FINALLY, spanish cause joel is latino, fingering, unprotected p in v, dirty talkkk king joel miller, soft (and soft dom) joel, possessive joel, mentions of depression diagnosis and symptoms, struggling with self, discussion of co-parenting, angst, MAJOR doubt! and a slumber party! yay!

a/n: thank you as always to the bestie/cousin/sister wife/sweet, sweet gf @northernbluess for beta-reading this chapter, seriously i can't write without you so you're stuck with me. also this chapter is a little heavier in spanish then before, so if there are any corrections needed, please comment or message me! i went through multiple translations to try to find the best/most common, but things are bound to slip through the cracks.

Joel’s been catching up with some chores around the house this evening after Sarah’s gone to bed: dishes are washed and put away, counters wiped down and floors mopped. He reset the living room after he put the laundry in the dryer, settling onto the couch with a long sigh. Hands rub at his tired eyes, muscles aching for his bed but he is determined to stay up until you text him that you’re back at your friend’s house safe.

A few of your friends from college ended up with jobs in Austin, and tonight you’d all arranged to go out downtown. You had, sweetly, invited Joel to tag along but when you mentioned that the only other guys there would be boyfriends of your friends that were your age, he politely declined. Well, he used his daughter as an excuse because he didn’t want to admit that he was a little insecure about the age difference, even still.

It’s not even a large one, you’re twenty-five  and he’s thirty-three, but with a nearly ten year old kid and his own business, he’s willing to bet he’s in a much different place in life than your friends' significant others. And if there isn’t a lot of common ground, Joel knows he’s not the most social or conversational.

Resting his eyes, his head rolls back onto the couch while the TV drones on about the latest Astros game. A short buzz from his phone in his pocket peels his eyes open, yawning quietly as he fishes the device out and flips it open.

FROM: Mariposa

Cn u pcik me up pLs????

While deciphering your drunk text, another couple are delivered and he keys down to see them as he chuckles at the antics. 

I miiss u

Eveynoe is w their BFs n I wnt mine 

Plesaseeeeeee J

Before he can type a response to you, an incoming call blocks out his screen, his thumb hitting the accept button quickly and bringing the phone to his ear.

“Feelin’ alright, Mari?”

A hiccup on the other line makes him laugh quietly again, your voice coming in over the music and people in the background, “No, not alright. M’sad.”

“Why’re you sad, sweet girl?”

“Cause you’re not here. Every—everybody’s…No I didn’t want a vodka water, gross! I wanna vodka soooooda with lime…Oops, sorry J. What was I saying?” A giggle from your end pulls a smile on his face, only slightly worried at your level of intoxication.

“You were telling me why you’re sad.”

“Right! M’sad cause all my friends have got their boy—” One hiccup. “Boyfriends here. And you’re aaaallllll the way at home.” Another hiccup. “I wanna be home with you.”

“I see. Well, I don’t want you to be sad, darlin’, so m’gonna come pick you up. How’s that sound?”

He hears a gasp into the phone and your voice gets quieter, imagining you holding the phone or turning your head away to a nearby friend.

“He’s coming! Jus’ to pick me up though, we gotta get back for Sar—Sarah…Yeah, she’s so cute…Well, yeah duh, he’s a DILF…I mean, to me I guess he’d be a DIAF…‘Dad I Am Fucking’…Oh, shit!” There’s a rustling as he laughs to himself overhearing your conversation, a smug smile on his face from you bragging to your friends. “M’sorry, J, god I totally forgot I was on the phone!” You punctuate your sentence with an incredulous laugh before quieting down to hear Joel.

“That’s alright, Mari. M’gonna drop Sarah with Tommy and then come and get you, okay? Can you tell me where you are?” Joel is already standing from the couch, grabbing his keys from the entryway before making his way upstairs to get Sarah into the car.

“Ummm…One sec!” The line rustles again while he stands at the top of the stairs. “Okay, we’re at that place on 11th, Nickel City.”

“Yeah, I know where that is, sweetheart. Be there soon, okay?”

“Okay. Tha—” One last hiccup. “—nks, J.”

“Anytime, amor. Anytime.”

With Sarah dropped off at Tommy’s, Joel goes into town to pick you up. It takes another twenty minutes from Tommy’s place, finding a parking spot not too far from the bar. He slips in the door and starts to comb his eyes over the crowd, most people stepping out of his way from his intimidating frame while he weaves through the masses.

Spotting you off to the side at a high-top table, some friends he recognizes from your photos dotted around the surface as well. You’re wrapped up in a conversation with the person next to you while you sit on a stool, Joel’s eyes finally landing on the person you’re talking to. It’s another man, about his height, maybe a few inches shorter. He’s got light hair, a clean-cut look with some fancy shirt on. Clearly, the guy is flirting with you, standing closer and leaning an arm around the back of your chair. Knowing how drunk you sounded over the phone, it occurs to him that you likely don’t even realize this guy’s body language, a primal possessiveness taking over his judgment. 

He’s waited years for you. There’s no way in hell he isn’t putting on a show for this guy to send him a message.

Joel rolls his shoulders back, chest raising with the corrective posture. He saunters over to the table, politely smiling and waving as your friends must recognize him and welcome him to the group. He walks right up to the other side of your chair, placing a hand on your lower back and brushing against the skin exposed by the tank top you’re wearing.

A small gasp exhales from you with the surprise contact, turning your head and beaming when you see him. The look makes the wings of his butterfly flap faster, beating in time with his heartbeat.

“You’re here! M’so happy to see you.” He matches your smile before he is crushed in a hug, your arms around his neck. Unraveling from each other, you turn back toward the other man, before one of your other friends comes over to tell you something, pulling you away but still within arm’s length for Joel to keep his hand on you.

Joel reaches his hand out toward the man,  “Nice to meet you…”

“Colton.”

“Nice to meet you, Colton. Are you one of the college friends?”

Colton gives a weak handshake to Joel, shaking his head with a laugh, “No, actually, never met any of ‘em until tonight. Well, except Taylor. M’relatively new to town, met Taylor through work, so you know how it is. Trying to make some connections.”

Joel has to hold back his eye roll, annoyance clear on his face at the skirting around that this Colton is doing. Joel’s heard it before from Tommy — going up to a girl and using the ‘new in town’ line to get a conversation started and to hopefully get them to leave with you to ‘show you around’.

Mine. You’re mine, he repeats to himself, the jealousy pumping in his veins.

“So’re you one of the college friends? Or an Austin friend?” Colton makes polite conversation while you turn in Joel’s arm and wrap your own around his back. Tugging on his t-shirt the fingers of one of your hands slip under the material and skim across his skin. Joel clears his throat, chuckling dryly as he keeps his gaze on Colton.

“Uh, not quite. M’the boyfriend.” His head nods to his side to you, a tight, smug smile on his face as he watches the gears in Colton’s head turn.

It’s not happening for him tonight. Or ever.

“Oh shit! You must be Joel! We’ve been waiting for you. I’ve just been making sure she’s had some water and didn’t wander off before you got here. She’s been talkin’ about you all night, made me think about how many times I’ve drunkenly ranted about my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Taylor’s my girlfriend — she’s the one with blonde hair right across the table.” Colton beams down the way as Taylor makes eye contact with him, waving to the woman as she smiles back at him.

The man is a golden retriever. And Joel thought he was some douchebag trying to hook up with his girlfriend. Joel opens his mouth to apologize for his cold behavior, but before he can your head pops up from his chest, grabbing his attention. Hands at his back scratch your nails against his skin, humming contently as you press a sloppy kiss to his jaw.

Colton considers his duties relieved and goes to find his girlfriend before Joel can thank him, leaving the two of you at the end of the table. Joel pulls his chin in to look down at you, smiling softly and moving a hand to the back of your neck.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, jus’ happy you’re here. Missed you.”

Joe presses a kiss to your forehead and you hum again, swaying sleepily in his arms. “M’glad you called me, Mariposa.”

“Can we go home now please?”

“Yeah, Mari, ‘course we can. You want me to bring you to your house?” His hands move to your sides, running up and down against the fabric of your tank top. You hook your arms around his neck and shake your head, a tiny “humpf” accompanying it.

“No, home.”

“My house?”

“Yes! Home. Wanna sleep in your bed, s’comfier than mine.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, I can bring you home.”

A warm stirring is felt in his chest, steadying you in your stance and keeping an arm around your waist. You say goodbye to your friends, all of them waving to you both as Joel steers you through the bar and to his truck outside.

Joel calls Tommy on the way home, his brother telling him that Sarah’s out cold and he can bring her back in the morning when she wakes up. He presses for an answer about why Joel had to drop Sarah off, but Joel ignores Tommy’s question again and hangs up.

Safely back at his house, he helps you out of the truck and inside, walking behind you on the stairs as you stumble. It’s like a baby deer learning to walk — he’s never seen you this drunk, tipsy, sure, but never at this level. A smile crosses his face as he imagines a moment like this in the future with you, maybe after a night out for the two of you or maybe even after your wedding.

Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts, tripping over your feet at the landing and recovering on your own. His hand hovers at your back, ready to break your fall if it happens.

“I’m alright, m’alright. Jus’ tripped a lil’.”

To be safe, Joel holds your hips the rest of the way up and into his room, sitting you on the edge of the mattress and gathering a t-shirt from his drawers for you to wear to bed.

“No, I want the funny one that I like,” you whine, waving a hand back at his dresser. Joel shakes his head to himself, chuckling about the fact that you still have a preference for sleep attire.

He grabs the shirt you’re talking about, a worn and washed one that he got as a joke from Tommy a few years ago. He normally wears it to sleep himself, if he wears one, or around the house if he knows he won’t be going out. It’s faded black now, yellow text that reads ‘I do know it all…I just can’t remember it all at once.’

Upon finding it in his drawer last week, you laughed hysterically and made him put it on for a Polaroid. You’ve also requested it every time you’ve stayed over since. 

In front of you again, with the correct shirt, he kneels down and pats the outside of your thighs. “Can you stand for me, sweetheart?”

Using his shoulders as support, you stand on sea legs, swaying back and forth as he looks up at you. “Can I take off your skirt, darlin’?”

“Yeah, you can, cutie.” You giggle and sway wider, playing with the curls at the top of his head, turning his head to your will as he unbuttons and unzips your denim skirt. “You got some grays mixed in here, mister.”

“M’getting old, Mari. No surprises there.” He chuckles and helps you lift each foot to step out of the tube of material completely, rubbing a hand on your calf before he stands in front of you again. He’s faced with a pout, brows knit together in anger.

“You’re not getting old. You’re literally in your thirties. Not old.”

“Say that to the gray hairs then, sweetheart.”

“Gray hairs—“ Hiccup. “Mean nothing ‘sides the fact that you’re gonna be a silver fox. My silver fox.”

A content smile, closed lips, pulls the corners of your mouth up. Heavy eyelids cover your irises halfway, the sight of you so drunkenly drowsy is utterly adorable to him. Fingers grip the bottom of your tank top, kissing your forehead.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Take it all off, bay-beeee.” Your swaying causes you to stumble again, Joel catching you before you fall back onto the bed. Once you’re steady, your own hands slip under his shirt, running over his tummy while you press sloppy kisses into his neck. “Mm, want you so bad, J.”

“I love you, darlin’, and you know I want you all the time, but not tonight. You need to get some water and go to sleep. For a while.” A defeated sigh blows against his skin, rocking back on your heels and Joel holding your weight to bring you to stand straight again. “Arms up, baby.”

You comply without another ask, lifting your arms as if they’re heavy weights, allowing Joel to tug the material over your head. With a slight slap sound, your arms drop back against your sides. Joel takes off your bra for you and gets you into his t-shirt, giving you a small kiss. He walks you to your side of the bed, tucking you in.

“Be right back, sweet girl. Gonna get you some water and then you can go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay.” You sigh, nesting into the sheets and duvet. Your eyes close, soft hums filling the room as he runs downstairs, filling a glass of water and grabbing ibuprofen to leave at your bedside for the morning.

Returning to his room, he coaxed you to sit up, having you drink half the glass. He changes for bed himself, stripping down to his boxers and slipping under the covers, pulling you closer with an arm around your waist.

“G’night, Mari.”

“Mm, night, J. Thanks for coming to get me and bringing me home. Like sleeping next to you lots more than a sleepover with my friends…”

“Like sleeping next to you too, Mari. Missed you all night. M’glad you’re home now.”

“Nightie night.”

“Nightie night, sweet girl. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” He pinches your side playfully, breathing a laugh out of his nose at your yelp and squeezing you closer. With a kiss to the top of your head, he lulls you to sleep with his fingertips running up and down your spine, thoughts going right back to those flash images of a future with you.

“Love you, Mariposa.”

There’s an ache all over your body, eyes too sore and crusted over with sleep to peel open when you first wake up. Light peeks through the curtains, shining onto the bed and directly at your face, making you groan into the pillow and attempt to roll over.

Unfortunately, your body is telling you to get up, find water or pain meds or some coffee, you really wouldn’t be all too picky at this moment. Rolling over onto your back, you reach out to your side and feel bedding underneath your hand, pouting to yourself when you finally open your eyes and see Joel’s gone. As you sit up, you can hear the shower turn on in the bathroom attached to his bedroom and you can hear some quiet humming from the other side of the door. A smile crosses your face, the idea of a shower nestling itself in your mind and feeling like it would be the only thing to get rid of all of this hangover.

On the nightstand next to you, there are two burgundy-colored tablets and a half glass of water, vaguely remembering last night when Joel made you drink the other half before going to sleep. Washing down the ibuprofen with the entirety of the water, you start to recount what you can recall from the night before, cringing internally when you get to the point that Joel showed up to pick you up. You don’t really remember getting home, but looking down at the t-shirt you’re wearing clues you in that Joel must have done most of the work to get you into bed.

Slipping out from under the duvet, you set the empty glass back down and slink over to the bathroom, twisting the knob and opening the door. The squeak of the hinges breaks your sneaking attempt and Joel’s humming stops.

He speaks up over the sound of the water, “Mariposa? That you?”

“I sure hope no one else would be sneaking into the bathroom this morning. Unless you have another drunk girlfriend you had to pick up from the bar,” you laugh at the self-deprecating joke, picking up your toothbrush and squeezing out a dollop of toothpaste to clean your teeth. And to get rid of the taste of tequila lingering on your tongue.

The shower curtain slides back a bit and Joel’s head sticks out, goofy grin on his face with curls hanging on his forehead. “Nah, just got the one. How’re feeling this morning?”

“Like I got beat up by a bunch of vodka sodas and a couple of tequila shots.” Your words are muffled around the foamy toothpaste, leaning back against the counter facing him.

“Yeah, you were pretty drunk, darlin’. But it was honestly cute, you’re a funny drunk.”

Turning back toward the sink, you fold over the sink to spit out and rinse your mouth out, groaning softly, “God, please tell me I didn’t do or say anything embarrassing.”

“Nothin’ too bad, but there were some things that I will be committing to memory,” Joel laughs and winks, the noise getting louder as you groan again and roll your head back.

“This is the worst part about getting drunk. People holding stupid shit you said over your head.” Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you look at Joel across the few feet separating you and watch him shake his head and grin sweetly.

“I’ll tell you what you said, sweetheart, but I think you’re in too physically fragile of a state right now.”

“God, you are right about that,” you sigh and shake your head, propping yourself off the counter you were leaning on, crossing the tiles to be only a foot from Joel’s face, “Can I join you? A shower sounds like exactly what I need right now.”

He nods quickly, halfway through the question and you chuckle at the antics, pulling the t-shirt over your head and slipping off your panties to leave both in a heap with Joel’s clothes. He opens the curtain for you and steps back toward the other wall while you close the curtain and drag yourself under the stream of water.

A sigh relaxes your chest and shoulders, closing your eyes as you let the warm water run all over you. Joel’s hands brush across your skin, the feeling of his work-worn palms sending a tingle of excitement down your skin and chilling your body even under the hot water. His thumbs cup under your breasts while the rest of his fingers splay out on your ribcage, tips of them toward your back as he holds you closer to him.

“Mm, you’re so beautiful, d’you know that, mi Mariposa? La mujer más hermosa del mundo (The most beautiful woman in the world),” Joel mumbles against your skin when he nestles into the crook of your neck, curving his back to fit with you perfectly. His hands wander from your ribs, circling around your back and drifting down to the swell of your ass where they settle with a gentle squeeze.

“I think I’m getting better at Spanish 'cause I understood that. And it was very sweet, thank you, J. I think you’re the most beautiful man in the world.” You giggle and feel Joel exhale a chuckle against your neck, peppering slow and spaced kisses along your shoulder.

“You also told me something else about what you think of me last night. Well, it was to one of your friends but you were still on the phone with me so I heard,” he stretches to full height again with a smug smirk, squeezing your ass again as you sigh.

“Oh god, what did I say to you? Did I feed your massive ego?” you tease, bringing your hands up to his shoulders and lightly scratching your nails against his skin.

“I learned that I am a DILF last night. Or according to you, I am a DIAF to you. Dad I Am Fucking.” He can barely get the last sentence out around his loud laugh, your embarrassed reaction of wide eyes and jaw dropped egging him on more.

“Stop, I cannot believe I said that. And that you heard! You’re never going to let me live that down.”

“Not a chance, sweetheart. Not a chance,” Joel can’t wipe the giggly smile off of his face as he continues, “Oh, and you also were definitely really into me getting you into pajamas last night. I asked if I could take off your shirt and you said ‘Take it all off bay-beeee’. Which was very tempting.”

“Oh my god, if you don’t stop telling me all of this right now, I won’t take anything off for you again.” It’s a thinly veiled threat, both of you know it holds zero weight.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop.”

“Thank you,” you breathe out as you turn toward the shelf in the shower, reaching for the body wash before Joel intercepts your hand, holding it in his and lowering it to your side. He presses his chest to your back, the contact also nudging his hard cock into the flesh of your ass.

“Y’know, I woke up this morning after you were all over me last night with a fucking hard on. Aching for you. And then you come in here and ask to join me in the shower, made it come right back…” he leans down, kissing your shoulder, up your neck and to your ear, “D’you still want me, Mariposa? Hm?”

One of his hands drifts to your inner thighs, coaxing your legs apart and swiping two fingers from your entrance to your clit. Your arousal coats his fingers, a quiet whimper leaving your lips in an exhale, eyes closing and head rolling back against his shoulder.

“You still want me, mi dulzura? Feels like you do,” his lips are against your ear, voice low and gravelly, and he slowly circles your clit as you continue to whimper and writhe in his arms, “Sounds like you do, too, mi amor. Y’know, we have the whole house to ourselves, Mariposa. I want you to be loud for me while I touch you. Understand?”

Lost in the sparks of pleasure slowly building, your words get caught in your throat as one of your arms reaches up to wrap around to the nape of his neck. At the lack of response to his question, Joel pinches your clit before pulling his hand away.

“No, no, no, please. I understand. I’ll be loud for you, J. Please touch me…”

You grip the curls at the back of his head, biting your lip and opening your eyes again to look at Joel’s head at your side. His hand comes back, his thumb rubbing your clit while his middle finger sinks into you until the first knuckle. He keeps his eyes on your face, slowly working the finger in and out of your cunt, never giving it to you fully.

“Fuck, don’t tease me, Joel. Please, pretty please, gimme more.”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, his nose nudging at your cheek to turn your head straight toward the tiled wall, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

“You want more, Mariposa?”

“Pleasepleaseplease.”

“Mm, and are you going to be good? Give me all your pretty sounds that I love?” Joel pushes his entire middle finger into you now, holding it there, “If I give you what you want, you gotta be loud for me, pretty girl.”

“I will, I promise.” You wiggle your hips to get any more friction building, grumbling in frustration when Joel’s other arm tugs your hips back against him, strapping you to him like a seatbelt. The thumb against your clit leaves, and as you’re about to complain again, Joel adds another finger and starts to thrust them in and out frenetically, the heel of his palm rubbing the sensitive bud at the front of your folds.

A sinful moan rolls from your gut, bouncing off of the walls of the shower and drowning out the sound of the water for a few seconds. You can feel Joel’s satisfied smirk against your skin, his mouth dipping to the crook of your neck to suck at your pulse point and leave his mark. His hand continues its rapid pace, your legs bending as they start to give out the closer you reach to the edge. To attempt to hold your weight, you lean your arms against the tiles, feeling yourself being held up by Joel’s arm tightened across your hips.

“Fuck, Joel, feels so fucking good. Oh!” Your voice pitches up when his fingers graze that spot inside your walls, the sound catching in your throat. Joel pushes deeper with his fingers, hooking them to find that same spot and petting against it with small strokes of his fingers. The sounds coming from you are uncontrollable, head falling back against his shoulder as a mess of his name, lustful whimpers and whines, and wanton moans echo in the steaming shower.

“That’s it, pretty girl, I can feel how close you are. Nearly squeezing my fingers out of ya.” Joel’s small groan vibrates against your shoulder, his hard-on being pressed into your back and leaking pre-cum. You can feel yourself clench around his fingers, the edges of your vision blurring as you near your peak. “Gonna come for me, Mari? Gonna be a good girl and come all over my hand so you can be ready for my cock?”

His words are the final push, pleasure oozing around his fingers and dripping down your folds, warmth spreading in your body as your nerve endings tingle. You can hear yourself moaning his name, small encouragements spoken in your ear as Joel continues to fuck his fingers into you throughout your orgasm. When you’re fully present in your body again, Joel slips his fingers out of you slowly, turning your head and kissing you deeply.

“Need you so fucking bad, Mariposa,” he says against your lips, kissing you fervently before speaking again, “Wanna bend you over and make you take my cock, and you’ll tell me how good it feels filling you up. You want it, pretty girl?”

“Need it, J. Please, I need you so bad.” You kiss him this time, pressing your hips back and grinding against his cock, the rumble of a mouth muffled into your mouth as your tongues meld together. Joel pulls away and grips your hips, turning both of you so his back is facing the stream of water.

“Hands against the wall, amor, arch your back for me—” You follow his instructions with one of his large hands skimming along your spine, folded to an angle at your hips. “That’s it, baby. So good for me.”

Joel takes his cock in his hands, teasing his tip at your entrance and earning a whine from you. A dark laugh is heard faintly from behind you, an equally quiet sigh of relief when he gives you just the tip.

“Mm, fuck, Mari. Estás tan apretado, y húmedo, y cálido. Nunca me voy a cansar de este coño. (You’re so tight, and wet, and warm. I’m never going to get tired of this pussy.)” 

Before you can formulate any sort of response, despite not fully knowing what he said, Joel gives you a few more inches of his cock, stuttering out a moan from you before his hips set a rough, desperate pace. Grunts and groans, moans and whimpers fill the bathroom, your names exchanged back and forth as he fucks you from behind. His hands hold tightly onto your hips, digging in to surely form bruises to match the hickey at your collar, and to keep you from being rammed into the wall with how hard his thrusts are.

“More, fuck, gimme all of it, J. Want you to fill me up, make it hard to fucking walk straight.”

There’s a vibrating rumble that resonates in your own chest, Joel completely pulling out on the downstroke and heaving his chest up and down with shallow breaths.

“Fucking dirty girl. Mi chica sucia. Filthy, baby.” He runs his fingers down the line of your spine, still arched for him. You feel him lined up at your entrance again, whimpering for him and pressing your hips back to try to get him inside. Joel chuckles, shaking his head, “Mm, can’t get enough of my cock, can you, sweetheart? Greedy little thing.”

Your jaw drops open with a toe-curling moan, Joel’s hips thrusting his throbbing cock into your waiting cunt to fill you completely, the same rough and hard pace set as he makes you knock forward and brace against the wall with every movement.

“Take it, darlin’. Oh, fuck, aguantarla. Puedes aguantarla, mi dulzura. (Oh, fuck, take it. You can take it, my sweetness.)” Joel’s head rolls back with another guttural moan, tilting forward to watch his cock disappearing into your dripping hole. “Fuck, such a pretty pussy. And it’s all fucking mine, isn’t that right, Mariposa?”

“Y-Yes! Fuck yeah, it’s all yours, J. No one could ever fuck me like you,” you glance over your shoulder and he makes eye contact, a wide, knowing smile on his face. Your cunt clenches around his cock, his brutal pace hurtling you toward the edge. Just as you’re about to ask for that little bit more, he reads your mind and slips one of his hands around your front, errantly rubbing circles in your clit.

“Can feel you around me, Mari, know you’re close. You gonna let me fill you up with my come? Gonna milk my cock with your tight pussy?”

All you can do is nod, eyes shutting tightly as moans squeak out of you. One hand reaches back to grip his wrist as he keeps you right there at the edge.

“Say it, baby. Say it back to me and I’ll let you come. Give you just what you need.”

A deep breath brings enough air into your lungs to rasp out, “Please fill me up, Joel. Wanna milk your cock of everything you can give me, want you to be dripping out of me all day. Remind me of how only you can have my pussy.”

“Fuck yeah, that’s right, sweetheart. Such a good girl.” Joel eyes that you have a hand bracing you still, letting go of your hip as he fucks you, rubbing your clit continuously. He reaches his free hand around to your mouth, prodding his thumb at your lips and humming when you take it into your mouth and suck. After a minute, he pops out his saliva covered digit and brings it back to your body, pushing into the tight ring of muscle facing him. The sensation of stimulation at all three places barrels you to your high, pussy gripping his cock as everything tenses and pleasure rocks your body and clears your mind.

With the tightness felt in both holes around him, Joel takes one, two, three more thirsts before he’s spilling into you, ropes of come coating your walls and lazy jerks of his hips fucking it deeper into you.

After a moment, Joel pulls out of you slowly, gathering all that dribbles out of you and pushing it back inside with his fingers, causing a shudder down your spine.

The two of you come down from your peaks, the water running cold now. Still needing to clean yourselves, Joel washes your body while you shampoo and condition his hair as he folds over to gently exfoliate your legs. The tasks get swapped, Joel washing your hair while you wash his body.

Stepping out, he grabs a towel for you, wrapping it around you tightly and giving you a sweet, chaste kiss. He gets another towel for himself, both of you drying off and heading back into his bedroom to get dressed again.

You sit on the edge of his bed in your clothes from last night, one of his shirts pulled over your tank top and tucked into your skirt. As you comb your fingers over your wet hair, you look at Joel as he pulls on a pair of jeans standing next to his closet.

“Hey, I have a question for you, actually.”

“Shoot, darlin’.”

“Am I remembering correctly that last night when you came to the bar, you were acting a little jealous toward Colton? Did you think he was flirting with me or something and you got all possessive?” you giggle quietly.

Joel blushes and shakes his head with an overexaggerated eye roll. “Pffft, no. Don’t remember it happening like that, probably a bit clouded in your memory.”

Laughing more, you stand up and cross over to him, hands splayed on his soft tummy and head tilted away from him.

“Oh, sure. Sure, J, we’ll go with that if it makes you feel better.” Reaching up you give his cheek a gentle pat and wink at him, giggling faintly before he gathers you up in his arms and gives you a kiss.

“Good, 'cause it does make me feel better. ‘Sides can you blame me for getting a little jealous? We’ve waited like three years to get this right with each other, m’not letting it go.”

“Me neither, which is why you don’t ever have to be jealous cause it’s only you, baby.” You send him a wink and a grin, giving him a kiss before you both hear the front door open, Tommy’s voice echoing upstairs as he calls out for Joel. He looks down at you, biting his lip.

“I didn’t think he’d be bringing Sarah home this early. Uh, d’you mind that he’s here or should I jus’ say…” he trails off awkwardly, waiting for your thoughts on how to broach the fact that you’re over here, in Joel’s shirt and clearly have stayed the night with your wet hair from the shower.

“If you’re fine with him knowing, we can tell him. That is if Sarah hasn’t spilled the beans already.” Joel laughs faintly and nods, running his hands up and down your arms.

“That is highly possible. But guess we’ll have to find out when we head downstairs. And I’m apologizing now for any stupid shit my brother says.”

“You act like I don’t know Tommy already.”

“You don’t know Tommy as my girlfriend. He’s going to give you some shit, and he’s going to give a lot to me for keeping it from him.”

“Think I can survive Tommy Miller. Now, c’mon, get a shirt on, and let’s go. I need some coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Joel descendsed the stairs ahead of you, rounding the corner into the kitchen and greeting his brother as Tommy pours himself a cup of coffee. Sarah is already at the table, cereal bowl in front her as she eats and reads her book. Joel grabs two mugs from the cabinet, earning a confused look from Tommy before you walk into the room, the confusion melting into mischief. His brother nudges at Joel’s arm and winks.

“Ah, así que esta es la razón de su aventura nocturna en la ciudad. Puedo ver por qué estabas tan desesperada por mi ayuda. (Oh, so this is the reason for your late-night adventure into the city. I can see why you were so desperate for my help.)”

Joel’s eyes roll into the back of his head, “Cállate, Tommy. Necesitaba que la llevaran a casa, así que le di una. (Shut up, Tommy. She needed a ride home, so I gave her one.)”

“Claro, claro. Un paseo. (Sure, sure. A ride.)”

“Pendejo de mierda (Fucking dumbass).”

“¿Qué? No estoy diciendo que haya algo malo en ello. Estoy feliz de ver a su hijo si significa que usted consigue algunos. Finalmente. (What? I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. I am happy to watch your child if it means you getting some. Finally.)” He laughs when Joel glares at him, Tommy crossing over to the table and covering Sarah’s ears. “Además, ella está jodidamente caliente. No sé lo que ve en un viejo como tú. (Plus, she’s fucking hot. Don’t know what she sees in an old man like you.)”

“Yo tampoco. Y deja de hablar de ella así. (I don’t either. And stop talking about her like that.)” Joel’s voice grits out the last sentence, his short fuse being tested with Tommy’s teasing this morning.

“No, realmente, ella es casi diez años más joven y podría conseguir a quien quisiera, pero ¿eres tú? Mejor empieza a apostar por los caballos, hermano. (No, really, she’s almost ten years younger and could get anybody she wanted, but it’s you? Better start betting on the horses, brother.)” His younger brother comes back to stand next to him, picking up his mug and taking a sip.

“Déjalo. (Quit it.)” Joel sends him another glare, grabbing the milk out of the fridge to add some to your cup.

“Maldita sea, tal vez tengo que contratar a una niñera para Sarah cuando está en mi casa. O tal vez la contrate yo mismo. (Damn, maybe I gotta hire a nanny for Sarah when she’s at my house. Or maybe I’ll hire her myself.)”

When Joel looks back at Tommy, he sees him eyeing you as you talk to Sarah at the table, smacking him upside the back of his head.

“Tommy, si no te callas la mierda ahora mismo, lo juro por Dios. (Tommy, if you don’t shut the fuck right now, I swear to god.)”

“Qué? Ella tu novia ahora? (What? She your girlfriend now?)” The young Miller questions, raising an eyebrow.

“Sí, lo es. Así que deja de hablar de lo caliente que es mi novia. (Yeah, she is. So stop talking about how hot my girlfriend is.)” Joel states matter-of-factly, shutting the fridge after returning the jug of milk.

“I understood some of that actually,” you say with a proud smile on your face, one of eager mischief on Tommy’s across the room.

Joel whips his head to you, wide eyes, “What did you understand?”

“You called him an asshole. Something about Sarah. The word girlfriend was thrown in there.”

Joel sighs quietly in relief, picking up your prepared mug of coffee.

“Oh, and something about you being old. And that your brother thinks I’m hot. ” Tommy sputters on his drink as he starts to laugh loudly, a deep blush warming Joel’s cheeks. You walk over to him and take the mug out of his hand, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Cause you’re not old and Tommy just wishes he wasn’t single at thirty years old.”

Joel laughs and Tommy waves your comment off, rolling his eyes before winking at you, “Oh please, you wish you found me before this old man.”

“Sure, Tommy. You can think that all you want, but I met you both on the same day.” Joel barks out a laugh, a smug grin on his face from you holding your own toward Tommy.

Joel looks at his brother, a smile growing on Tommy’s face, “Well, maybe you needed to get your eyes checked that day, Posey. Cause you’d have to be blind to not pick me over the decrepit ass.”

“Y’know, I’m happy to set you up with one of my friends. She likes the type of cute guys who think they’re funny.”

“I know I’m funny, Posey, so not sure if it’s gonna work out. But yes, I would like to be set up with this friend of yours, please…” You laugh and nod, sipping your coffee before answering.

“I’ll work some magic for ya, Tommy.”

“I like this one, Joel, better keep her around so she can be my wingman.”

“You say ‘this one’ as if there have been others,” Joel rolls his eyes and continues, “And I certainly don’t need your advice on that front Tommy. She’s got me as long as she wants me, but please dear god, you should not be his wingwoman. Don’t subject yourself to that torture, Mari.”

The three of you chat to catch up, Tommy genuinely asking about your time in Boston and telling you how glad he is that you’re back around to make his people happy again. The comment swells your heart before your attention is pulled to Sarah as she asks about having a sleepover with you.

“I would love to throw a sleepover with you, sweet pea. I’ll bring over all the goodies to your house and we can stay in your room and watch movies and paint our nails and do all the fun girly things.”

“Yes! And Daddy and Uncle Tommy aren’t allowed ‘cause no boys.” She points at the two of them, both of them frowning and sighing.

“Can I at least be at home, mija?” Joel jokes, and the three of you laugh as Sarah seriously considers her answer.

“Yeah, that’s fine, but you gotta leave us to do the sleepover things ourselves.”

“Deal, Bug. I can do that.”

“Oh yes! It’s all decided then, we’ll have a sleepover when your week at camp is over.” You clap your hands together and grin, already planning everything you need to do this week to prepare for it.

“Damn, Mari, you brought a lot of stuff for one night with Sarah.” Joel eyes you from head to toe, a duffle on your arm, and shopping bags in your hands. He takes the plastic bags from you, holding the back door open for you before following you over to the island to set down all of your purchases. “You do know it’s only Sarah, right, darlin’? None of her friends are coming. This is a practice run for a sleepover.”

“I know, but I wanted to make the first girly sleepover she has at her house fun. I loved having my friends stay over when I was younger, and I dunno, you’re a boy so you don’t get it.” Rustling around in the bags, you start to pull out snacks and candy, along with fun new nail polishes and nail stickers, new hair clips, some young-girl-friendly makeup, and new pajamas for Sarah and you.

“Sweetheart, this is all really nice, but let me give you some money for it all. This is a ton of stuff.” Joel glances at the counter covered in supplies, and before you can answer he’s walking to the front door to get his wallet from the entryway table.

You call out after him, “I’m not going to take it so don’t bother trying! It wasn’t even that much anyway.”

Popping back around the corner into the kitchen, cash in hand, he shakes his head with a mocking laugh, “You’re funny. Even if it was five dollars, I’m giving you ten. Now please take the cash.”

Joel stops in front of you, hand out with a hundred in his hand. A dry laugh leaves your chest, pushing his hand away as you continue to sort through everything from the shops, “Not happening. This was way less than a hundred dollars too, so definitely not accepting that. Go put it back in your wallet, Miller.”

“You’re so goddam stubborn sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah, and you’re not?”

“Hey, I didn’t say that. I know I’m stubborn, that’s why this argument is happening. And why I am about to do this.” Joel steps behind you, slipping the bill into the back pocket of your shorts. You groan, fishing it out and shoving it back in his hand, pushing at his chest.

Joel rebuttals with another attempt, stepping toward you but you step back, backing around to the other side of the counter as he follows closely. You hold your arms out to keep space between the two of you, not being able to hold back a laugh as you start to pick up the pace in your cyclical chase.

“Joel! I’m not taking your damn money, leave it!”

“Mariposa, please, we both know I am way more stubborn than you and m’not gonna stop unless you take it.”

Shaking your head, you turn around to actually move into a speedwalk-jog kind of walk around the kitchen, serpentining your steps.

“Darlin’, I can still catch you if you walk like that.”

“Well, I’d like to see you try.”

Joel takes that statement as a challenge, suddenly catching up with you and wrapping his arms to your front, slipping the bill in the waistband of your shorts before letting you go, putting his hands up in the air.

Wordlessly, you snatch the money from your bottoms, throw it on the counter, and go back to the pile of purchases on the counter. After all of that, you start to unload the drinks in the fridge and open the pantry to throw the sweets and other snacks on one of the shelves. Joel stands and watches you, eyes going back and forth between following your movements to all of the things lying out, including the money.

A feeling kicks up in your chest, tightening your insides with a wring. Small moments send you back to feelings like these, unsupported by actual occurrences but your brain doesn’t care about what actually happens; it prefers the what-ifs. What if this doesn’t last, what if you’re too young, what if you’re too anxious, too broken, too much and it all comes crumbling from under you before you fully realize it? What if this is one of those moments you look back on as a sign? It’s taut and consuming, begging you to say something about it to release the corkscrew.

“If this is too much or if I’m overstepping a — I don’t know — a parental boundary 'cause she’s not my kid, and I know that, of course, but I wanted to do this for Sarah. M’not the nanny that you have to reimburse anymore, I just thought it would be fun to make it like how my sleepovers used to be as a kid…”

Joel’s brows stitch together with what looks like confusion or concern, rounding the kitchen island and standing next to you. A hand on your hip closest to him presses into the flesh there, turning you toward him as the other hand reaches up to tilt your chin to him. Your eyes avoid his, embarrassment heating your body with licks of flames.

“Can you look at me? Please?” His voice is unwavering but shy, boyish. You answer with a flick of up, meeting his own stare. “Mari, sweetheart, this isn’t about anything like that. I know you aren’t ‘the nanny’ anymore, and if I’m being honest, I don’t think you were ever just ‘the nanny’ to either of us. I was being pigheaded, and I didn’t want you to take on doin’ all of this yourself. It’s jus’ automatic for me to want to cover for Sarah, with any sort of activity. Not that I don’t want you to do all of this. I can’t even begin to explain how much it means to me that you care so much for Sarah. I’m just, I’m being her dad. And not giving you the means to do things for her yourself. M’sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, J. I should have better explained myself from the beginning. I want to be a part of your lives, I want to….I don’t know, I don’t want to take the place of her mom, obviously, but I want to be someone she can do girly things with if we’re gonna be together for a while—”

“Not if, Mari. I don’t plan on letting you go without a serious fight,” Joel’s thumb brushes against your cheek as he holds your gaze, “I am so grateful and so relieved that Sarah has someone like you in her life. ‘Specially right now with everything around her mom leavin’, you’re exactly what she needs. What we both need…I will take the money back. But next time we’re splitting it, and every time after that ‘til it’s time that it’s coming outta a joint account.”

When Sarah arrives home from her playdate, Joel retreats upstairs after ordering pizza for the two of you (and him, because he claimed he was gonna sneak down) to watch something on the small tv in his bedroom. You and Sarah changed into your new pajamas and got all of the snacks moved into the living room, trekking blankets and pillows and stuffed animals from her room and around the house to build a nest on the floor in front of the couch.

Sarah had chosen The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants out of the stack of movies you had rented, popping it in and sitting back with you while you had her pick out a color for her nails. The two of you talked about camp and the past school year, her confessing a crush she has on a boy in her camp group this year. There’s only a few details you get from her as you paint her nails, giggling with her when she gets shy and telling her about your first crush.

Sarah eventually is the one to paint your nails, turning out a bit messy and abstract during the process but nonetheless it was fun. As she’s finishing up a second coat on the last nail of yours, the doorbell rings for the pizza and Joel jogs downstairs a minute later to answer the door. Carrying the boxes over to the kitchen after he paid and tipped, he grins at you and nods to the set up.

“Is that every pillow in our house?”

“Well, no, you still have the ones on your bed cause you were sitting on ‘em,” you reply as you walk into the kitchen behind Sarah, fingers splayed apart, careful not to smudge. The younger Miller does the same, looking up at Joel when she stands next to the pizza box.

“Daddy, can you get the slices for me? I don’t want to mess up my nails that Posey painted for me. Look at them! They’re so pretty!” She raises her arms up to give Joel a look, his hand taking one of hers and inspecting it.

“Gosh, Bug, these are just gorgeous. Mari did a great job,” he grins at you, giving you a wink at the same time an idea pops into yours.

“I could do your nails, J. They could match Sarah’s!” Your suggestion is immediately supported by his daughter, her small stature jumping up and down in front of him.

“Yes, yes! You need to get your nails painted, Daddy!”

“Wasn’t this sleepover ‘no boys allowed’?” he arches a brow before he grabs a piece of pizza, plopping it on a plate for Sarah to take into the other room, “If I can stay for longer than it takes to paint my nails and hang out and eat your snacks, you can absolutely paint my nails.”

Sarah takes her plate from her dad, grinning ear-to-ear as she retreats back to the blanket nest. Joel makes a plate for you, carrying it out with his own and setting them on the coffee table. With a groan, he lowers himself to the ground, leaning his back against the couch and holding out his hands to you.

“Go for it, sweetheart.”

“D’you want the same thing as Sarah or something different?”

“Hmm, what d’you think, mija? Should we match?”

“I think you should give Daddy the color I gave you, Posey. It’s so pretty!” she leans back against you, using you as a backrest while she eats her pizza carefully with her wet nails, engrossed in the movie.

“Alright, guess it’s decided then. We’ll be matching,” you smile at him, taking one hand in yours to pull it closer, relaxing it against your thigh as you open the polish bottle. Concentrating on the tasks at hand, Joel wiggles his fingers when you aren’t in the midst of painting to get your attention, holding up a piece of pizza near your face.

“Eat, darlin’. Gotta fuel your artistic brain,” he winks and smiles sweetly at you, earning a quiet laugh before you lean in and take a bite chewing as you go back to painting. You switch hands after a few more bites, giving him a break to eat his own pizza and you yours while the three of you watch the movie. Once your job is done, you close the bottle tight and set it on the table, getting Sarah’s attention to look at it.

“How’d I do, Sare-Bear? Does your dad look pretty?” Her giggles pull some from all of you, nodding and clapping her hands together.

“Daddy, you need some of my pretty stickers and then Posey needs to take a picture with her camera.” Sarah stands and moves over to the pile of beauty supplies, grabbing the pack of nail stickers you bought and picking out a sheet. She sits next to Joel, stickering around his face as he closes his eyes and lets it all happen.

“Is this what happens all the time at girl sleepovers?” He peeks an eye open at you, getting a wide smile and shrug.

“Guess we’ll have to have some more for you to really find out.” Sarah steps back from her handiwork, and you pick up the Polaroid camera, lining up the shot from the side of Joel where there’s multiple star stickers clustered around his eyes. The shutter snaps when he looks at you, spitting out the image. You hand it to Sarah to watch it develop, showing you both quickly before going to hang it on the fridge along with a few other of your shots. You snap another of him looking at you directly, soft rounded eyes filled with affection.

Once you set the camera down, holding onto that photo for yourself, his hands find your thighs, running over the soft cotton of your PJ pants.

“Thank you for doin’ this for her, she hasn’t been this happy and giggly since before you left last summer.” Joel leans in, giving you a gentle, lingering kiss. “I love you. So, so much, Mari.”

Instead of answering, you give him another kiss before Sarah walks back in, settling between the two of you on the floor nest, cuddling up within your little unit of three to finish out the movie.

A few nights after your slumber party, you sneak over to Joel’s again before bed, using the key to the back door that he had made for you. He’s sitting on the couch, a line of sight to the door and a sleepy smile tugging at his lips when he sees you.

Padding your feet across the floors, you climb onto the couch next to him and curl your legs under you while you lean into his side. His arm wraps you up and his lips press against your forehead with a content sigh.

“Hi, Mari.”

“Hey, J.”

“How was your day, darlin’?” he asks as he turns off the TV, fingers ghosting up and down your bicep.

“Good, it was good. Babysat for the O’Connors today with the little baby. She’s so adorable, just a day full of baby giggles.” You grin and Joel smiles back at you, nodding along, “And then after that I drove to therapy and had that for an hour and then went home and waited to come see you.”

“M’very glad you’re here. Can’t sleep without you anymore,” he kisses your temple, “How was therapy, amor?”

“Today was a little hard. Talked more about maybe looking into medicine cause I feel like it isn’t fully there yet. But I do feel like I am happy. Like in my heart. My brain just can't keep up. Still have a lack of interest in things and not a lot of energy like I used to.”

Joel hums an acknowledgment, looking down at you on his shoulder, “M’here if you need to talk about anything, sweet girl.”

“I know. Thank you,” you give him a chaste kiss, smiling drowsily, “How was your day?”

“Pretty alright. Had to go fill in for someone who called in sick today at a job site so I’m exhausted from all the lifting and using machinery. But the framing is all done which means there’s something that looks like a house standing on the lot,” Joel chuckles softly and glances out the front window, “And then, uh, ran into your mom when I got home. She must’ve been running out for something but she stopped to talk and invited me and Sarah and Tommy to celebrate the Fourth with y’all.”

You sit up, grinning excitedly, “Really? Oh my gosh, that will be so fun. Our first official holiday together. Even though it’s just the Fourth of July. Kind of lame.”

Joel chuckles along with you, nodding his head and avoiding your eyes, “I mean, I told her yes ‘cause I didn’t think you’d mind. But the more I got to thinkin’, I guess, I just—I think I need some more time before we tell your parents about us.”

Your face falls before you can hide it, Joel’s hand immediately reaching to cup your cheek delicately, “M’sorry, sweet girl. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to do it at a family event and maybe it might be best if we can sit them down sometime to talk about it all.”

A slow nod keeps you quiet, in your thoughts, rambling out an agreement as you bring your eyes to Joel’s again, “Yeah, yeah, I understand. I agree. Would be best to wait a little while longer.”

“Thank you, darlin’. M’so glad you agree. We’ll find the right time, eventually,” Joel gives you a tender kiss, lingering against your lips for a few more dopey exchanges. He pulls away, standing up and gathering you up with him, leading you to his bedroom and getting into bed with you, “Night, Mariposa. Love you.”

“Night, J,” you reply meekly, the small sound of your voice easily brushed off as fatigue. Joel keeps you close, spooning you with his front against your chest, falling asleep behind you quickly. You can’t rest, especially after that short and decided conversation.

Why did you agree so easily? And why was he even asking for more time? His daughter knows, his brother knows, your friends know. What’s any different about your family? Is he afraid that if he breaks your heart he’ll have to move? But why would he even think about that possibility when all he’s told you is how much he loves you, how he’ll be yours until you want nothing to do with him anymore?

Every reassurance that he’s given you is flooding your mind, those doubts and fears worming their way into the sweet memories and poisoning them with twisted words.

Every time he’s said he loves you, does he mean it? Or is he only saying it to say it, to placate your anxieties about the future of you two by committing in a way?

Is this push back about telling your family a response to you not being ready to say ‘I love you’ back? Is he getting fed up with waiting for it?

Are you too much too quickly? Weaving yourself too tightly into his life and his daughter’s life? Is he going to start to drift, to put off telling your parents until he can end it?

These thoughts cycle in an endless loop, keeping you up while Joel sleeps soundly beside you. Nausea stirs in your stomach, rapid heart beating from the spiraling of your mind keeping you wide awake until the early hours of the morning.

The only way you can manage to fall asleep is turning in Joel’s arms, cuddling into his chest and breathing in his scent to halt the carousel of negativity in your brain long enough for his even breaths to lull you to sleep.

One last question flashes to you before you’re finally asleep:

 What happens when Summer ends?

taglist: @beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @sw33tp1xie @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras @beee-haw @jenna-mcgraw19 @whore-4-pedro @katifefe @joelmillerswifu @itsgiorgiaz @soph55 @wild-hearts-runfree @youcancallmeelle @jupitre @starkovli @thatgeminigirlx @livingdeadmaria @bunnyskisses @houseofballoonsth @casual-obsessions @pedro-pascal-lvr @bimbodolls-world @burningnerdchild @tuquoquebrute @mrsvedder12 @estelivi28 @bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @angie2274 @pedrostories @pedroholicx @theelishad @johnwatsn @elissaaa @felicityofbakerstreet @atinylittlepain @northernbluess @cannolighost

[choke-me-joey]

can you do 1 and 18 with joseph quinn please? <3

Ugh yes I was hoping someone would request this thank you!!!

1.  Fuck a baby into me/I'm gonna fuck a baby into you.

18. I love you, fuck, I'm so close!

Joseph Quinn x Reader

Content warning: 18+ content minors DNI, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it lads...unless youre trying to make a baby i guess), baby making, subtle mention of morning after pill, rpf (don't like, don't read)

Hoe-vember masterlist

You and Joe had been together for 7 years now. You had bought a beautiful house together, got engaged and very recently married in a small private ceremony in London, so it was natural that the questions would start pouring in from friends, family and unfortunately the media too.

"So, when can we expect a mini Quinn then?"

"When are you going to make us grandparents, hmm?"

"Any plans for kids in the near future?"

It. Was. Infuriating.

At first, you'd been polite about it.

"Oh, we're just enjoying being married first."

"Not quite yet."

"Some plans, but nothing definite yet."

As the quizzing around babies became relentless, you and Joe started to bite back.

"We'll have a kid when we're ready."

And that was the end of it.

Or so you thought.

It was a quiet Friday night, and you were currently sat nursing a glass of wine and scrolling through Twitter. Joe had been away doing some press tours and general public appearances, such is life when you're married to a now world famous actor. You were used to it, but it didn't mean that you didn't miss him whilst he was gone. He was due to fly home from Newport Beach Film Festival overnight arriving early tomorrow morning, so your day had been filled with cleaning the house and getting a good food shop in. You'd also had a bath and made sure you were clean, shaved and moisturised ready for your usual 'welcome home' sex marathon you knew was inevitable tomorrow.

As you sipped your wine and scrolled on your phone, you couldn't resist searching your husband's name on Twitter. He didn't use social media, but you did and loved loved to torture him with articles and videos of himself. He did not love that.

You couldn't help the lovesick smile that creeped across your face as you found a video of him being interviewed at the film festival. God, he looked so fucking good. He had FaceTimed you as he was getting ready and as soon as he put on that white suit, it was game over and some seriously spicy video sex had ensued.

In the video you had found, he was doing an interview with a tiny microphone. The usual questions were asked regarding Stranger Things, the love for Eddie, and just general chit chat.

Then it happened.

"So, congratulations on your recent marriage! Any plans for kids soon or are you way too busy for that?"

Joe's face falters a little but ever the good actor, he regains his composure before answering.

"Thank you. We'll see, you know, we don't want to rush these things." He gives a smirk to the camera that you swear was meant just for you as if to say 'here we fucking go again', but to others it could be translated as 'maybe, maybe not, I'm saying nothing', much like he did when asked if Eddie was returning for season 5.

You roll your eyes and groan as you read through a few of the comments, not really paying any mind to what was being said. You copy the link and send it to Joe with the caption 'thinking you should just knock me up so we get some peace 🙃'

You weren't expecting a reply. He must have had WiFi on the plane.

"Too obvious?'

'Nah, you only looked like you wanted to throttle her just for a second x'

'Damn, need to hoan my craft. See you in about 10 hours. Keep the bed warm for me x'

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

Approximately 10 hours and 20 minutes later, you're woken up to the sound of the front door unlocking and shutting. You glance at the bedside table, seeing the alarm clock reading 8.15am. You grin, listening as Joe dumps his bags in the hall before practically sprinting up the stairs. He flings open the bedroom door and practically pounces on you, his mouth immediately finding yours.

He kissed you in a way that took you by suprise, usually he would at least get into bed with you and have a little bit of sleep before trying to dick you down, but he was kissing you in such a desperate, frantic manner, pawing at you and turning you on so damn fast that you didn't dare question it.

"Haven't...even...brushed...my teeth" you pant in between kisses, both of you working quickly to discard the other's clothes.

"Don't care," Joe kissed his way down your now naked body, licking a fat strip up your pussy and attaching his mouth to your clit.

"Fuck, Joe!" You hissed, grabbing a fistful of his curls as he expertly flicked his tongue against you. He slowly worked one and then two fingers inside you, almost instantly finding that spongy spot that practically made you scream out his name.

"Shh, we have neighbours you know," Joe grinned up at you and you nudged his head with your knee. He playfully bit your thigh before going back to work, alternating licks and sucks to your puffy bundle of nerves.

Within minutes he had you coming for him, his tongue and fingers working you through one of the strongest orgasms you'd had in a while, leaving you blissfully fucked out and ready to give him the best head of his life in return, until he folded your legs up practically by your ears and slid his cock inside you, the stretch and burn of not having him for a week making you moan loudly and dig your nails into his biceps.

"Joe," you whimper as he starts fucking you fast and deep, the angle making sure his cock hit your g-spot with every stroke. "So fucking big!"

"I'm gonna fuck a baby into you," he growls, his eyes practically black as his hips snap into yours. "Get you all nice and pregnant, yeah babe?"

"Yes, yeah, fuck, god-!" You weren't even making sense, the deep thrusts of his cock battering your cervix sending pleasure blooming through your belly and causing your brain to malfunction. 

If it wasn't so fucking hot, it would have been mortifying how wet you were. The lewd squelch of your cunt paired with your breathless moans and Joe's grunts of effort signifying just how close you both were to falling apart for each other.

"I love you," you whine, pulling him down as best you could for a sloppy kiss, all teeth and tongue and it's fucking perfect.

"I love you, fuck, I'm so close!" He gasps, cock twitching inside you. Your orgasm was teetering on the edge, just a little more-

"Cum with me, Joey," you beg, clenching down on him and making him shudder. He ruts his hips to yours one last time and buries his head in your neck, moaning your name along with various expletives. The feeling of him filling you with his load and the sounds he was making, plus the pressure of his pelvis against yours had you falling over the edge with him, nails digging into his back and you shook and writhed beneath him.

You both laid there a while, letting your breathing and heart rates return to normal. Joe placed some kisses up your neck, eventually pecking your lips gently, giving you a small smile.

"Hi," he practically whispered, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours.

"Hi," you gave him a blissful smile. "Not that I'm complaining but...What was that about?"

Joe groans, flopping down on the bed beside you and gestures for you to pop your head on his chest. He wraps his arms around you.

"I dunno, I just...I saw this woman in the airport, super pregnant and I just saw how in love her and her husband looked and I just-it made me think of you, and how much I love you and..." He sighs, kneading his free hand over his eyes and forehead. "I'm sorry, I should've said something. Want me to go out and get you...?"

You're silent for a moment.

"No," you look up at him. "No, I think...I think I'm ready."

And 6 weeks later, you're staring at 2 solid pink lines on several different pregnancy tests, grinning like a mad woman. You stroll out of the bathroom and present the tests to your husband, who spits out his coffee and stares up at you, his big brown eyes shining with tears and a glint of fear. You kiss him.

"You definitely fucked a baby into me."

[carols-writting]

aaaa fiquei tão feliz quando vi alguém brasileiro na fandom :’3 eu posso fazer uma request em português mas vc escreve em inglês pfv? (primeira vez que eu faço isso rsrsrs)

Wukong e Macaque (eu li os nomes deles em português e ficou muito estranho hsjajahja) com um s/o de gênero neutro brasileiro? alguém com o nosso jeitinho amigável e sociável (na maior parte), alguém que fala muito e sempre está disposto a ajudar, faz gambiarras… cê sabe.

elu chamando os meninos de “meu bem”, “meu amor” “vida”, fazendo nossas comidas pra eles, rindo de um jeito contagiante, andando por aí de chinela e bermuda, etc…

FAZER REQUEST EM PORTUGUÊS É MUITO ESTRANHO MDS

aliás vc escreve muito bem <3

HOW WUKONG AND MACAQUE REACT TO A BRAZILIAN READER

fluffy + romantic

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scenario: reader is brazilian and have brazilian traits! they are friendly, funny in a childish way, sociable, always want to help, talkative BUT is able to defend themself just well. they hate to trown things in the trash so they always try to repair things... in their own way. they also use petnames in brazilian portuguese, make brazilian food as a gift and laugh in a funny way

reader: they/them pronouns used, style is mentioned as more of a mandrake like (i just love mandrakes and want to give them representation), a request

warnings: no warnings

authors note: OMG OMG OMG BRASIL MENTIONED AAAAAAAA!!!1! no, but really, i love write brazilian representation, we are so cool fr fr. im literally shaking of excitement!!!1!!! im glad you think my writting is good! im kinda insecure about it cause i study alone... if you can call "fucking around and finding out" studying... anyway! obrigado!!! tenha um bom dia e obrigado pelo pedido, achei divertido escrever >w<

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SUN WUKONG

- he notices the way you talk when yall first meet (accent, catch phrases...) but he didnt wanted to question it, he thought you was going to feel like he was making fun of you

- like stated in the past by me, he have accent in others languages, so he knows it may make you self conscious

- he loves your accent btw (check my "sun wukong react to a reader w accent" post for details)

- but when yall are dating and yall are both is in his house

- yall are having a (playfully) argument, like a love language type of way

- and you acidently say a phrase in portuguese

- "AI- oque o cu tem haver com a calça??" "... what"

- he stare at you in silence for some seconds, you are ready to explain or say "forget it"

- but his face lighten and he seens all exicated

- "repeat it." he say seriously but he looks and sounds so amused, his eyes widened and fixed in you

- "... oque o cu tem haver com a calça?" ":0"

- he loves the way you pronunce words in your first language

- like- LOVE LOVE

- like you just said a love confession

- makes his brain happy :D

- he later on find out that you are brazilian

- hes very curious, ask you a lot of questions about your country

- you explain and make him do a "L" w his hand

- hes very confused to why you scream "FAZ O L!!!1!"

- also asks you to teach him swears and insults

- so when macaque is close, he just turns to you and say "ele é very much feio e arrombado muleke"

- his accent <3333

- anyway- he loves your personality

- you are so sweet

- dosent mind your loudness at all

- he loves how talkative you are, finally someone likes to talk when he dosent have anything to say

- hes alone for a long time, i see him not knowing how to interact w pretty people (aka, u)

- he also admire you for always looking forward to helping others

- how you see a kid alone in the streets, looking around in a lost way

- the kid didnt know chinese but you didnt gave up, using google translator and succeeding in helping the lost kid + calming them down

- also when MK have too much orders, you also help him as much you can

- he have a soft spot for who helps his little guy (/p)

- your "8 years old latino boy in a public school" jokes are very funny to him

- not so different than his humour, but you (somehow) can be worse than him

- ALSO admires how you are good in arguing and standing up for yourself and others

- a regular costumer was being rude to pigsy and was fatphobic w him, you immediately jumped in

- "skinny is not a proof of healthiness. if was, your skinny mom wasnt dead because of cancer. hes what? 48? and your mom was what? 32? well- 'was' because now shes dead" you decide if you was rudely loud and clapping or rudely quiet with arms crossed

- everyone paused in silence but you just stared at the costumer with a intimidating glare

- "OOOOOOOOOOH" mei screamed in the top of her lungs and you had a flashback of your public school years

- you are cruel and rude when needed, he admires that

- also, he thinks is very funny how you hate to trash things

- bro was very amused by how your flip flop had a wire because it broke

- and how you explained to him what "gato" is

- so- theres a way to make the electric box dont notice all the energy and water you use??? so your bills are cheaper than it should be?????

- yall are very creative sometimes

- you wear mandrake style

- if masc, a example is a black shirt w a yellow jaguar, black cardigan shorts and a yellow sneakers + golden chain necklace and a yellowish juliet

- if fem, a example is a white crop top hoodie, a blue jeans mini skirt and white snickers + a silver chain necklace and a blueish juliet

- your makeup style is also so cute!!!1!!

- now, imagine you, w a grumpy face and juliet, laying down in your bed... w a elsa blanket...

- he dosent know if its a joke or not- but it makes him laugh

- everytime you call him petnames in your first language, he "hihihi" giggles and smiles

- "meu bem, can you pass me the control?" "hihihi *gives you the control*"

- sometimes call you "amor"

- you love his accent so much >w<

- "you are so... serelepe" "im what?"

- you struggled to explain it but you succeed it

- now he calls you it

- "you cant kill him!" "teu cu" "... *sigh* you are so fucking serelepe garota" he pouts and looks the other way

- hes totally ok when you playfully insult him, he gets it. its fun

- makes him be more comfortable in messing around w you faster

- and when you cook brazilian food to him? AYO

- brazilian food often have dishes w rice, and our rice isnt so different than chinese rice

- so he would love the way you make rice

- he loves to eat junk, but hes not statunitian to JUST eat it. hes a old style guy in some ways, he likes traditions and especially the chinese culture (looks at the english fandom)

- so he sometimes order healthy food (mostly pigsy noodles, to support his little guy /p)

- he CAN cook, but... does he WANTS to do it? well...

- hes CENTURIES alone in his cottage house, just getting junk food and healthy foods made by other people. nothing too different

- so when he finds someone who makes uncommon food dishes? (at least "uncommon" for him)

- ooooh- hes so happy.

- LOVES LOVES the combination w rice. rice and beans and banana and tomatoes and meat in churrasco style? kiss me.

- CHURRASCO ITSELF??? marry me.

- ooooh- formigueiro cake- his heart is hurting of joy

- BRIGADEIRO??? just get in his bed already /j

- he loves your laugh SO. MUCH.

- the way its funny sounding

- especially if you snort. or gasp for air. or do this typical laugh of a motorcycle running. or just sound like you are dying. or loud laughs.

- anyway, hes just happy that you are so fucking nice and cute

MACAQUE

- another one who noticed your way of talking, he dosent question it cause he simply dont give a single fuck

- dont get me wrong- he is curious- but he simply just dont want to ask. if you wanted, you would tell him

- also loves your accent (check my "macaque reacts to reader w a accent" post for more details)

- but when yall are in your house (who practically turned into his)

- watching a horror movie and you just insult the main character in your first language...

- "puta que pariu- MAS- TU É UM BURRO??? UMA PUTINHA??? CARALHOW- VAI TOMA NO MEIO DO SEU C- nossa mano."

- he just looks at you with a amused face, processing the situation and when he does, his tail start to move like a cat and he pauses the movie

- "what?-" "i love your language. *movie start to play again*"

- hes totally down for learning about your language and country

- hes also super interested in the history and culture

- "and you can tell wukong 'o chupa cu vai te chupar se você não cala a boca'" "... chope cu?"

- you explain to him what 'chupa cu' is

- hes very confused... WHO TF HAD THIS MONSTER IDEA??? A MONSTER WHO LITERALLY IS CALLED "ass sucker"?????

- he told it to wukong tho

- and didnt gave him a translation

- wukong thinks he just got cursed

- also calls you "pirallha"

- "TEU CU. that i will do it" "*roll eyes* pirallha do caralho"

- his accent too <33333

- also loves your personality

- you are so nice, something he needs to experience

- hes not a big talker, so hes glad that you can carry the conversation going and going alone

- he loves to hear you, even when you are saying to someone go to the hoe house... or saying that your ass turned cold (i swear is not a sexual phrase I SQEAR PLEASE BELIVE ME)

- the way you are so kind to everyone you respect? makes his heart go all fuzzy

- the way you help pigsy do the noodles in the morning

- or when you help a stranger in the street to carry their heavy stuff

- you always are making jokes to make others laugh or just to have a fun time in general

- even tho your humour is childish, still never fails to make others laugh (for finding it funny or just being shocked w your latino jokes)

- makes others happy makes YOU have a nice time- your such a sweet person omg

- did i said you "are kind to anyone who you respect"? yeah. is kinda easy to lose your respect

- someone said how your accent is "so fucking weird and you should stop talking"

- you just look at them up and down w your best mean (debochada) face

- "really? your mother loved it. the way i demanded her to call my name w my accent was pretty cute in her eyes. well- what can i say? some mommys have a better taste than their childs. and- oh- your mommy DO have a GOOD taste!"

- bro is laughing so hard and loudly (just to spicy the argument)

- you make gambiarras? he gets it. things are expensive. fuck capitalism /gen

- but when you explained him what a "brazilian electric shower" is... and thats a regular shower but electric... hes what the actual fuck mood

- "and is works just fine!" "... how." "i dont know, im not a-" "no. how yall are still alive." "... luck?"

- again, you wear mandrake style and he thinks is so cool

- is curious about how you do your makeup

- teaches you about chinese makeup too

- then he sees you, in a mandrake style, laying down w a shrek blanket

- he takes a picture and hold on his dear life to not laugh

- everytime you call him petnames in your first language hes so embarassed

- "vida, can you pick this up to me?" "*freezes* ... .... ... *silently give you what you asked for*"

- after 6 months, he gets confident enough to try calling you petnames in portuguese

- not because is in another language, he just think its too much of a personal situation

- now he calls you "minha querida"

- and is the most cute thing ever :3

- "what is lazarento?" "ah, is a insult in the minas gerais region" "hm."

- congrats, now u are a "lazarento"

- "but- you cant just leave! we arent finished cuddling yet!" "foda-se" "*tsk* ... you a fucking lazarento pra porra"

- he LOVES when you playfully insult him

- he loves to playfully insult others

- hes worried of hurting you for some years tho, but w time he will be more confident

- he steals food. nothing can prove me wrong.

- so finally being gifted a food. a food who was meant and MADE for him? hes so glad and happy

- also, hes centuries eating practically the same type of food, a bit of a break isnt so bad...

- hes not very comforted by the uncommon food- but he wouldnt refuse to eat it

- now he just want to eat your food.

- pão de queijo? pamonha? mix of rice and beans w something else? he will love it all

- also, JUST wants to eat your food now

- sometimes he will text u, trying to give hints that he wants your food

- "im hungry 🙁" "want me to order something for u?" "no, i want something else" "meu cu?"

- he dosent respond after that, like a punishment (in a /j way)

- but when he comes to your (his) house and you made dinner? you are forgiven

- your laugh makes him laugh, he loves it

- macaque dosent like the new, but grown to (somehow) like the weird

- so he loves every single weird laugh out there.

- hes glad you are so different, he loves everything about you, especially your weirdness cause thats what difference you of others

[puddle-nerd]

The Price of Silence

Summary: You saw something you shouldn’t have. Jake ensures your silence.

Possible Trigger Warnings: Implied/Referenced Cheating, Confirmed Cheating, Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Themes

Story Tags: No Use of Y/N, Pre Way of Water, Pet Names (baby, baby girl), Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Daddy Kink, Forced Orgasm, Thigh Fucking, Secrets

Author’s Notes: Requested by @jakesullywhore. This turned a bit longer than I was anticipating. I have another request in the queue, but that one is for a Jeytiri/Metkayina girl triad A/B/O fic. I’m planning to get that out in max about two weeks, depending on my schedule and how much stress my move is going to cause me. *fingers crossed it doesn’t* But we’ll see. Anyway…

There are at least three original Na’vi names listed in this story so I wanted to share with you how I’ve been pronouncing them.

● Tsuk’to – [sook – TOE] known for his mastery of dealing with the Omatikaya’s domesticated pa’li ● Lei’wa – [ LAY – wah] a female Na’vi of the Omatikaya ● Myitah – [ my – EE – tah] a young adult known as a weaver of the Omatikaya and tolerant of humans

Na’vi Translation: ● Ikran – also known as a banshee are large, dragon-like aerial predators that can be found roosting on the various cliff sides on the Hallelujah Mountains often being used by the Na’vi for traveling long distances, for hunting from the air, or even during times of war ● Nantang – also known as a viperwolf that is a hyena/wolf-like carnivore that has six legs, a lean, powerful torso that almost always move in packs that can mass together into a highly cooperative hunting party within seconds of finding prey ● Olo’eyktan – clan leader ● Pa’li – also known as a direhorse that is semi-equestrian-like in appearance with very long necks, small heads, and six legs; roughly the size of an elephant ● Palulukan – also known as a thanator or “dry mouth bringer of fear” that is carnivorous six-legged animal native to the forests of Pandora believed to be the apex land predator reminiscent of a panther or lion ● Tsahìk – the spiritual leader of a Na’vi clan, and the most important member next to the clan leader; they interpret the will of Eywa, guide the clan spiritually, and perform important ceremonies ● Tsakarem – a tsahìk-in-training, one chosen by the tsahìk to be mentored as their successor

AO3 Link

You’d been barely eighteen when you came to Pandora on the same flight as the ex-Marine known as Jake Sully but you had only known him in passing (i.e. in the galley, the p-ways, and the MWR lounge) at first. You had openly admitted to friendly co-workers that you thought he was very attractive. Plus, he was very flirty when you two did interact. He was also wheelchair bound, which did inhibit him from hook ups (you’d given it a shot and found out the hard way he couldn’t actually feel anything below his waist) but his handicap did not hinder his being an Avatar driver, apparently. But then apparently, Jake had gone under cover and deep into the natives’ territory on Colonel Miles Quaritch’s orders only to switch sides some three and half months later and turn on the RDA after going feral. Not that you blamed him, especially because of the appalling destruction of Home Tree. Because of that, you’d even assisted the Na’vi in the war the Omatikayan People were calling “The Time Of Great Sorrow”.

Luckily, you had been one of the lucky few humans that had been allowed to stay.

Jake had taken to clan life quickly after the “bad humans” were driven off of Pandora, him and Neytiri quickly popping out a couple of kids biologically within the span of two years and also adopting the baby girl that had been mysteriously produced from Grace’s Avatar. He came by the lab, sometimes, but you saw him more around the new village and out in the forests, which is where your friendship slowly deepened. Mo’at, the kind and forgiving Tsahìk that she was, appreciated how eager you were to continue learning the intricacies of Omatikayan culture, though you never adopted their way of dress. Neytiri, however, was less than pleased. The younger Na’vi woman often hissed or growled at you and was sure to spit curses in your direction if she ever saw you or thought you were too close to any of her three children. Unfortunately for her, because of your friendship, Jake often jumped to your defense. This meant that you were quickly becoming the center of many an argument between the mated pair.

And maybe that’s how it all began…

Or maybe, Jake was still more human than Na’vi, despite becoming permanently blue.

You had been visiting the village like normal, learning from a male Na’vi named Tsuk’to on how to take care of a pa’li when she was having difficulty giving birth and you hadn’t seen hide or hair of Jake today, not that you always saw him every time you visited the village. He was a busy man, a busy Olo’eyktan. So, the mare and foal were doing well a few hours after Tsuk’to had guided the baby out of its mother with the baby finally standing up on its six legs, the top of its head coming to your shoulder.

You said your goodbyes and turned to leave the village when you caught sight of Neytiri.

The Sully matriarch was some meters away, tucked secretively into the folds of the base of a tree, as if not to be noticed as easily. She was leaning close into a female Na’vi you knew was called Lei’wa, both of them giggling at whatever they were speaking about. And you wouldn’t have thought anything about it if you hadn’t noticed Neytiri’s tail was curling around Lei’wa’s thigh rather possessively, the dark tuft tickling the soft inner skin of the shorter woman’s leg. Or the fact that Lei’wa’s fingers were either tucking braids behind one of Neytiri’s pointed ears only to drop and start playing with Neytiri’s necklace, the backs of Lei’wa’s three fingers seemingly stroking against the other woman’s nipple. Neytiri’s large amber eyes were half-lidded and focused on Lei’wa, her pointed ears swiveled towards the shorter woman with absolute focus. Then Neytiri glanced about before she leaned in and kissed the shorter female – on the mouth.

With tongue and teeth it looked like.

Your jaw dropped in surprise before you immediately wrenched your gaze away and turned towards the human compound, quickly making yourself scarce before the sun set and you got lost.

The question bounced around in your head:  Was Neytiri cheating on Jake?

You had thought they were happy together. Jake always had positive things to say about his wife, well, except when he was trying to explain why she was so harsh against you. And even then, he was defensive of his mate.

As he should be.

The confusion of not knowing the details, the worry for your friend’s possible heartbreak, and the tumultuous emotions that went along with the whole situation of seeing Neytiri secretly kissing upon someone who wasn’t her mate made you stumble off the path somewhat. Only, a sound like a loud moan suddenly caught your attention, causing your limbs to lock up in nerves. It was getting dark and you needed to get to the human compound so you didn’t end up getting hunted by either a pack of Nantangs or by a lone Palulukan. Another moan, this one sounding like it was more of a pain filled squeal, sounded and you gulped, your heart pounding as your quick breaths fogged the inside of your mask slightly. If someone was hurt, they might need help. And if it was something dangerous luring you in… You wished you had more than a handgun and a knife on your person because it would do little in way of protection.

Creeping carefully through the undergrowth that was beginning to light up as the sky dimmed further and further, you heard more moans and a weird squelching noise that caused your brows to furrow. What were those sounds?

You… almost… wished you hadn’t asked.

In a clearing just ahead and next to a large roaring fire was your friend Jake pounding away into a female Na’vi that clearly wasn’t his wife, seeing as Neytiri had been in the village with Lei’wa maybe fifteen, twenty minutes before. Your jaw dropped as you took in the explicit sight before you. Jake had gotten… beefy (the only word that came to you in that second) from the constant manual labor of the Omatikayan way. His muscles, hard, pronounced and firm were bathed in an orangery light, glistening from sweat. His short, dark dreads swung with his movements, revealing his lascivious smirk as his hips rolled rapidly into his partner, causing her to whine needily. He had the female on her knees, his hand a firm manacle upon the back of her neck and pressing the side of her face into the ground to better manhandle her as he saw fit. His other hand went from her hip and began slapping her ass, the sharp “smack” of skin upon skin a chorus to the symphony of her moans and the wet squelching of his cock burying into her dripping pussy again and again and again.

Before this moment, yes, you had thought of Jake as sexy as fuck, even more so in his lithe blue body than the human one he had been born into. You had also wondered, in an abstract way, what it would be like to fuck him – or get fucked by him – if Neytiri weren’t part of the equation but you hadn’t allowed yourself to actually fantasize. These lewd images searing themselves into your mind’s eye, though, would not leave you as you gulped, heat pooling low in your belly, causing you to press your thighs together.

“Please, Olo’eyktan,” the female Na’vi sobbed quite loudly, her voice whiny and broken as if she had been screaming for quite some time. “Please!” She rattled off something after that in her mother tongue that you weren’t sure about as your grasp on the language was decent but not as good as an actual linguist’s – like Norm. Whatever she had said caused Jake to smirk more, moving his hand from her ass to grab her around the throat and draw her up, pressing her back to his chest. He whispered something into her ear and she wailed as she bounced up and down upon his thick cock. The woman’s beaded braids shielded her face from you discovering her identity but it also gave you more mental images for later speculation and fantasizing. Because now you could see the base of Jake’s thick cock delving up into her soaked pussy. The woman’s juices dribbled down over his knot, making the inflating ring of muscle glint in the firelight. But what truly drew you gaze was the slight bulge disappearing and reappearing behind the skin of her lean belly, showing you just how hung your friend truly was. You bit down on your lip and stumbled slightly, reaching out to steady yourself on the closest tree as your knees went weak and your gaze focused on that bulge, a shiver of arousal ran up and down your spine.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered to yourself, wishing you were in her position at this very second.

Jake’s eyes suddenly flicked up and met your gaze through your mask.

Your heart stopped the moment you witnessed recognition dawn in those amber eyes of his. You suddenly felt a flash of cold surge through you as he focused completely on you in that moment, his movements coming to a stop, his partner’s whine of protest not registering. Your mind went empty, you gulped, you turned, and you bolted in a clear display of hindbrain prey mechanics, cursing to yourself all the while as you pumped your booted legs and hurried towards the human compound as quickly as you could.

You didn’t stop until you nearly slammed into the outside of the airlock, punching in the code with trembling fingers and quickly sealing your side the vestibule, your body visibly shaking as you gasped for breath, sweat beading upon your skin. The atmosphere pressurized and you were able to remove your mask and step into the compound, immediately retreating to your private berthing and tossing your mask onto your bed. You rubbed a hand over your face as the scene you witnessed played out on repeat in your mind’s eye.

Neytiri kissing a female Na’vi – possibly cheating on her husband. Jake almost absolutely cheating on his wife. Jake catching you playing the unsuspecting voyeur. You shuddered, feeling a wetness pool in your panties as your mind forced you to remember those strong muscles of his chest and arms flexing as he rolled his narrow hips into his partner. The way his huge hand slapped her rounded backside. Your pussy clenched on nothing and you bit down on your lower lip as you pressed your thighs together in want once again. “What the fuck is wrong with me,” you muttered, sighing heavily and shaking your head. Jake was your friend. He was a married man. He was totally off limits. Well, maybe not so much anymore… You felt a shiver run through you again and sighed once more. You needed to get laid, you decided. That’s why you were focusing on Jake’s affair. It had been a while… maybe a bit too long since you’d had something drive into you and fill your cunt that didn’t operate on batteries. Only for the thought of Jake to enter your mind once again. And that slight belly bulge. You shook your head, trying to dispel the images if Jake fucking into that female and failing to dismiss the memory. Your body was beginning to ache with need. Yeah, you definitely needed to get laid. And sooner rather than later. Until then… your stomach gurgled, reminding you to eat supper. Your libido could wait; your stomach couldn’t.

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸

You avoided the village and seeing Jake for the next three days successfully, dipping out of any room without actually seeing him due to hearing his loud voice and his heavy footfalls long before your eyes laid upon his being. Then came the day George – or whatever his name was – asked you out, citing he wanted to show you a pretty spot out in the forests of Pandora, which you were smart enough to know that he actually meant he was going to try to fuck you, with the way his eyes dragged greedily over your body. And you hadn’t really been interested in him in return until you heard the telltale sounds of Jake approaching.

You still weren’t ready to face your friend and all but herded Georgino out the door.

You weren’t even really dressed for hiking out in the woods today either but you were bound and determined to keep Jake at a distance until you came to terms with his and his wife’s infidelities so you had left without changing. This morning, you’d made the split-second decision to wear one of your favorite little summer dresses, it’s short flowy skirt swaying breezily just above your knees and great for dealing with the early summer heat. It wasn’t great for not encouraging overly entitled human males, however, because the further you traveled into the forests of Pandora the more Gino was allowing himself to get handsy, which you couldn’t help but compare his sweaty palms and sausage fingers to the memory of Jake’s large, strong, blue hands from three days ago.

‘Get a grip,’ you thought to yourself. ‘This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To get laid.’

“Here we are,” Gilmore announced as you once again danced away from his leech-like fingers once again.

At least the view was worth it.

“Oh… wow,” you whispered aloud in awe, your eyes going wide behind the thick glass of your oxygen mask as you took in the beauty of Pandora and had your breath metaphorically taken away once again. The soft grass was lush beneath your calf-high boots as you gazed at a crystal-clear river fringed by exotic and colorful flowers and moss-covered stones. There were also overhangs twice to three times your size bordering down the river, twisting trees growing from each cliff in such a way that filtered the sunlight down to the ground in such a pretty way. “This is gorgeous, Gilbert.”

“It’s Geoffrey, actually,” he corrected you, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. You tried not to cringe and uttered an apology under your breath. “God, wish I could kiss you, babe You’re so fucking hot.”

You were more than glad that you couldn’t, not feeling more than a hard, little tic tac brushing against the curve of your bottom.

He hummed and moved one of his hands to roughly grope your breast while the other pressed into your belly to draw you back into his body. It didn’t feel like it was getting bigger, either but you had wanted this – to get laid so you’d be able to get a grip and stop thinking about Jake. You sighed and allowed things to progress as he more or less forcefully pushed you down onto the grass, brusquely pulling your panties down your legs before fumblingly fingered you. Unfortunately, it really did nothing for you. Not that Geoffrey actually noticed.

“I don’t think she likes that,” a voice suddenly called out, causing the human man to jump back from you.

None other than the male you had been trying to avoid stepped out of the underbrush, an unimpressed look upon his striped face.

You gulped, sitting up and closing your legs as your heart thundered in your chest as you dropped your gaze to your lap and refused to look at your friend. Geoffrey huffed, calling out, “Uh, hey, Sully. We’re kinda in the middle of something. You can steal all of her attention later.” The recombinant raised a hairy brow and crossed his thick arms over his built chest, staring down at the human man with a fierce and unblinking scowl until he caved. “Uh, yeah, guess I’ll see you later, babe,” Geoffrey grumbled from behind his mask and trudged back the way he came, leaving you alone with Jake for the first time since you’d seen your friend’s illicit affair three nights prior. You gulped and shivered when a soft breeze caressed your bare bottom. You glanced around for your panties and realized they must have gotten pocketed or tossed wide because you couldn’t find the scrap of cotton anywhere at first glance. You blushed in embarrassment and shyly peeked up at Jake to see him shooting you a raised brow now.

“Uh… hi, Jake,” you mumbled, your cheeks hot behind your breathing mask.

He snorted. “Don’t you ‘hi, Jake’ me,” he snapped, coming to sit in front of you, crossing his legs and causing you to glance at the front of his loincloth briefly, a shiver as the memory of the belly bulge crossed your mind. He snapped a finger in front of you and you guiltily met his amber gaze. “So… you saw… what you saw,” he announced, staring at you intently, getting right to the point.

You shrugged. “I… uh… yeah,” you confirmed quietly, eyes not quite meeting his. “But it’s not like I’m gonna tell anyone.” He thinned his lips and cocked his head studying you. “You might… accidentally,” he retorted after a pregnant pause filled with anxious butterflies. “Or you might catch me with one of my other play partners just like you happened upon me and Myitah.”

‘Oh, Myitah,’ you thought, a hot bubble churning in your gut. She was a young weaver of the clan, about twenty years old or so and not a warrior. She was pretty, you guessed, and at least tolerant of you when you interacted with her. ‘He said play partners – as in plural. Guess he really IS cheating on his wife.’

Out loud, you shook your head while saying, “I don’t want Neytiri to kill me. Y’know, your wife? She already hates me and if she heard me saying something like that, I’m pretty sure she’d feed me to her new Ikran or to a pack of Nantangs or a Palulukan. And I like living, Jake!”

He cocked his head as if considering this but his amber eyes told a different story. He had already made up his mind.

Jake slowly smirked down at you, his pink tipped nose flaring as he scented the air. “Oh, I think I have a solution that’ll help you keep my secret and assist you all in one,” he suddenly purred, his voice coming out in a way you had never heard before from him, sensually and making you shiver as arousal skittered up and down your spine and created a bubbling heat within your belly. You swallowed and frowned, not quite understanding his meaning until his amber gaze travelled down your body, landing on your thighs. His tail flicked up in interest and he raised a brow, fangs peeking out at you as his ears caught the way your heart skipped a beat. “What do you say, baby girl?” You gulped and shook your head slowly, your breathing becoming shaky as you stared at your friend.

“I think it’s time for me to go back, Jake,” you replied, licking your suddenly dry lips.

His smirk fell and his face became stone cold as he replied, “I don’t think so.”

You suddenly found yourself flat on your back, Jake’s hand shoving you down and pressing over nearly your entire torso as he twisted up onto his knees. His other hand grabbed one of your calves over the leather of your boot and tugged you towards him, causing your skirt to bunch as it caught between the grass and your body, pulling the material upwards and exposing your bare lower body to his gaze. His smirk returned and his tail wagged like an excited puppy’s as he took you in. “Oh yeah, that science guy wasn’t doing you any favors was he,” Jake muttered aloud. “Probably never even seen a real woman before. Don’t worry, baby girl. I know what I’m doing.”

“No, Jake, stop,” you argued, trying to shove his hand off of you and pull your leg free.

He met your gaze, laughing, “You sure, baby? You’re starting to get wet.”

You shook your head and kicked at him uselessly with your free booted foot. “Let go of me, Jake,” you commanded firmly. “Seriously.”

“But why?” he demanded, holding you still a little too easily. “I’m pretty sure you were liking what you saw when you spotted me rutting up into Myitah. I inspected where you were standing when she finally passed out and I could smell the lingering of your arousal. So spicy and sweet.” His nose flared as he scented the air again. “Kinda like now.” You shook your head. No matter how much you wanted something to fuck you stupid, your friend was married to a frightening female Na’vi and you valued your life more than an orgasm.

“Jake, please, just let me go,” you begged.

He smirked, replying, “When I’m done with you. Sure.” He moved his hands to grip your thighs in his and dipped his head down between your legs, groaning. “Fuck, yeah… Nothing beats slutty human pussy. Gonna hav’ta savor this.” Before you could protest, you felt what you assumed was his tongue, lap at your lower lips, the filiform papillae stroking against you in a strange but not un-pleasurable way. Much like a cat’s, all Na’vi and Avatar’s tongues were rough like sandpaper because they were each covered in small, backwards facing white keratin protein spines. And applied to your cunt had you gasping, your hands grabbing onto his head as he licked at your nether region like a kitten with cream.

“Oh, oh fuck,” you whined, your breath hitching behind your mask.

You could feel his smirk against the skin of your inner thigh as Jake commented, “Better than that half-assed fingering what’s-his-name tried to give you?”

“That’s… that’s not the point,” you protested.

He glanced up, meeting your gaze. “Well, I’m gonna finish my meal and then you can tell me what the point is after, sweetheart.” And wrapped his arms around your thighs, spreading them wide for him so he could bury his face back between your legs only to feast on you like a man starving. You let out a cry as he shoved his nose against your clit and buried his rough tongue deep inside of you. It feels so good to have something other than silicone shoved inside of you, the warm, wet muscle moving around inside of your heat unexpectedly causing you to moan as pleasure shot through your body like lightning. Then, suddenly he pulled back a few inches, laughing at you mockingly as you whine in protest. He delved back in after taking a breath, only this time, his lips sealed around your clit and he sucked, harshly. You couldn’t control the noises coming out of your throat anymore as your legs began to tremble and your fingers tugged on his dreaded hair, rocking your hips up into his mouth desperately, panting, moaning, tears building up in your eyes as pleasure built within you higher and higher.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” you chanted, wetness seeping out of you from below your waist and from your eyes as you felt a needy ache building within your belly as you climbed higher and higher. You didn’t want the feeling to end but this wasn’t right. You forced out, breath fogging up the inside of your mask, “You have to stop.”

Jake ignored you.

The warm band of steel released your leg, your muscles spasming slightly and you lifted your head to witness Jake moving his hand towards your entrance. You nearly screamed as he licked at your clit with his rough tongue and simultaneously sliding two of his thick, long fingers home inside of you. Your nails dug into his scalp, causing him to grunt but continue, pressing the digits of his hand into your channel even deeper than his tongue had delved. He set a slow pace, at first, thrusting his finger into you again and again and again, parroting what you had seen him do with his dick three days go. What you not so secretly wanted to experience with the monster you knew he was packing between those thick, strong legs of his. Maybe sensing your body’s eagerness, he started to stroke you faster.

You wailed, your pleasure reaching higher.

Your back arched as your hips rutted into his hand desperately.

“Please, please, please,” you sobbed, more tears trickling out of your eyes. You needed to stop this before it was too late. You weren’t a cheater, even if your friend was. What came out instead of you begging him to cease was, “Need t’cum, Jake.” He smirked and sucked harshly on your clit and curled his fingers deep inside of you, determined to get you to finish. He was rewarded with an ear-piercing shriek, your legs shaking visibly in his grip and your pussy gushed, clamping down upon his fingers most greedily. Pleasure rocked through your body like an avalanche, making you feel like you were shattering into a million pieces and being put back together over and over again. Jake eased you through your orgasm with a cheeky, self-satisfied leer, fangs glinting at you in the light of the day filtering down to you.

“Look at all that cream, just for me,” you thought you heard Jake sneer.

You regain your breath and your senses when Jake reaches up and undoes the buttons going down the front of your dress, your naked breasts revealing themselves to his gaze.

“Not wearing a bra, baby? Naughty,” he chortled. “Good thing Daddy likes naughty girls.”

He groped your chest much more pleasurably than Geoffrey had done, making you think Jake’s assumptions about the scientist never having actually interacted sexually with a woman might have some grounding of truth to them. He pulled gently at your nipples and leaned down, sucking one of your tits into his mouth, the lower half of his face still shiny with your slick. “Jake,” you whined, trying to push his head away from your sensitive nipples. He tightened his teeth on the hardened nub in warning, his ears twitching as you hissed when pain threatened to replace the pleasure. You realized you had no chance of winning against him, what with him being nearly twice the size of you and probably three times as strong so you submitted to his whims and let him do what he wanted.

“God, baby, your tits are so soft,” the recombinant moaned quietly, rubbing his face against the soft swells like a cat. “Na’vi tits are more muscle so they’re nowhere near as soft… unless pregnant. God, I could play with these for hours…” He chuckled to himself, kissing your breasts before pulling back, adding, “Maybe next time.”

“What?” you asked, your brain not connecting the meaning. “Jake, no… We can’t,” you argued.

He raised a brow at you and demanded, “So you get to cum but I gotta deal with this on my own?” He sat back on his knees and pointed to the way his loincloth had tented significantly with his erection. And you couldn’t help but feel your jaw drop at the sheer size of his dick pressing up against the material of his garment He made short work of the knots keeping it on his body and his dick nearly sprung at you as it was released from its confines, making your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. You had seen how big his knot was, how he had bulged Myitah’s stomach but seeing it like this was something else entirely. That phrase that a cock looked like a baby’s arm holding an apple? Try a chunky three-year-old toddler. Of course, being that he was nearly ten feet tall, it should have occurred to you that he would be absolutely hung. His shaft was a slightly lighter blue than the rest of his skin, covered in stripes of a pretty sapphire shade. There were veiny, little ridges and nubs along each stripe, though they clustered together more on the underside of his shift to make little ridges. The decorations on his dick were complimented by bioluminescent freckles that decorated the full length of him from the knot to the light pink tip of his cock that matched the pink of his nose. The foreskin, however, was an even lighter blue and had started to pull back from the pink tip to reveal a delicate little trickle of pearlescent precum tinged silvery blue. His voice brought you back into focus when he commented, “Unfortunately, you won’t be able to take me yet but we’ll work up to it.”

Jake grabbed your legs again and pulled you to him once more, transferring both of your ankles to one hand and taking his shaft in hand. He stroked himself a couple of times before pressing the head of his dick forward, between your thighs. His cock was so long, however, the tip rested against the soft plush of your breasts while his knot wasn’t quite touching the backs of your thighs yet.

“Jake,” you whined again.

His amber eyes met your gaze and he smirked, saying, “Push yer tits together for me, baby. I’ll make this feel good for both of us.”

A part of you was disgusted with yourself for helping Jake cheat on his wife. Another, bigger and greedier part of you, took over and did as he asked with only a little of hesitation. And you immediately moaned, feeling the way he made sure to drag the underside of length against your entrance, each ridge rubbing sensually against your clit and sparking pleasure through your nerve endings.

Apparently male Na’vi’s weren’t meant to be a smooth ride.

“Yeah, fuck yeah,” Jake groaned, suddenly becoming very verbal now that his mouth wasn’t busy sucking on your body. He thrust himself through your thighs and your tits, picking up speed as he got more and more into it. “Fuck, feel s’good, baby. Can feel you getting all wet f’me again.” You tightened your legs and your tits around his cock and watched him grit his teeth as he released a groan. “Oh, f—yeah… Do that again. Squeeze me again like that. Daddy likes that. Ah, fuck, baby. Daddy likes that a lot.”

Apparently, Jake was also a babbler during sex.

The recombinant male’s grip tightened on your ankles and his hips speed up even more, allowing you to admire the flow of those muscles up close and personal, pleasure making that coil begin to tighten low within your belly a second time. Jake’s relentless rhythm was making you whine and moan and pant breathlessly behind your mask, the inside of the glass fogging up with each sharp breath. He continued to babble, praising you as he rutted himself between your thighs, causing your mind to blank and your hands to clutch desperately at your breasts, keeping them together for his satisfaction.

Jake snarled and sped up, pushing his knot between your thighs as his movements got sloppier as he neared his own end, nearly pressing the head of his length to your chin. If you had been maskless, you would have licked his slit.

“Just like that, baby girl,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Gonna cum. Ready for it. Gonna cum all over you. Make a mess. You’ll be smelling like me for days. Get ready… ah fuck!” Jake reared back, grabbing his length to stroke it through his orgasm, his cock pulsing as lightly glowing blue cum spurted out of the pink tip, huge globs of it painting your belly, your tits, your shoulders, your neck, the front of your mask and even getting some in your hair and the grass surrounding your head. He let out a deep, satisfied groan – long and drawn out – as his baby gravy just kept erupting from the end of his dick with no end in sight until you were just absolutely soaked with the glowing goop.

Jake let out a breathless laugh as he took you in, satisfied finally. “Yeah, maybe next time we’ll get to try this tight little cunt out,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Until then, now you gotta keep my activities quiet or else what we did will come up to. Understand, baby girl?”

You nodded slowly in understanding. You did have a secret with Jake but if it came out and Neytiri tried to kill you, you had leverage on her too.

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Originally Posted: 31 DEC 2023 Word Count: 5,440

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Happy New Year everyone and maybe 2024 will be better!