#catch me making past ems or some shit

[nyaskitten]

It'd be SO funny if they killed off some of the s4 Elemental Masters just to give new guys different powers, like Bolobo is inexplicably dead and now we have "Leafroot", a walking, talking tree master of Nature.

[aestrayla]

cherries or peaches? ft. obey me! brothers

summary: do they prefer ass or boobs? ft. obey me! brothers x f!reader

cw: highly suggestive, mdni, fluff??, pet names (darling, sweetheart), fondling, groping, MY HUMOUR..

word count: 1.5k

a/n: sorry for some of them being so short, it was actually kind of challenging trying to elaborate on the ideas rather than just plainly stating them out as they are, but i hope u still enjoy them just as much as i enjoyed writing them ^^ also, don't mind my shitty humour in the last two + i haven’t written for most of these characters before so they might sound off idk??

at first, it was hard to tell whether lucifer preferred ass or boobs.

he would always reply to you with a, "i prefer them both, equally," or a, "why should i choose when i can like them both?"

it drove you crazy because you clearly asked him to choose either one or the other. he was always dodging the question and at some point, you even got the brothers in on this, some bets were made too.

"it's obvious he likes ass more, have you seen the way he looks at y/n when they're wearing that skirt he bought for them?"

"nah he totally like boobs more, he can't keep his eyes off ‘em whenever they're wearin' a tight shirt!"

soon you started to take these signs into account, wearing much more revealing things to try and catch a reaction out of him, but to your demise, he never seemed to crack.

after weeks of bet-making and skin-revealing lucifer had finally had enough. the two of you were both lying in bed, facing one another while his arms were wrapped around your waist.

"y/n," he whispered.

"mhm?" you hummed in response.

"isn't it obvious i like these better?"

he pulled himself closer to you as his face buried against your chest. oh you thought. he had always found comfort sleeping against you like this, his head stuffed between your boobs while his arms wrapped around you tightly, that it became natural and you had almost forgot he did it.

"shit— you should've told me earlier! now we've all lost our bets to mammon!" you whined.

you could hear his muffled chuckles vibrate against your body as you wrapped your arms around his head, squeezing him closer.

mammon is 100% an ass-loving guy, no questions asked.

with mammon, no matter what you're doing, what you're wearing, where you are, or who you're with, he just loves touching you all the damn time.

whether you're walking through the halls of RAD to your next class or taking a stroll through the devildom while window shopping, he won't hesitate to sneak his hands up your skirt to feel your plump ass.

"mammon stop, we're in public!" you glare as you swat his hands away.

"’m sorry can't help it, just gotta have my hands all over ya!"

oh well, maybe next time he’d be lucky enough to sneak his hands further down your skirt and— who knows, you might just find yourself begging him for more.

and if it's just the two of you in your own company, you'll always find that his hands like to slip past the waistband of your panties just to lay onto your cheeks, rubbing and squeezing at the plump flesh. always smiling in delight as you squirm under his carnal touch.

as much as you like to complain, he always swears that "it's just comfortable!" or "my hands were just cold!"

there is no doubt in my mind that leviathan wouldn't be on team cherries.

he always lets you sit on his lap whenever he's grinding a video game or on an anime-watching marathon. a recent occurrence you've taken note of is that, almost as if it's a reflex, he'll always end up having a hand or two resting on your boobs, casually squeezing at it as if he owns the thing.

"you must be real comfortable there, levi." you teased, motioning to where his hand laid.

"huh— OH! um, I-I'M SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN TO!" he shot his hands up in defense. "it's just really soft… and warm... I'm sorry y/n." his face was bright red.

"it's fine, i was just teasing you, silly!"

there was also a time where you scolded levi for owning one of those mouse pads where ruri-chan’s the characters boobs would be squishy.

in desperate need to make it up to you, he custom ordered a version with you on it, only because he swears out of all his waifus, you're his absolute favourite.

it was a rainy night, and in the comfort of the library beside a crackling fireplace, you were messing around on your d.d.d while satan was next to you, reading what you assumed to be a mystery book.

"hey satan?" you put your d.d.d down for a moment, turning to look at him.

"hm?" he hummed, while keeping his eyes glued to the page.

"do you prefer ass or boobs?"

he pauses to look up at you and closes his book, placing it beside him, all while sighing.

"what does it look like i prefer?" he deadpans.

you break his eye contact as you look down to see his left hand buried under your sweater, which was fondling with your boob this entire time.

"so... boobs?"

he replies while picking his book up again, "yes darling, don't ask such foolish questions."

asmo loves boobs. your boobs to be specific.

don't blame him, your boobs are just so pretty and he loves pretty things.

the way they sit when you're wearing a low-cut garment, or the way they shine when you're having a bubble bath together. he loves it all.

as you know, asmo loves pampering you and surprises you with random gifts whenever he finds something that he'd love to see you in.

one night as he's doing your hair after a bath, he suddenly remembers something and stands to walk to his closet.

"the other day when i was shopping at majolish, i found this super pretty bra i thought you'd look just gorgeous in!" he approaches you with a box wrapped neatly with a ribbon.

as you open the box, you set your eyes on a beautiful red laced bra.

"are you sure i'd look good in this?"

"you look perfect in everything sweetheart, you know i’d never lie about that."

he's always buying you pretty things to wear, and trust me when i say, this definitely isn’t the first bra he's ever gotten you.

beel could not care less about choosing between your ass or boobs. they're both squishy and feel nice in his hands so it didn't really matter to him. well, not until today.

getting up from the edge of the bed and turning your heel to face him, you asked, "did you know a new cafe opened up in the devildom recently?"

"really? what food do they sell there?" he asked, his eyes looked as if there were stars in them.

"well apparently their cakes are a specialty, they're pretty popular for it."

"cake?" he drooled, "i love cake! hey we should go to the cafe right now, i'm starving." he sat up from the edge of the bed, drooling like a puppy dog.

little did he know, you decided to be a little jokester today.

"oh you're starving right now? then here," you turn around, bending over.

"what are you doing y/n?"

you turn your head back to look at his confused expression, "you said you were starving right? the cake's right here," you pointed to your ass.

he stares at you for a moment. then at your ass. then back at you again.

"so there's no cafe, is there?" he wipes his drool away with the back of his hand.

"nope. but there sure is cake," you smile cheekily while shuffling closer.

he sighs while grabbing ahold of your thighs, dragging you just inches away from his lips, "you're lucky i like this kind of cake too."

as long as he can sleep on them, belphie will like them no matter what. so when it comes to choosing between your ass or boobs, it can be a hard decision just to choose one.

belphie's "sleepability" criteria is: soft, warm and comfortable; and your boobs and ass were equal competition.

he sighs, "if i have to choose one over the other, i'd rather sleep on your ass all day" his reasoning being because your ass has more of an "even surface" compared to your boobs.

if you're ever just lounging around the house of lamentation, on your stomach specifically, within seconds you'll feel belphie's arms wrap around your legs while he lays his head onto you.

its crazy how instantly he falls asleep on you. he'd stay like that forever if you didn't have to get up to pee or because your legs fall numb.

"c'mon belphie, i needa pee so bad!" you squirm.

"mmmphh," he grumbles, half-asleep, while hugging onto your legs even tighter.

"hurry up or i'll fart on your face!" you threaten him jokingly.

"OKAY, OKAY!" he shoots up from his position and is scrambling to the edge of the bed. you laugh in response because it works every time.

"and i was having a good dream too!" he scowled, while rubbing his left eye from sleep.

lmk if u guys want a part two ft. the datables!

©2023 aestrayla. do not modify, copy, translate or share.

[ronwestbreeze]

ROLE MODEL

pairing: rockstar!hobie brown x drummer!reader

summary: i just like the song lol

word count: 1k (drabble)

author's note: the rockstar!hobie brown idea was inspired by @murdrdocs drabbles. go check them out!

It’s crazy cuz’ he noticed you before you ever set your eyes on him.

The first time was the night before his gig. Hobie just happened to be pub hopping when he saw you smashing it on the drums. You were just so into it, so entranced by the music—him so entranced by you. Hobie just knew by then he had to find some way to talk to you. You were just something he could not see only just once and leave it at that.

No. Once wasn’t enough.

You saw him during one of his gigs. The way the purple and pink lights flashed upon his umber skin, his hair—god you loved the dreads—the piercings, the devilish smirk that just made your heart jump, and the way his hands expertly moved on the strings of his guitar, creating such an amazing sound that you loved so much. The guitar was your favorite instrument, unfortunately you found yourself best at the drums but someday you’d love to give the guitar a try. And look just as cool as this guy.

 Oh yeah, you were totally crushing on him the moment you first saw him. You wanted to talk to him—really you did—even your friend was trying to push you toward him after the show. You were confident on the drums, not asking dudes out.

All you knew was that you wouldn’t forget him or that night. You just weren’t sure if you would ever see him again.

Fuck, you blew your chance…

After that night, you found yourself now obsessed with his band’s music, sometimes catching hints of his singing voice here and there. God you were such a dork about it. Your friends liked to laugh about your little crush, but you were feeling absolutely stupid about it. Knowing that it probably wouldn’t ever happen.

Turns out the two of you lived in the same city. Hobie found you during one of his quick runs to the coffee shop. There he spotted you hunched over a table with a book of music notes and headphones on your ears. He thought about approaching you, introducing himself and all that, but unfortunately he was in a rush and could do nothing but briskly walk past you. Only to stop short when he heard a familiar song coming from your headphones. Just when Hobie was about to leave, you looked up at him.

Smooth as all can be, Hobie pointed to his ears, causing you to move part of your headphones so you could hear him say, “I like that song. You’ve got taste, yeah?”

Your smile made him smile just a bit, “I wouldn’t say all that. If you see my playlist you might change your mind.”

“Naah, I’ll show you mine and you show me yours.”

A chuckle left your lips, “Sure, sounds great.”

Hobie smirked, “I’m—”

“Hobie Brown. Yea, I saw you at one of your shows.”

Huh, you knew who he was. Hobie shouldn’t have been so giddy about this the way he was at that moment.

“You gonna tell me your name then?”

“Y/N.”

God your name was even prettier than he imagined.

You saw him again during a show near your old neighborhood. He even spotted you out in the crowd this time. Honestly, you couldn’t believe you had ran into him that day in the coffee shop, much less that he now knew your name. You pinched yourself multiple times just to make sure you hadn’t been dreaming about that interaction. And when the bruises appeared on your skin, your heart fluttered for hours. A giggly mess as embarrassing as it sounded.

When the show was over, you managed to leave out the side door of the venue only to find Hobie leaning against a wall with a cigarette in his mouth and black headphones around his neck. He looked up, a grin stretching his lips when he saw you.

“Thought I saw you in ‘ere.”

He stepped toward you as you grinned, “You were killer on that guitar you know, I’m almost envious.”

“Naah, I know you ain’t shit talkin’ when I saw you slammin’ it on em’ drums.” Hobie smirked when you grew visibly flustered. You didn’t know he had seen you play before. “Best drummer I’ve seen, I’ll tell ya.”

“Shut up, there’s way better.” You playfully rolled your eyes as you leaned on the brick wall next to him. You gestured to the headphones, “Got that playlist for me?”

Hobie smirked and placed them on your head, “This first song is why I picked up the strings in the first place.”

When the song played, when you heard the guitar, you immediately was engrossed into the song. Closing your eyes, listening closely to every instrument and every voice. For a second you had almost forgotten that Hobie was there watching you, his hand on the wall next to you and leaning on it.

You pointed to the headphones, “You’ve gotta show me how to play like this. Like you one day.”

“Yeah?” Hobie glanced from your lips and then back to your eyes, “What, d’you want private lessons? Cuz’ I think there’s room in me schedule. If ya ready for it.”

Instead of replying, you took your own headphones out and placed them on his head. “Here, you're gonna like this one.” When you played the song from your phone, Hobie didn’t close his eyes and get into the music like you had done. Instead he never broke eye contact with you and his head began bopping slightly.

You stepped forward and Hobie leaned closer. It was perfect how your lips easily fitted each other. How the smell of both cigarettes and cologne filled your nose, leaving you wanting more of it. How the softness of your lips only confirmed that he wouldn’t let you go so easily.

Both hands were on the wall and on either side of your head as he leaned further into the kiss. The music pounded in both of your ears, the night was loud and yet quiet at the same time.

There was a certain high that came from his touch. And there was a certain drug that he craved when it came to kissing you.

When the two of you broke apart to catch your breaths, he grinned down at you.

“It’s a date then.”

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

What about showering with the mercs? Nothing dirty, like, at all. But like, washing the gross men’s hair while the bask in the most affection they’ve gotten since 5th grade. Maybe I just wanna see tough and gruff grown men turn into putty when given the smallest amount of care. Gn reader please!! And thank you!!

I love how you assume they got affection in 5th grade. What a very bold claim.

The Mercs taking a shower with Y/N (SFW)

Scout:

- Scout is a very restless person. He can never sit still for more than five seconds. It takes a lot of massages and rubbing soap on his body for him to finally stop shuffling his feet. Even then his attention is always caught by something mundane. Like a weird tile on the wall or the window high above near the ceiling where nobody could be a peeping tom.

- Your affections finally catch up to him. He relaxes a little more when you start to do his hair. He lays his entire head on you and lets you work at his scalp. You notice for some reason his dog-tags are still on him and ask him about it. He shrugs and goes “What if I die in the shower or some shit? Who knows. Maybe a frenchie will fuckshit out of nowhere and backstab me.”

- You can’t help but huff at his joke. It was an amused yet annoyed response to his nonsense. He smiles groggily as you begin washing his back. “Do you do this often?” “Do what?” You ask. “Join a group of mercenaries and then wash their backs.” He says. You scowl at him and shove the loofah in his mouth.

———————————————————————-

Soldier:

- Literal dog. Arches his spine and tilts his head back in bliss as you scratch his scalp. Sighs in relief as you release him of today’s pressure. Turns around against the wall to let you do his back. Raises any limb up when you need it. He enjoys being treated like a pampered animal. He’s like a big Labrador that loves water

- He begins doing you as well mid wash. Covering you in body wash and rubbing your back and tummy in circles. You know little to nothing of soldier’s past so it’s quite a pleasant surprise when you discover he’s good at this. Palming the knots out of your muscles and encouraging you to relax. It’s just enough pressure not to hurt you.

- He took his helmet into the wash.. unsurprising. Pyro and Spy have insecurities with their true face as well. He tilts his helmet upward and flicks it off. allowing it to fall to the floor. His grey eyes are so.. loving. There’s this adoring smile on his face. He makes you so weak you both have to sit down in the shower.

- “C’mere cutie.” Oh. oh shit.

————————————————————————-

Demoman:

- Motherfucker brings alcohol into the shower and lights candles. It’s going to be awkward trying to explain to the others why there’s traces of platonic/romantic intimacy (your pick) in the fucking showers.

- … Let alone why some of the candles look suspiciously like sticks of dynamite.

- “Eh, I ran out of candles and em’ too lazy to get me ass to the store. The rest are just Delayed-Dynamite I bought from mann co a year ago. Don’t worry, we have aroun’ an hour before dey explode!” God you hate him so much sometimes. But you trust his profession in explosive devices and decide to risk it. If all else fails you’ll both just respawn and you’ll beat the shit out of him. No biggie! (Also that dynamite sounds really unhelpful.. No wonder he never used it.)

- Falls asleep in the shower with you on his lap. Usually he snores but he’s dead quiet this time with a big smile on his face. He seems quite content with this. Although you’re the one who has to snuff out the dynamite in time.

——————————————————————————

Engineer:

- He obviously won’t show it, but he’s really timid and embarrassed about this. The moment you both get in, you’re squished against the wall by his massive tummy. Like actually suffocating. This particular shower is way too small for two people.

- “Sorry, pardner.” He says, so unsympathetically that he practically radiates it. In truth his shyness immediately faded when he realized he had the upper hand in the situation. He had a grin on his face as he watched you struggle to grab the soap. Jesus, even his manboobs were obstacles. You wondered how this guy didn’t just crush people on the battlefield by sitting on them.

- “See here, now..” He adjusts his mechanical hand, making sure it was still working — even under the water. He grabbed the soap and began soaping up a loofah. “Guess you’ll just have to watch me, instead. Huh?” He teased. His soft spoken voice made it sound more like he was teasing a small newborn puppy for falling on its back, though. Good luck trying to move around, let alone convince him you’ll wash him.

—————————————————————————-

Heavy:

- LITERALLY SUFFOCATES YOU TO DEATH LIKE ENGINEER BUT MORE PAINFUL

- You’re half wondering if you’re actually going to die from this or break the tile wall. Heavy just stares down at your poor body — that you SWEAR is being mangled right now. “Little teddy bear is too small for Heavy.” He grumbles, shoving his body into you to see your panicked squeaks.

- It doesn’t help that he’s actually incredibly muscular. All of that isn’t fat. It’s pure. fucking. bear. He moves back a bit after getting his fill of enjoyment and you touch his chest with your hands for the first time. Realizing it was rock solid. How did you not notice this before?

- His soft monster-like breathing was calming and evened out your own. It was like you were washing a sleeping dragon. You’re slightly disappointed he’s not a huge werewolf. But regardless, he was calm very often and you weren’t. This closeness and intense heat from the shower was making you sleepy.

—————————————————————————

Pyro:

- Literally refuses. good job trying to get them in. You have to be a SUPER trustworthy friend/partner of many years before you come to this point.

- Even then, after they take a shower they enjoy a nice hot bath to unwind. It’s incredibly relaxing to lay on their chubby belly and allow yourself to take in the heat. They like their bathes EXTREMELY hot by the way. Might as well be boiling themselves. Luckily it doesn’t seem to be killing you or causing third degree burns, so it’s not boiling.

- When you wash them, make sure to rub their belly. They’ll practically melt at the touch. Maybe even almost fall asleep. Don’t forget to slap their belly like a drum. Produces nice sound. You NEED to do this. This is a threat.

—————————————————————————

Sniper:

- Yes, this man does shower regularly. Dear god. You people are degenerates. He is NOT smelly stinky. Professionals have standards.

- Gets extremely touchy feely with you. As you trace his chest scars he flinches for a second but then sighs. You explore his body whilst soaping him up. Every little part of him is free for touching. On his back are many, many scars from spies that the respawn machine didn’t quite heal. You touch those sensitive areas to test the waters (pun intended.) and he nearly takes a huge chunk out of your shoulder by almost biting you.

- But feeling your comforting touch.. And your fingers carefully gliding over the sensitive areas, he trusts you to treat them well. You are so close to him you can practically feel his breath on your face and smell his pleasant aftershave. “Goood..” He growls. He drags his compliment and his voice makes you shiver. It’s like your ears are orgasming.

—————————————————————————

Medic:

- He is unbelievably stubborn at first, but the moment you try and respect his wishes and leave, he goes “WAIT.” Yeah, fucking figures. You get in the shower with him and he’s trying to be stoic and distant most of the time. He feels exposed and it’s making him feel conflicted. Medic is dominate, protective by nature due to his difficult past. He feels a need to be in control of this situation entirely.

- He gets grumpy when you insist on washing him and reverses the situation. Instead opting to take care of you instead. He’s no stranger to massages. (Please don’t ask him about the time he had to check people bare naked when he still had his medical license.) And he’s really experienced in knowing all the right places. Instructing you in an incredibly professional manner to turn around, lift an arm and whatnot.

- The moment he goes to your stomach, he says quietly “Did you know that all your intestines are moving around in there like a snake right now? Ohh.. I’d love to feel the texture of them.” He presses his hand on your lower half, sad that it isn’t possible without cutting you open. He hums contently as he feels around where your lungs and heart would be. Counting every single second you breathe in and out.

- For some reason you feel like you’re being examined and breathe deeper breaths on instinct. Which only furthers his pleasure. “I want to be close..” His voice is barely audible. You swear he’s whispering this repeatedly. “I want to be close, I want to be close.. I want to be close.” He wraps his arms around you, squeezing you to death like a plush doll. “I want to be close, I want to be close!” He’s beginning to sound a little frustrated. As if he wanted to be one with you in some way.

——————————————————————————

Spy:

- He’s so used to sexual favors that he mistakes this as some sort of sexual intimacy at first. Taken aback when he realizes it’s just casual affection. He’s not used to people loving him for merely existing. He always has to be in somebody’s pants or he feels useless to said person.

- Refuses to take his mask off. It’s sopping wet. You look at his pitiful state with love in your eyes. He scoffs at you “Oh look, somebody who doesn’t have to hide their identity because they don’t have literal mafias, big name criminals, and government officials tailing them.. How very wonderful.” He’ll take it off for the hair wash but you have to close your eyes while doing it, otherwise he threatens to cut you. (Hah. Bullshit. He won’t.)

- Very quiet most of the time. Little speak. His touch is delicate and focused, rubbing your back as you wash his big chest. For somebody who folds like a piece of paper on the battlefield against enemy pyros, he’s certainly strong compared to you.

- You feel something gently poke at your back. Freezing in place, you eye the sliver object behind you. Low and behold there’s spy’s butterfly knife. He can’t seem to get intimate without pulling that thing out and doing casual knife play with you. No matter who you are to him; he’ll twirl the knife behind you on your skin. So delicate that he doesn’t pierce your skin at all. He does this often as a game of trust. Eager to see if you’ll shrink away or not. In fear of what he truly is. Weapons will always be a part of him.

[mopopshop]

i need angst w emily pls anything 🙏

Tension (Emily Engstler x OC)

summary: emily keeps running into her past flings and gabi gets jealous, kinda toxic but they love each other at the end of the day

i love this one a lot so i hope y’all enjoy!!!

You really only enjoy parties when you're with Emily, but you don't get to indulge in those too often since she's usually at practice. 

 But tonight, the plan is just fun, and when Emily asks if you want to go out to a party, you can't help how stupidly excited you get. You dress in a denim mini skirt and a black crop top. Your makeup is done as usual, topped off with a glossy lip.

You almost don't make it out of the house because Emily can't keep her hands to herself, but alas, you do, enjoying the free drinks and music when you arrive.

You've been there for about an hour when you leave Emily in the hallway momentarily to grab another drink. 

You return minutes later, a little giddy, "Just the way you like, drink up" you insist, holding your red solo cup to Emily who shakes her head uninterested.

 "Eh, not tonight. Ion really feel like it"

"Just a taste, Em. I could have a future in bartending." You say taking a sip of her drink to show how good it tastes. Instead of drinking from the cup, she pulls you in by your waist and kisses your lips, sucking on your bottom lip, 

"Hmm yeah that's kinda good."

You chuckle and roll your eyes at her antics, putting her drink on a random table and sip on your own as you stay cozy in her arms. "I think they should pay me to mix drinks for people instead of giving people that crappy jungle juice."

"Yeah? You tryna get into business?"

"Mhmm. Don't you think I'll make a fortune?"

"I mean you're mad sexy and selling good drinks. I don't see why not."

"Maybe we can go into business together, party favors all wrapped in one." Before Emily can tell you you're tripping, a girl strides up to you both.

 “Emily."

She turns to the girl she doesn't recognize, "Hi..?” 

"It's Leslie. From a few years back," she explains.

"Ohhh shit. Hi," she says, dropping her arm from you to lean in to hug Leslie. "Thought you and your family moved?"

"We did. I was just back visiting some friends for the weekend. It's good to see you."

"You too. This is my girl, Gabi," she introduces, and you shyly wave.

"I'm Leslie. Nice to meet you. Emily and I were cool back in the day.” she explains then turns back to Emily “We should catch up while I'm here," she grins.

"Yeah uh.. I'm a little busy but we can see."

"Sweet, see you then," she says. "Nice to meet you, Gabi."

When she walks off, you get a flashback from a party you went to about a month back.

Emily was with the team that night, so you weren't around her like you usually would be. After giving her a few minutes of space you go searching. 

Finding her in a hallway where she and some girl are talking. They're both posted up against the wall like they've been talking for a while. And it's not that you're immediately jealous. You're merely curious. Your girlfriend isn't much of a talker, especially to strangers, so you're wondering who she is and why she seems so comfortable chatting with the stranger. You walk down the hall, and Emily catches your eye before you make it to them. She shoots you a smile and wraps an arm around you when you reach her.

"You having a good time?" she asks.

You nod and look over to the girl, Emily noticed and introduces her "This is Jen. We used to chill back in the day. This is my girlfriend, Gabi," she introduces.

Jenny smiles and nods, "Nice to meet you. You're lucky, Em has always been such a good person."

Your eyes twitch at the use of ‘Em’ but you smile and look up at your girlfriend, "I know. How did you guys meet?"

"Um, through a friend of a friend really. We used to hang a lot after parties. We were just reckless horny teenagers, you know how it is," Jenny says.

It finally dawns on you that this is one of Emily's previous hookups. You don't say that you, in fact, 'don't know how it is,' but remain polite nonetheless, "Yeah, of course. It was nice meeting you."

"You too. Good seeing you, Em! You look good."

You narrow your gaze at that ending comment, and as if Emily can read your mind, she reassures you.

“Baby, chill. She didn’t mean it like that”

"I didn't even say anything, Emily," you say defensively.

"Yeah, but I know my girl. You're real expressive and don't need to speak for me to know what you're thinking. Just know you’re the only girl I want, m’kay?"

So by the time it happens again, you already know their history before Emily explains anything, but you ask anyway.

"Who was that?" you ask.

She shrugs and sniffs, "Old friend."

"From school?"

"Mhmm," she says, looking down the hall. Seemingly avoiding everywhere but your eyes. 

"Why can't you look at me?" You ask because Emily finds it incredibly hard not to tell you the truth when you're staring at her. She can tell you've been reaching your limit lately with people approaching her, and she just doesn't want to send you over the edge. 

"I am looking at you," she chuckles, turning back to look at you and pecking your lips. You narrow your gaze up at her.

 "Why are you being awkward?"

"I didn’t mean to. Sorry." she says then quickly goes back to no eye contact. 

"Did something happen with you two?" you ask, grabbing her chin and turning it to look at you. "Hmm?"

"Um, I mean, we weren't like together or anything like that. Just hooked up a couple times," she admits. You nod, hands caressing the back of her head.

"That was forever ago," she's quick to explain. "Like she said, five or six years."

"Can I ask you something? And I want you to be honest," you say, moving from her head to your her hand and interlocking with hers.

"Alright."

"How many people have you been with before me?"

"Uh— like sexually..?" she questions and you nod in confirmation.

"Um, I don't really know to be honest."

Your brows shoot up, "What do you mean you don't know? Em, Is the number that high?"

"Why does it matter? It's just you now."

"I'm just curious. Is it over 5? 10?" you ask.

"Over 20?" you question then flinch when she doesn't reply, "Wow, Emily," you say, sipping your drink in disbelief.

 "Don't be upset, baby" she says, squeezing your waist.

"I'm not upset, it's just weird. It'd be nice to go to these parties and not run into every girl you've fucked. That's all," you say, seething through your teeth, walking off towards the kitchen to refill your drink.

"It's a small town, Gabbs. We're gonna run into some people."

You whip your head to her, " ‘Some people’ doesn’t mean be with nearly half of the girls our age in D.C"

"I was young. Like stupidly young, doing shit I wasn't supposed to. I grew out of that, chilled out for a while now and all that was before you anyway. Why you tripping?"

"I just don't like it. I'm your girlfriend, I don't like people you've been with coming up to us like you're still friends. It's weird, Em. And if you weren't my first and there were girls I've been with coming up to us every week, I know you would feel the same way."

"I get it, Gabi. I'm sorry. What you want me to do though?"

You shrug because realistically there's nothing you can do in this situation. You're upset and feel awkward and uncomfortable. Are the past girls looking up at you, wondering why Emily chose you? Were they wishing Emily was single so they can have a repeat of their nights with her? Why are they even so comfortable coming up to her to say hi? How did it end? Were any of them repeats? Your mind is just spiraling.

She takes your hand as she leads you out of the house and you both settle on the porch. "Ask me what you wanna ask. I can tell you're overthinking it and there ain't nothing to overthink," she says.

"I don't know, Em," you sigh, running your fingers through your hair.

"Just talk then. Say what's on your mind."

"I feel uncomfortable whenever someone comes up to us. I keep wondering why they're so comfortable coming up to you. Before you introduce me, are they trying to hook up again? Or how did y'all leave things? Were y’all friends with benefits, more? Or— I don't know. It's just really weird for me. I know I have no reason to be upset, like you've been with a lot of people, fine, but meeting them and— I don't know. I don't want to feel like I'm fighting to keep you interested in me. That's how I feel when we run into these girls."

Emily steps closer to you and wraps her arms around your waist, sensing your doubt. "Thank you for telling me. Would you like me to answer your questions?"

You nod.

"I've had a couple of friends with benefits. Leslie and Chelsea, the ones who were trying to make a move, were two of 'em. It's rare that I end things badly with someone; we just stop hooking up, so there's no bad blood, which is maybe why they come say hi. Never had anything more with any of them. You know you're my first girlfriend. There ain't no reason you gotta feel like you're competing with someone else. I'd put a ring on it if you let me."

You're still pouty and needing some affirmation, so you hold your left hand out. She chuckles, picking up your hand up and kissing it. "Gotta find your ring first."

"I'm sorry for being jealous. It's just really hard sometimes, Emily. I just wanna enjoy my nights with you without that or not worry when I don't come that they're gonna try something."

"They can try all they want. I'm not interested,

Gabbs. It ain't ever gonna be like that with nobody else. I'm in this with you for life; you're all I want. Come on now, you know that."

"I know, I do know that," you insist. "I trust you, Em. I really do. I just—it's just gonna take me a minute." You lean in to give her a chaste kiss. "Also, you still didn't tell me your number."

"Why you so curious?" She asks, stroking your chin. "I really don't keep track."

"What if, at the time, you caught an STI? How would you tell everyone you've slept with?"

Emily should be used to your random questions by now, but she doesn't know if she'll ever be. "I don't know, G. Come on, I don't wanna talk about this."

"Okay, okay," you say like you're about to drop it and then ask, "Just tell me like what is it around. 20, 40, 50?"

"Gabi," she chuckles. "I don't know, maybe around 20, 25."

You nod, processing the information. A brief moment of silence passes between you. "I'm not jealous, but I can't believe you even knew 25 people you wanted to sleep with."

"I mean, there wasn't really a bar to meet or nothing. I was just horny and puberty was ruining my shit. It's all I could think about at the time, so I was sleeping with whoever wanted to”

"Did you.. like use— any type of protection" you push.

"Baby," she sighs. "Why you interrogating me now?"

"What? You're sleeping with me now. I should know," you defend, looking up at her.

"And we got tested before we even started sleeping together, so that don't even matter."

"So I'm guessing that's a no," you conclude.

"Only with some I was sleeping with regularly. And they didn't crossover, so it was only unprotected sex with one person at a time. I wasn't that dense."

"Okay. Everything we've done, have you done it all before, or was any of it your first time?"

"A lot of it was my first time, Gabi. I'm telling you, that shit before was transactional on both ends. It was in and out, so all of this with you was still new for me. But even if it wasn't, I'm with you, G. So it's gonna be special for me no matter what."

"You good with the questions?" she asks when you don't ask a follow-up question.

"I think you're really in love with me, Em," you smile down in between you.

"I am."

"I know," you smile, wrapping your arms around her neck, your gaze shifting up to her. "I love you and I trust you. It's just strange sometimes, but I know you'll always choose me."

"Damn right."

"So when are you proposing?"

"It ain't gonna be a surprise if I tell you, G."

"But maybe like next year? Next two?" you try to gauge. Emily chuckles and kisses you. "Ain't telling you shit, baby, so you might as well stop asking."

"Okay, but like you'll tell me if I need to wear something nice the day of, right?" you mutter against her lips.

Emily ignores your insistent questioning, picks you up, and deepens the kiss, and that does the trick in shutting you up and getting your mind off it, at least for tonight.

———

[idesofrevolution]

The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

There's nothing quite like your bro slobberin' over your sweaty feet while tokin' on a hookah. Let me just tell you- everybody's happy. I'm stoked to be stoned and minty fresh, and he's happy to taste my ripe size 12's. Who isn't the happiest? The folks. Sure, I dropped out of college, sure I started focusing one hundred percent on my art, sure I have a parade of guys out of my little basement lair... but I never got why they had to be such fuckin' buzzkills.

Ever since they joined that church when I was at uni, my parents have been sucked into the Evangelical cult. Not the whole lifting your hands up to Jesus & speaking in tongues sort of church, by the way. Man, they're out there with picket signs at sex clinics, bannin' books at the high school, all that crazy fuckin' Christian Nation bullshit. They're my parents, so I love 'em and whatever. But fuck, those psychos really fucked 'em up. So now, their crusade is "curing" me of my gayness. Didn't really matter that I'm pan, they don't really know the difference. They don't really care about the difference, though. Not straight, not right.

So when they caught me the other day with Sam cleanin' my dick in the basement, it was World War 3. Man, a Nuclear Bomb would have less energy than my mom's hysterical shrieking. It's Florida, so it's nothing the neighbors haven't heard before. But, shit. I thought my eardrums were gonna pop. They stomped off upstairs, bein' all 'we are going to talk about this later, Santiago.' So, I let Sammy finish up, I pulled on some shorts and I went upstairs to face the fire while he snuck out the basement window. Fuck, I wished I were him.

The 'family meeting' went about as well as you'd expect. Threats of burning in hell for all eternity, demands that I find the Lord, etc. Apparently he doesn't like a lot of things about me: my weed, my tattoos, my sexuality, my piercings, my hair for some reason? I don't know man, I just tuned out after a while. What I did catch, though, they were sending me to substance abuse counseling. Couldn't help but laugh, and that sent dad through the fuckin' roof.

"Doctor Fabrega is going to teach you some manners, young man. Make you a Godly man, like you should be." Yada yada yada. He should have known better than to give me the doc's name. After the ass reaming, I made my way back downstairs to the computer. It took five minutes of research to find this Doctor Fabrega. Turns out he's a Christian Therapist, but that wasn't what was most interesting. Down in his specializations, buried beneath substance abuse & cognitive behavioral therapy was a word that caught my eye: licensed Hypnotherapist.

I knew exactly what kind of bullshit they were tryin' to pull on me. But when I was enrolled at U Miami, my major was Psychology. Not only that, but I still happened to have access to the university library. Oops.

I texted Sammy, knowing I was gonna be up all night doing research, and that my dick would need some appropriate attention under the desk. I was gonna show this motherfucker just how sick it really is to be like me.

---

The waiting room was bullshit. Cold white walls, bright wood floors... It looked straight out of an IKEA ad. I'd already been there for like 20 minutes past my appointment time, giving me just enough time to scroll through the last chapter on my phone. I hear the receptionist call out my name, and I head toward the office. Just as bullshit as the waiting room. It's like the guy wants to live in a psych ward- no color anywhere. At least get a blacklight or something.

"Santiago Rivera. Welcome, I'm Dr. Fabrega." The guy was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. Looked like he was straight out of Sao Paulo- even with the fancy suit you can't hide muscle like that. "Please, sit. It's so good to meet you." His voice was so weird. Speaking every word with like, perfect diction. You know those AI voices that talk that way? That's what it was like, as if he were trying so hard to hide an accent underneath.

"Just call me Santi, doc." I plopped down on the leather chair, might have put my feet up on his coffee table (don't recall), and he just looked at me like he was looking in a microscope. No idea what the deal was. He walked over to the couch and sat down with my file and started to drone on.

"Alright, Santi, it says here that your parents are pretty concerned about your behavior lately. You're 23 years old and a college dropout, you take illicit drugs, you have no job, and you're having unnatural thoughts. That's quite the list, bud." He was so fuckin smug, that sort of punchable glibness that only comes from a particular kind of self righteousness. Like Jesus himself came down and kissed them.

"So, first off. I did drop out of college, because I couldn't afford it. Second, I sure the fuck do smoke green because it's a) fun, and b) prescribed to me by my real doctor. Third, I do have a job. I do graphic design and graffiti art and I pay my own bills with it. And last off, yup: I fucked him." He sat there, somehow shocked that I told him how it was right off the bat. I'm not playing his little game, and that made him angry.

"I see. So you have no remorse for any of this? I believe your parents are very right to be concerned about where your life is headed."

"Fascinating, considering I'm moving out at the end of the month and they won't need to deal with my life. So. You married?" He was thrown off by that, just as I'd hoped. Right out of the blue. Knocks them off kilter for a second. An easy question to answer, so they usually do.

"Uh, well, no I'm not married. Is that your concern in all this?" Man, I couldn't help but laugh. He's trying to be sarcastic?

"Where did ya go to school for... whatever this is." This made him close my file, he even put it on the table and crossed his arms.

"I went to Liberty University, top of my class in their Doctor of Psychology program. You, it seems didn't make it that far, so you might not know what 'this' is." Oooh, he's big mad. I thought, let's push it. I did what most of my guys love, but would piss him off, I kicked off the Vans. Made sure I wore my skating shoes that day, the super ripe ones with the same damp socks. When they came off, those puppies let their presence be known.

"Sounds boring. Boring then, boring now. I got accepted into the Art Institute in Savannah, so I'll be headed that way soon. Be legit soon, then you wouldn't have anything to say. How's your sex life?" He thought he was so tough, not flinching at the musk, nor my question. But I knew both hit him right where I wanted. The question to make him mad, the stink to get him hot.

"Santiago, I think we should continue with our session. You can put your shoes back on and we can try some exercises to help you think a bit more clearly." I crossed my ankles, wriggling my toes a bit.

"I think they need some air. Are you gonna try and hypnotize me now? Or is that the last ditch effort when everything else fails?" He leaned back in his seat, the grimace growing stronger. "That stuff is not that hard to master. A couple days really and you got it down."

"Is that so?" He ground his teeth as he spat out his words. "It seems you know all there is to know, then." Time to hit it home.

"You know what, let's put money on it, doc. Hundred bucks says I can put you under." I got him, his eyebrow shifted just enough for me to see.

"This isn't a casino, Santiago. I don't bet money on client's health." I couldn't help but smirk. He left an opening I couldn't pass up.

"Aight, no money then. If I put you under, I get the bragging rights. If I don't, I'll play your stupid games. Win-win for you, nothing to lose but your dignity." Hook, line and sinker; he leaned in, grabbing the remote on the table next to him. He tapped a button, and the shades started to come down.

"Well then, Mr. Rivera. I wish you luck."

The room got dark. Really fuckin' dark. Fabrega hit another button on the remote, and a cool blue washed over the room. Gotta say, tight LED system. I kicked my shoes off the table, and scooted my chair forward. Showtime.

"Alright, Santana, I want you to just take deep breaths." He squirmed at my use of his first name, one last dig before I brain fucked him. He took his deep breaths one at a time, slowly getting deeper and deeper. "As I count down from one to ten, each number will bring you closer and closer to relaxation. Picture a long tunnel, at the end, a bright white light. With every number, you take a step forward to the light, do you understand?"

He nodded, it was an induction I'd made up this morning. I started from 10, telling him his first step he could feel the tingling relaxation in the tips of his fingers, slowly crawling up his hands and forearms. 9. Another step, the tingling creeps up his big muscly arms and shoulders. 8. One more step, the tingling is pushing up his neck and throat, reaching his tongue and teeth. 7. The tingling bursts into his head, a paradoxical rush of relaxation, a fog of dissonance washes over his brain as thoughts collide and crash about. 6. The tingling washes down his spine, flowing through his nerves into every part of his body. His body feels electric, a painless jolt running throughout him. I watched as he tensed up, his big muscles contracting and bunching him up. It was working.

We get to 5, starting at the crown of his head, the volts decrease, turning lugubrious and liquified like molasses sloshing about in his head. 4. The light is so close he can feel the heat, but his body is cooled as the syrupy fluid flows down over him like a waterfall, pooling in his big feet as it fills every crevice. 3. It feels as if he's trudging through mud toward the light, his legs feeling wobbly and gelatinous. 2. So close, his whole body feels like a massless blob, inching toward the final drop into the cavernous light. 1. He crawls toward the ledge, plummeting down into the endless void of bright white light. There, he will sit as I have a little bit of fun.

"Alright, Santana. Can you hear me in there?" Fabrega nods, expressionless. Fuck, that was maybe a 80/20 chance I was gonna fuck this shit up so bad. But I guess God really is on my side here. "Whenever I ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Whatever I say you will incorporate into your life. Now, Santana, what do you do when you're not at work?" His lips moved slowly and replied in monotone.

"I go to the gym, I go to the golf course, I hire my date, and I go home." Ooooh shit. He's giving my friends on the corners a decent living, good for him. Hardly a Godly thing to do. Either way, it was a perfect place to start.

"You love going to the gym, don't you, Santana?" He nodded. "You love gettin' all sweaty don't you?" His head began to shake, his expression furrowing a bit in disgust. "No, Santana. You love getting all sweaty. The feeling of those cool droplets on your hot muscles during a hard workout? Doesn't it feel good?" He pauses, before reluctantly nodding. Ahh I love gettin my fingers in his brain, never ceases to please. "You love that funk that comes off your sweat, Santana. You love sniffin your pits, your big feet, your balls... That musk means you're workin' hard. Keeping in shape. Staying virile. Isn't that right?" He nodded, squirming in the chair. I watched his body try to reject the instructions, try to rebel, but just one repetition had his back to stillness.

"You don't even like golf, do you?" He nodded, I didn't even need to manipulate him. "You much prefer hitting the beach, don't you? Seein' all the guys and gals starin' at your glorious bod... You love it, don't you?" He nodded, the side of his lip curling ever so slightly. "You love bringing out the speedo, letting the goods hang low, letting the buns bulge... you know they all wanna see it anyway..." He nodded again, it was like taking candy from a baby. The guy had the mental fortitude of a frog.

"You like fucking, too. You can have any girl or guy on the street with a single wink." He nodded, and I couldn't help but watch as his groin started to bulge. "Yeah, boy. You love taking that horse cock and plowing it into some ass... plowing it into some pussy... fucking their pretty little mouths..." Drool started to drip from the corner of his lip, and a little wet spot quickly appeared on his pants. "You're a freak, aren't you, Santana? You like fuckin' in the car, in the sauna, at the gym, under the desk... gushing gallons into them while you shove your sneaker on their face." He was moaning, slowly grinding against the open air. Can't lie, I was gropin' myself a bit just watching him.

"Now, Santana. I'm going to bring you back to your office, but when I do, you are going to be super laid back and chill with Santi during your sessions. If he says the word 'sniff' you will return to this space, return to an open mind, just as we have done here today. Do you understand?" He nodded one final time before I began his emergence. Counting back from one to ten, I watched as he slowly came back to the real world, and with one snap, he blinked his eyes and wiped his brow.

"Well, doc. I got the bragging rights." Fabrega pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. Time to see if it had all paid off.

"Uhh... yeah... Santi. You got me there..." Perfect. He pulled his hand away from his nose, clicking the shades back up to their little hole. It didn't take long until he saw the wet patch on his bulbous package. He chuckled under his breath. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Santi... I have hyperspermia, so sometimes it all just flows out." Hot- and totally unprofessional. Just how I like 'em. I leaned back in my chair, smirkin' the whole way.

"Damn, doc. Firehose down there. Gonna have to show me sometime." He smirked and waved me off.

"I don't fraternize with clients, Santi. Oh, look at the time. I'm late for my 5:30. Alright, I'll see you next week." He stood up, extending his hand, his whole demeanor entirely changed. I slipped my Vans back on, spitting on my hand before gripping his. He shuddered a bit, sure. But we were gonna get real close, real quick.

---

The next few days flew by. My folks were so excited to see that I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Fabrega, and I loved knowing what they didn't. I was excited to see if Dr. Fabrega was gonna be Santana. So when I finally got back in for my appointment, I didn't need to wait long at all. Only five minutes and the door swung open, the receptionist completely flustered. The anticipation was killing me. She sat down behind her computer with tunnel vision and I walked into the office.

At first, I thought it was empty. He wasn't sitting at his desk, on the couch... but as I heard huffing from the balcony, I knew where to find him. I walked up to the sliding glass door, and turned outside to see one hell of a sight.

It was Santana. Nothing on but his whitie-tighties and his damp socks doing pushups on the bench. Fuck, those muscles were glistening in the light, his underwear with damp patches on his ass and bulge. His clothes sat in a pile near his head: jeans, a Miami Heat jersey, some sick dunks I wanted to steal... far from the stuffy suit he had on just the week before. He finally noticed me, and smiled.

"Santi! Hey! Just finishing up my lunch workout. Thought I'd get a session in today on the balcony. Damn, the fresh air is good for exercise!" I smirked. It was night and day. So far, gone was the bible thumping hypocrite, and here was what was underneath. If anything I was doing him a service.

"Shit, Santana! You're looking prime today. You gonna funk out our session today, or?" I punched him in the shoulder, and he giggled like a kid.

"It's eau naturale, my friend. Natural water. That's what it smells like." He slipped on his jeans and his big fuckin' sneakers, tossing the jersey over his head while we walked in. He trailed some deliciously ripe musk, and I couldn't help but savor a bit of it. We plopped down on our seats, and just started shootin' shit. I bitched about the parents, he bitched about his receptionist, I told him about Sammy suckin' my dick clean, and he told me about the threesome with a gym bro and his girlfriend. He was coming along beautifully. Though, I thought to myself, how's about a round two?

"Dude, by the way, those kicks are fuckin' tight." I pointed to the dunks, which he smugly kicked up onto the coffee table, showing them off.

"Thanks, man. They're the lifting shoes. My work boots, heh." I reached out, grabbing ahold of his foot, and yanked it off. He chuckled like a fuckin' idiot while I looked at 'em. Size 13, nice and big- and the smell wafting out of there... Fuck, man.

"Damn, dude you never wash your socks? These stink!" I playfully tossed the shoe at him, and just as he started to brush off the comment, I said my magic word. "Sniff it." Like a flipped lightswitch, his expression turned numb, slowly bringing the shoe to his nose and inhaling his own musk. I clapped my hands, rubbing them together: let's do a little more programming.

"Santana, You're a pretty chill guy, you know that?" He nodded. "You smoke, don't you? You know, the good shit?" Deep in his mind, he had to know it was me talking at this point, so I was talking to him like a bro. Establishes trust, ya know? He shook his head no. "Ahh, come on man. You love kickin' back and toking on that reefer after a long workout." Santana chuckled a bit, before nodding, still nose deep in his sneaker. "Yeah, you love smokin' out your bros, your babes... when you're not shootin' tequila!" He full out laughed on that one, nodding along. The sneaker slowly dropped from his hand, and he laid back in his chair.

"How old are you, Santana?"

"28." Shit, he was only a few years older than me. I mean, he looked young. But hell, you wouldn't have known it from the way he acted.

"Where are you from?" "Rio de Janeiro." Interesting. I clocked the accent. I was pretty proud of myself.

"Why do you try so hard to hide it? The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you act... You act like you're from Ohio." Another chuckle, I should have had a Netflix special. "You're gonna embrace that Brazilian pride, bro. Don't hide it for some mayo drinking buzzkills!" He furrowed his brow, nodding intently. This one was for his own fuckin' good. Be proud of that shit! "You should get some ink to really embrace it. Nothin' sexier than a tatted up stud, am I right?" He nodded again, his bulge once more springing to life. I smirked, simply wanting to know a little something somethin'.

"Do you think Santi is hot?" He sat there for a second, before slowly smiling and nodding. I didn't even need to program that one. Aww, big old himbo. "You're not afraid to let him know, are ya? I mean if you tell his crazy fuckin' parents that he's cured... He wouldn't be your patient anymore... Right?" His bulge twitched again, and he smirked devilishly as he nodded. "You like it when he's all up in your brain, don't you? You like it when he gets his dick deep in there and mind fucks you into a chill, laid back stud. Don't ya?" The dampness grew and his breath got heavy. He nodded, drooling down the sides of his cheeks. "Yeah, you wanna let him in completely, don't ya? Make you like him?" Moans grew, and his thrusting in the air quickened pace. "You wanna be best bros with him, don't ya? Bros with benefits... hangin' out, smokin' weed, hittin' the clubs, swappin' spit... swappin' cum... swappin' subs..." He started fuckin' howl. He was beggin' to splurge. "When I tell you, you will cum. And when you do, everything we talked about will be your truth. Now... Cum."

His eyes opened, still moaning loudly. He gripped onto his jeans, pulling down the waistband and underwear, that big old uncut donkey dick flopping out before shooting his load all over himself. Volley after volley. He wasn't kidding about the hyperspermia: maybe four double shots of his spunk sprayed like a geyser into the air. The 8th Natural Wonder of the World. He laid back and chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head.

"Fuck, brother!" The thickest accent flowed of those lips, deliciously thick. "After today, that'll be down your throat, cara." He pointed at me, hopping to his feet and shoving his python back into his pants. "So, I'll write your discharge papers, it'll get the pais off your back. Act the part until you're out, and just go live." Fuck yeah, we high fived, and I ruffled that sweaty mullet of his. "Hey, come over tonight. I got some friends comin' over... if you and Sammy wanna join." He winked and slapped my back. Damn, I did good.

"I'll be there, man! You save me a round so I can show you how to clean this dick." I groped my bulge, smirking as his bit his lip and winked. I've created a monster.

---

"Ei, sexy! Come get a toke before it's gone!" Such a demanding little bitch, I love him. I slipped his filled condom off my cock, the kinky fucker insisted, and I happily complied. If I'm being real, this psycho has taught me things! I flushed it down the toilet, and swung the bathroom door open to see him lounging on his bed, toking away at the blunt I packed.

"Hey you fuckin' hog, don't you smoke it all!" He chuckled dumbly, reaching over to hand me the blunt, taking the opportunity to snatch my wrist and pull me forward into a kiss. Fuck those lips were so good, pressed against mine or around my cock. "Isn't Carrie coming over soon? You gonna be able to get off so quick?" I pushed away, taking my puff.

"Ahh, plenty to go around, eh?" He groped that musky bulge that I had a feeling Sammy would be huffing later. "Ey, bring me my pants. We can go get a shot before she gets here." Heh, the last month or so crashing with him has been fuckin' sick. The folks think I'm rooming with some guy from the church, when really I'm gooning with my therapist every night in his bed. Savannah is letting me take online courses, I'll have my B.A. in a couple of years, and I'm already getting some gallery hits. Santana is gonna be my armcandy for the opening, and I told him to forget his deodorant. Fuck he’s perfect. But a thought had crept in my head the other day. One last program, one final idea planted in his head... Though, at this point, there was no need to put him under. I'd just ask him.

"Hey, so I gotta go to Georgia to finish up some paperwork at the school. It got me thinking... I'm followin' my dream. What about you?" I tossed him his pants and passed the blunt, taking a deep whiff of those ripe dunks before throwing them his way too.

"I could go back to the practice, though I think the bible thumpers would lose their minds, heh."

"Well... What we did for eachother... What if you did it for others?" I slowly got down to my knees, a smirk crawling across my face. "What if you could help those poor... misguided young men change their lives?" I crawled toward him, spreading his legs wide as I tossed his legs over my shoulders. "Wouldn't that be so... so... fun?" I slowly pulled down his musky briefs, releasing his monstrous cock again, the musky hooded beast slapping me on my cheek. "Then, we could have so... many... new.. friends..." I pulled down his slimy hood and wrapped my lips around his tip. I should have known better. His hand grabbed the back of my head, slamming it down onto his spear, my nose buried in his bush as he thrust back and forth into my mouth.

"Unff... Yeah, brother... Oh yeah... That sounds like a good... unhhhhh... good idea." Grunting, slapping, moaning, slurping... it all rang out in his room, until he gushed another thick load down my throat. "You wanna join me?" And in that moment, I smiled. It was the best idea he'd had yet.

[jjsmaybank20]

hiii 😊 i have a request!

celeb!reader x jenna pretty please

reader and jenna unfollow each other on socials and everyone’s confused because they think they broke up, but in reality jenna beat them at uno or wtv (something simple)

& reader goes live and everyone’s like “oh em gee did u and jenna break up” blah blah blah

that’s all i got my brain can’t think of anything else

thank u! and i luv u! 🤭

Celebrity News

Jenna Ortega x GN!Reader

Summary: Everyone thinks that you and Jenna broke up, but in reality, she's just a sore loser.

Warnings: literally all fluff, and my shitty writing

Word Count: 757

A/N: This is for u, bby! Pardon my shitty pic editing, ur much better at it than I am.

Swear to god I thought I posted this yesterday, but I guess not. Enjoy!

navigation  celebrities (romantic) masterlist

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BREAKING CELEBRITY NEWS: DID ACTORS Y/N Y/L/N AND JENNA ORTEGA BREAK UP?

 This past weekend, fans of Jenna Ortega and Y/N Y/L/N were shocked when the couple unfollowed each other on social media. The couple (who had been going strong for almost a year) have earned a special place in fans hearts, making this news even more heartbreaking. We still don’t know why they have unfollowed each other, but it can’t be good. 

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10,451 Likes

JennaOrtegaNews: I can’t believe they broke up! They seemed so in love. My heart is broken right now.

y/ns_lover: Noooo! They were my OTP!!!

Scream47: Maybe Jenna will date me now

Bebop218: You’re funny Scream47

ChristianMom: Good riddance. Those two were actively against God. Finally some balance has been restored.

y/n&jenna4life: Get ur homophobic ass outta here

JennaOrtegaWifey: Gonna miss them so much. Hope they’re doing okay.

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You sit on your bed, bored out of your mind. Jenna was in the kitchen making some food for the two of you. You think about doing a livestream, and you walk towards your girlfriend to run the idea by her. When you enter the kitchen, you see her dancing around, making you smile softly to yourself. 

You wrap your arms around from behind, making Jenna jump slightly before melting into your arms. You sway with her for a second before pressing a kiss to her temple, which makes her turn around so that she can press a soft kiss to your lips. 

When you break apart, you finally remember why you came into the kitchen in the first place. “Baby, do you want to do an Instagram live with me?” She nods her head and says, “As long as I can keep cooking.” You grin at her before setting up your phone. 

Jenna is out of the frame when you begin the livestream, making you realize that you want to surprise the fans. You signal for her to stay as quiet as possible and stay out of frame, and she nods in understanding. You watch the number of people watching shoot up faster than it ever has, catching you slightly off guard.

“Did something happen?” You mutter to yourself, trying to catch some information from the comments speeding past. Finally, a couple of them slow down. I can’t believe you and Jenna broke up! You choke on your spit when you read that, now really confused. 

“Who said we broke up? Where’d you hear that?” The comments continue to stream past, most of them interpreting your reaction as not knowing that the news of the break up had gotten out. Really though, you were just lost. 

Finally a comment stops on your screen that explains everything to you. You two unfollowed each other on Instagram. Didn’t you break up? You let out an exasperated sigh, realizing what had happened. You glance over at Jenna, who is still occupied with her baking, none the wiser as to what is going on in the livestream.

You pick your phone up and point it at her, making the viewers become extremely confused in the comments. “This little shit was mad that she lost at Monopoly, so she unfollowed me on Insta. I unfollowed her in revenge.” Finally Jenna realizes you’re talking about her, and when you say this, she turns around with an offended look on her face.

“You liar!” She then snatches the phone from you and shoves her face right up in the camera. “This liar actually cheated at Monopoly, and that’s a fact. It’s the only way she could have beaten me.” You roll your eyes, easily taking your phone back. “Or maybe you’re just really bad at Monopoly.” 

Jenna thinks about it for a moment before shaking her head and turning back to the oven. “Not possible.” You laugh before finally turning back to the livestream. Messages of relief and amusement are flooding the screen, and you have to giggle at some of them. 

It’s okay y’all! Mom and Dad are fine.

That was a close one! false alarm. 

Yeah, they’re okay. Fighting like 8-year-olds again.

Finally, you decide to sign off of the livestream. “Thanks for checking in, you guys! Jenna and I are fine, no worries. Hope you guys are doing great and have a wonderful day!” When you shut it off, you turn to Jenna and wrap your arms around her. 

“We almost started some massive celebrity news by accident, babe.” Jenna giggles to herself, making you smile. Yeah, you would have to be an idiot to let her go.

---

@lovelyy-moonlight @pnsteblnme @MrsLillithy @alotofpockets @theenglishswiftie

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[peachsukii]

𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱

( chapter 4 - the grey )

『 ♡ pro-hero fem!reader x pro-hero bakugo; pro-heroes au | friends to lovers 』

status: on-going rating: mature (16+) #✩.hollowheart

꒰ summary ꒱ A glimpse of hope appears out of nowhere, giving Bakugo and Midoriya the lead they needed to pursue your location. It proves to be much more difficult than they imagine, so they call upon some friends for a search party.

꒰ tags & warnings ꒱ mentions of blood/violence, eventual & mild smut, kidnapping/abduction, experimentation, physical & psychological torture, PTSD, implied/referenced self harm, cursing, talks of trauma | angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, regret, mutual pining, friends to lovers, insomnia, eventual romance

꒰ Ao3 version | word count; ~20.6k as of ch.4 ꒱ Master List Chapter 1 | Hurricane [5,092k] Chapter 2 | The Ghost of You [4,799k] Chapter 3| Choke [3,995k] Chapter 4 | The Grey [6,756k] Chapter 5 | The Good Left Undone Chapter 6 | Tourniquet Chapter 7 | There is Fear in Letting Go 『♡』 this fic has a playlist! ✩

"So...let me get this straight," Uraraka ponders, finger on her chin while staring up into her metaphorical thinking space. "She's underground?"

"Yeah, I know, it sounds fuckin' insane." Bakugo shakes his head as he crosses his arms defensively. "But we gotta try. She needs m- our help."

Midoriya nods in agreement and turns to the group. "Sorry to ask on such short notice, but thank you all for -"

"Like you have to ask!" Jiro interrupts, hands on her hips. "She's important to us, too ya know." 

Bakugo and Midoriya had called all of their friends the following morning of your text, gathering an emergency rescue group. Uraraka, Kirishima, Jiro, Mina and Todoroki dropped everything they were doing and met up at Bakugo's apartment the following night. They needed a plan, one that the agency won't catch wind of before they can execute it. It wasn't going to be easy, that much the boys knew, but the consequences did not outweigh the reward - getting you home, safe and sound, was their number one priority. 

"The agency doesn't give two shits about this, so we're takin' it into our own hands. I'm done sittin' around waitin' for a miracle." Bakugo's words are flat as he motions for the group to follow him over to the kitchen table to analyze the diagram that him and Midoriya drafted. He points to the left side to start explaining their plan.

"Ears, we'll need ya to figure out where the compound is located, see if you can hear vibrations or some shit. It's gotta be somewhere in this field. Pinky'll burn a hole to make an entry point for us. They'll keep guard while the rest of us go inside. I'm guessin' it'll have multiple floors, so we'll split into teams to cover it all. I'll take the first floor, Deku and Icyhot take the second while Cheeks and Red take the third. Get in, search for her and other hostages, get 'em out and fuck up anyone in our way." He stands back, shifting his gaze to everyone's faces. "Got it?"

"You sure you wanna go alone, Kat?" Kirishima asks, quirking his head to the side. "Not sayin' you can't handle it, but I wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

Bakugo grunts, casting his eyes to the floor. "It'll be fine. We'll have our comms and stay in contact."

Midoriya knew the reason why he wanted to go alone and didn't dare vocalize it to the group. He trusted Bakugo knew what he was doing, even if it meant going head first into danger by himself. They're top heroes - intuition is one of their strongest feats and he trusts his childhood friend with his life.

"Do we know anything about the drug they're making?" Todoroki asks, directing his question at Midoriya. 

He frowns in response. "Not much, unfortunately. I tried to analyze it in the agency lab and couldn't crack anything about it, didn't have enough of a sample to properly break it down. The only thing we know is that one dosage lasts about an hour."

"Deku, come with me for a sec," Bakugo demands, stomping past Midoriya and into his bedroom away from the rest of the group. Midoriya obeys and follows him down the hall, stopping in the doorframe.

"What is it, Kacchan?" he asks, unsure of what he needed him for. Bakugo droops his shoulders in defeat, palming his face in embarrassment. 

"Izuku, I need a favor." His voice is hushed.

Midoriya walks up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder to gather his attention. 

"Anything, what is it?"

"Don't make me say it," Bakugo grumbles, shaking his head in disbelief that he was asking him for support a second time.

Midoriya knew exactly what that meant. He silently wraps his arms around Bakugo, enclosing him in a soft hug.

"We'll find her, Kacchan, I promise."

Bakugo loosely returns the embrace with one arm. 

"What if I'm not strong enough to save her again?"

Midoriya pulls back to look him in the eyes. "That's not going to happen, we have your back - all of us."

Bakugo knows his friends would support him through thick and thin, but that's not what he's questioning. The possibility of letting you slip away a second time is slowly eating away at him, afraid he'll have to experience you disappearing all over again. A quiet 'yeah' is all he can muster before composing himself.

Bakugo pats Midoriya on the head as he leaves the room.

"Let's get goin'." 

~ TIME: 8:39PM

An hour goes by as the group makes their way to Sector 42, enough time for the sunset to fade into a starry sky and help hide their presence in the night. The seven of them re-group in the same area that you'd previously disappeared in - the barren field. 

"Where did you say the portal opened?" Jiro questions.

Bakugo walks over to a set of rocks, pointing at the area. "Right there. Deku marked it a few days after it happened."

Jiro nods and kneels to the ground. She plants both her headphone jacks to the dirt and focuses for a few moments, listening for any frequencies below them. She hears it straight away, the sounds of metal clanging faintly in her ears. 

"Found it!" she exclaims, unplugging herself from the soil. "About 20 feet deep, and it's a huge facility. I can't quite tell how many floors, but it's big." 

"Knew I could count on ya. Pinky, you're up. Make a big enough hole for us to fit through," Bakugo orders, standing back with the others. 

"Roger that!" Mina gathers a coating of acid around her hands, forming makeshift armored gloves. She began to dig while oozing acid into the ground, carving out a tunnel for the group. The others stood nearby, keeping lookout for any potential sneak attacks. Bakugo can’t help but repeatedly thump his foot like an angry rabbit, his patience wearing thin as he’s forced to wait, not able to direct his anger at anything in the moment. He wanted nothing more than to blow the whole place to smithereens, scoop you up, and take you home. Uraraka notices his fidgeting and pulls him to the side.

"You wanna talk?"

"About what?" Bakugo grumbles, scrunching his brows at her in annoyance. Obviously, he didn't wanna talk about anything at all, let alone his feelings.

"Fair enough. How about I make you a promise?" she says, extending her pinky to him. "When we find her in there, you'll be the first one we call."

Bakugo stares at her, blinking a few times before sighing contently. He wraps his pinky around hers. 

"Thanks, Cheeks. I...really miss her." He lets his hand fall away from hers as she gives his shoulder a light squeeze. 

"Me too. You better make a move once she's back!" Uraraka bats at his arm playfully before skipping back to the others. Bakugo's got his arms crossed and nose to the sky, failing awfully at hiding his flustered expression. Meanwhile, Mina crawls out of the hole she's dug, covered head to toe in dirt. 

"Hah...okay," she pants, out of breath and wiping the sweat off her brows with the back of her hand. "It's wide enough for two people. It takes you to a hallway...that's all I could see. Bit of a drop, so just be careful."And with that, the plan was in motion. The five infiltrators shimmy down the hole one at a time, dropping into the hallway as quietly as possible. Bakugo and Midoriya exchange quiet glances, noting how off-putting the silence is to their entrance. 

"Eyes up, keep a low profile, and call immediately if something happens," Bakugo whispers. "And try not 'ta get hurt."

The four of them nod in agreement at him, partnering up according to plan and going their separate ways.

~ TIME: 9:18PM

Things are quiet in the compound tonight - eerily quiet. It's been days since your distress text was sent to Bakugo, leaving you yearning for escape to the outside world. Did he have a plan? Are him and Midoriya on their way? The lady who helped you steal your phone hasn't returned since that night, not since she took your phone back to the contamination room. Something felt wrong about this setup, that same gut feeling invading your body like the night of your abduction. You can't help but feel guilty about pulling the boys into potential danger, but what choice did you have? There was no possibility of you being able to escape yourself, much to your dismay. It was physically impossible without your quirk. Being helpless has been humbling, but a fucking aggravating experience.

You roll over on the cot, tracing imaginary drawings on the metallic wall as a distraction. The annoying 'beep!' of a keycard sounds from the cell door, but no footsteps follow. You're expecting a barrage of harsh commands, but they never come. Even though that's peculiar, you don't turn over to investigate - you couldn't give two shits about anything in the place any longer.

~ TIME: 9:43PM

Once they've successfully navigated their way through the compound, Uraraka rounds the corner of the steel corridor on the third floor with Kirishima at her side. She stalks slowly down the hall, taking time to examine all their surroundings. 

“Hey, up there! Looks like another cell,” Kirishima mutters, pointing over her shoulder. She silently nods in response.

The two of them approach the glass wall of the cell and carefully peer inside. Uraraka audibly gasps and she scrambles to the door, anxiously fidgeting with the electronic lock. She kicks the door as a last resort and is shocked when the cell door pops open, loosely swinging inward on its hinges. She pushes her way inside, a soft smile crosses her lips when she spots your form on the small cot. You don’t move out of habit, assuming it’s a pissed off guard coming to grab you for another round of testing.

“Found ya,” Uraraka sighs, desperately trying to hide the tears pooling in her doe eyes.

Is that…?

You flip over at the sound of her voice, bewildered at her physically standing before you. 

She’s not an illusion...right?

“Ochaco?” You compose yourself as you sit upright. “Is that…really you?”

Uraraka doesn’t hesitate any longer as she’s rushing toward you, wrapping herself around your frail form. One of her hands makes its way to hold the back of your head, trembling fingers clutching a handful of your messy locks. Her warmth engulfs you and coaxes the emotions to the surface that you previously submerged, soft hiccups bubbling in your throat. You return the hug, squeezing her tightly and shrinking in her arms. 

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m really here,” she assures, quietly stroking your hair. Kirishima comes into focus over Uraraka's shoulder.

"Hope we didn't scare ya!" he says while wiping a tear from his cheek. He strolls over to the cot and takes a seat next to you, gently patting your back. "Good to see ya!"

Uraraka pulls back and moves her hands to your shoulders. Her eyes are glassy as her lips curl into another smile, her signature dimples adorning her cheeks. You haven’t seen the sun in a months time, but seeing her euphoric gleam more than made up for it in the moment. 

“Before we talk about anything, I promised someone a small favor,” she says, nodding her head. She clicks the earpiece that adorned her helmet with one hand while thumbing away a stray tear off your chin with the other.

Promise?

“Hey, Dynamight,” she says over the intercom. The mere mention of his hero name from Uraraka is enough to make the butterflies in your stomach flutter ferociously. You can barely make out his voice through the device, but hear Bakugo’s signature twang when he replies. It makes your cheeks flush strawberry. 

She grins at you as she replies to Bakugo, "I've got a message for ya."

Your heart stops as Uraraka releases her hold on you and reaches for her helmet. Her hair ruffles from underneath when she tugs it away and shifts to place it over your head. She runs her fingers over your hand delicately, urging you to talk to him. 

She mouths ‘go ahead’ while holding the intercom button for you. Kirishima pats you twice on the shoulder for encouragement. 

How does she know?

You swallow, hard. Every nerve in your body is firing on all cylinders. There’s an endless amount of things you want to say to him, but that moment isn’t here yet. You choose to settle on a greeting, praying you don’t start bawling your eyes out. 

“Hey Katsuki,” your voice quivers as his name leaves your lips. 

You hear Bakugo suck air through his teeth over the radio communication, knowing he’s probably cycling through a million emotions over the sound of your voice, too. 

He clears his throat briefly before responding. “Hey…y’doin’ okay, Lite-Brite?” 

You can tell by the way his voice trembles that he’s doing his damndest to keep his shit together. Uraraka continues to hold the button on the helmet, motioning for you to continue talking. 

“Never better,” you joke, huffing out a laugh. “Food sucks here, though. I had to trick myself into thinking it was your cooking to even stomach it.” 

He exhales a quiet laugh. “I’ll make ya whatever you want when we get home. Now get your ass movin’ so we can get the hell outta here.” 

The signal turns off with a click. Uraraka takes the helmet from your head carefully and places it back on her own. 

“You’re gonna have to tell me everything about you two when we get home!” she exclaims, pinching your pink cheeks lovingly. “I’ve missed you - we all have.”

“It’ll be a relief to have you home,” Kirishima chimes in. “C’mon, lets get a move on.” 

He stands from the cot and extends his hand for you to take. Him and Uraraka help you to your feet as you brush yourself off and fluff your hair over your shoulders.

“Are you hurt at all?” Kirishima asks, removing his arm from your back. He takes a look at your arms - they're covered in bruises of varying sizes and colors.

“Not on the surface, no. It’s a long story,” you explain. “The condensed version is they’re formulating a quirk suppressing drug. The experiments they’re running down here are fucking horrific.”

His face morphs into shock and slowly fades into sympathy. Flashbacks of the Overhaul situation from high school come flooding back to him, wincing at the thought of another anti-quirk uprising.

“But you’re okay?” Uraraka asks a second time as she takes your hand in hers, one pinky lifted to prevent her quirk from activating.

You decide to spare her the mental agony you've been through, saving it for later. “...yeah, I think so. Just exhausted. My quirk isn't fully restored, either.”

Kirishima’s earpiece beeps twice when a muffled voice comes through. He turns his head while clicking the button to respond.

“Yeah, we’ve got her. How’s it goin’ up there?” he asks. The voice that responds faintly resembles Midoriya's. He responds once more before clicking off the communicator. "Alright, we'll head up now. Hang tight!"

“There’s one stop I’d like to make before heading upstairs,” you say, knowing you do not want to leave the prison in your current hand-me-down clothes. “It’s around the corner.”

~ TIME: 9:54PM

Once you've successfully retrieved and changed into your hero suit, along with collecting your cellphone, the three of you proceeded to the second floor to meet up with Midoriya and Todoroki. You can't help but notice how the material hangs from your frame and no longer hugs you comfortably. It's to be expected, all things considered. Even though they fed you, the stress was more than enough to cause you to lose weight and muscle strength over the course of the month. If anything, it pissed you off to know you'd have to work hard to build back your prior stamina. 

They didn't bother to wash the damn suit, either. It thankfully didn't smell, per se, but was covered in aged splatters of dirt and grime. Your phone screen was also cracked, hinting that the lady who helped you dropped it "for effect," or some other stupid excuse to inconvenience you.

Your ears perk up at the sound of voices around the corner as Uraraka, Kirishima and yourself are approaching the second floor corridor. 

"There's only 10 hostages here, that's strange," Midoriya explains aloud, presumably to Todoroki. "I thought the reports noted more than 10. Maybe I'm misremembering..." his voice tapers off as he begins mumbling to himself. Oh how you've missed the sound of his rambling, something so minuscule but endearing about him. 

The three of you come into view, catching both of the boys' attention. Midoriya's eyes whip up toward you, emeralds glistening when they widen under the pale hallway lights. He’s charges down the hall to you, tripping over his own steps from the pure adrenaline pumping through his veins. 

"Izuku!" you cry out when his body engulfs yours, gripping onto the back of his costume and squeezing the material as you buried your face into his shoulder. You can't help the tears reforming in your eyes as he spins you around, overwhelmed with joy to see you safe and sound. Before you can stop the tears, you're sobbing into the crook of his neck - a combination of relief and dread. 

"Hey...it's alright, Y/N. You're safe," he soothes. "It's okay."

Midoriya places your feet back on the floor, pulling back and cradling your face tenderly. Not surprising, he's got tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, too. He wipes some of the tears from your eyes with his gloved hand.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?" he asks, dropping your face from his hands while assessing your body for any visible harm. 

"N-no. Couple bruises, but that's about it," you stutter, a sudden tremble taking over your body. "Quirk's not..." you trail off while your vision dilates out of focus for a second. Midoriya doesn't skip a beat and catches you by the shoulders.

"Save your energy, Y/N. I'll carry you upstairs, okay?" his smile is genuine, but you can tell it's laced with anxiety. "We'll get you back to the entrance with Ashido and Jiro, they're keeping watch outside. We'll get the hostages out of here, too."

You nod, the vitality within you draining at a brutal pace. Could it be withdraw symptoms of the quirk suppressant? Is it possible to get addicted to such a drug? You're not sure what in the hell they mixed with the drug itself, it seemed to be different concoctions with each test. You're praying to any deity that would listen to be free of this hell.

Midoriya gives you a quick peck to your forehead before turning around, arms out and ready to lift you onto his back. Uraraka places a hand on your back to help you into his hold, securing your arms around his neck and legs tucked at his sides. 

"Uraraka, Kirishima, come help me gather the hostages," Todoroki notions, waving a hand to the cells at the end of the corridor. 

"Go ahead, I'll regroup with Kacchan upstairs and get her to safety," Midoriya vows with determination. The others hum in acknowledgement as the party separates.

~ TIME: 10:02PM Bakugo's stalking the area of the first floor, seeing a bunch of empty laboratories and rooms with no one in them. No one has reported any sightings of scientists, workers, or anything since they broke into the compound.

What the hell? Ears said this place was rattling with vibrations. Somethin's not right.

He's habitually calm during patrol missions, but now? His nerves are on fire, shoulders tensed from the stress in his heart. Bakugo couldn't shake his intuition, guts churning with unease at the silence of the facility. A faint scraping sound catches his attention, spinning on his heel with an arm raised. Taking careful steps, he makes his way back toward the entrance and into, what he presumed, the large concourse.

"It's about time one of you shows up," a woman's voice calls out, reverberating off the walls. Bakugo jumps back a few feet, gauntlets raised and hands prepared to fire explosions at any second.

"Who the fuck are you?" he seethes, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent his anger from overflowing. 

He hates that his gut feeling was right. ~ TIME: 10:12PM Midoriya is taking his time with you on his back, vigilantly navigating the two of you to the first floor. He's attempting to keep you as steady as possible, even though you've told him multiple times you're unharmed. Your head is tucked against the back of his shoulder.

"You holding up okay?" he asks, tilting his head back toward you.

"Yeah, thank you. I feel like if I let you go, I'll float away," you mutter, bitting your lip to prevent more tears from spilling out of your eyes. You're so fed up with crying, not wanting to be perceived as weak - a damsel in distress. Midoriya would never think you're anything less than strong, and you knew that in your heart, but still can't help feeling powerless in the moment.

He gives a reassuring squeeze to the back of your thighs. "Don't worry, no one will take you away from us ever again."

BOOM!

Midoriya halts in surprise, looking upward as the floor shook. The sound shakes you out of your self-deprecating chain of thought.

"Kacchan?! What's going on?" he asks frantically into his earpiece. There's static on the other line - no response. A few more explosions ring out above you two, increasing in succession.

"Dammit! Hang on tight," Midoriya warns, rocketing down the hallway while green energy begins crackling around his legs.  ~ TIME: 10:14PM "Talk about jumping the gun," the woman taunts Bakugo, sneering in his direction from across the lobby. "Afraid of the presence of a strong woman?"

Bakugo stood his ground, eyes fixated on the woman in the lab coat before him. Was he scared of her? Fuck no, not in the slightest. The thing that frightened him was she was alone - no one else showing their face in the facility thus far. Where was the man that took you away into the portal? Or any of the "henchmen" from that night?

"What an honor to have a top ten hero visit our lovely establishment, especially number four himself."

"Don't flatter yourself, especially 'cause you're alone," Bakugo yells back at her. He's trying to weed out the possibility of a sneak attack and rile up the woman to reveal her hidden defense. He knows she's got backup here, but where the fuck are they be hiding?

"Am I, though? I thought heroes were trained to have keener senses." 

Shadows appear on each side of her as her words hang in the room, revealing two more white cloaked men armed with dart guns. They simultaneously aim at Bakugo, the canisters reflecting the dark liquid in the chambers under the dim lighting.

Shit...! ~ TIME: 10:15PM Midoriya is approaching the open lobby with Bakugo in his sights in the main concourse. You can see over his shoulder that he's standing defensively, presuming that the enemy finally played their ace. 

"Izuku, I need you to launch me in front of Katsuki," you instruct, pointing a finger to his location.

"What?! No! I need to get you out of here," he retorts, shaking his head.

"Izuku. Please." 

Midoriya huffs, knowing you will not take no for an answer. Your heart is in the right place - he's right. You're in a weakened state, you should be rushing to the exit.

But that's not what heroes do. ~ TIME: 10:16PM "It was nice of that naïve little bitch to drag more heroes into our testing ring! Want a sample, darling?" She boasts, one hand on her hip as she points toward Bakugo with the other. "I think he'd benefit from it."

Bakugo hears a dart gun fire, but is distracted by a burst of energy shot out of a nearby corridor, blinding him momentarily with its radiance. He covers his eyes with his gauntlets, bracing himself for a surprise attack from the front as he takes a knee to the ground. He could hear the sounds of feet scuffing in front of him, along with glass hitting the ground, as if someone slid in from the sidelines. 

It wasn't an attack - no, it was a defensive shot. He squinted to sharpen the image of the shadow of whoever rushed to his defense, assuming it was Midoriya.

Time ceases its natural flow as Bakugo realizes who’s standing in front of him. He was speechless, mouth agape as he couldn't help the few stray tears fall from his awestricken eyes and roll over the leather of his mask. 

A glimmering energy shield danced in front of the two of you as you peer over your shoulder, shooting him wink and a smile.

"It's fine now, Dynamight. Why? Because I am here!"

Bakugo snorts, laughing hysterically at the absurd comment. His laugh is contagious and gets you giggling - your heart soars into the heavens hearing his laughter again, his joy curing the darkness swirling in your head temporarily. You never thought a moment like this would return to you anytime soon, and yet here you are, cackling at a dumb joke with your best friend on the damn battlefield. 

"Get up already, idiot," you chuckle, turning toward and extending a hand for him to take. His signature shit-eating grin spreads over his lips as he takes your hand with no hesitation.

"You came," you whisper, his hand lingering in your grasp.

Bakugo smiles, his eyes the gentlest you've ever seen them. "You called."

He tugs you into a hug, careful not to crush you too much with his gauntlets. He wants to melt into a puddle with the way you're clutching onto him like you can't get close enough, burrowing your face into his chest. You breathe him in, the faint scent of burnt sugar filling your senses while clawing at the back of his hero suit, not able to contain the heartache of being apart for so long - how it could have been your final days in this wretched hell.

Finally - you're reunited. You've found him, and he's found you. 

Everything's going to be...okay.

"Y/N, Kacchan - watch out!" Midoriya calls from hall, black whip vines reaching for the two of you. 

But it's too late. 

Again.

The energy barrier crackles behind you as it evaporates into the air. Everything begins to fade into a haze, that all too familiar filtered vision returning to you. Soon enough, you're slumping into Bakugo, your feet failing to keep you upright. 

"H-hey! What's wrong?!" he panics, clutching you tighter as your arms go limp, letting go of his back. "Talk to me, Y/N! What's happening?!"

That's when Bakugo peers over your shoulder and sees one of the dart capsules stuck in the back of your thigh, the injection mechanism switched on with an empty vial. There's a set of broken glass nearby, but that was only one of the darts. The second broke through the forcefield, your quirk not strong enough to parry both shots.

You can take it - you've endured it for a month. 

What's one more dose?

"Fuck! Lite-brite, hang on, I got ya," he reassures while taking a knee, lying you down as daintily as he can before ripping the dart from your thigh. You don't react - shit, you can't even feel the needle being pulled from your skin. He watches your eyes glaze over, their usual shine lightless under whatever chemicals are working their way through your system. 

"K-Ka-Kat-suki...," you whimper through broken syllables, unable to form a coherent sentence. 

Bakugo strokes your shoulders. “I’m here, I’m not leavin' ya.”

"Aww, what a lovely reunion!" the woman chimes in mockingly, regaining Bakugo's attention. The guards next to her have sheathed their guns and stand with their arms crossed.

"Color me surprised that she not only has connections to top ranked heroes, but close relationships with them? Talk about luck."

"What did you do to her?!" Bakugo's chest tightens, fury brewing hotter within himself. Midoriya makes his way over and slides to the ground beside Bakugo in a defensive stance.

"Little miss hero has been such an obedient subject, our best results thus far. Her quirk factors are strong - exactly what we were looking for."

"What did you give her?!" Midoriya repeats, eyes narrowing in her direction. 

The lady cackles to herself, proud of her accomplishments in breaking you from the inside out for her own benefit. 

"She was gullible enough to believe I was an undercover hero! I let her reach out so it would be easier to round up more test subjects - especially heroes. These civilian quirks were getting tiresome and boring to study." 

You were so fucking stupid for believing her. How could you be so naïve? The torture of this place was getting to be too much...you needed a miracle, no matter how narrow the possibility of escape looked. The desperation to be free was stronger than the ability to see through her lies. 

"She fell into our laps at the perfect time. Her psionic energy quirk has been groundbreaking for our serums, especially the hallucination and forced quirk exertion compounds. Speaking of, that one should be kicking in any minute now."

On queue, your body begins to twitch on its own, a surge of energy zapping you back to life. It's as if you're being puppeteered by an invisible handler, rising from the ground and to your feet. 

Both boys rocket to their feet, taking a guarded step back from you. Your head hangs low while your fingers flex, a glow emanating from your palms. Before they can ask any questions, your head snaps up at them, a spellbound look in your now flickering irises. 

"-the fuck?" Bakugo mutters, a horrified expression on his face. The pain is excruciating as the pressure of the energy is begging to be released in any way possible. You can't vocalize the pain through your quivering lips, the only hint at the anguish being the lone tear streaming down your face. 

"Now, subject 57 - begin sequence 23," the lady dictates, clapping her hands.

The instinct to fight becomes impossible to ignore, drowning out all of your attempts to regain control of your body. Instead, you're on auto-pilot, launching an attack toward Bakugo and Midoriya. They dodge out of your range, but you pivot lightning quick toward Midoriya, gunning to attack him.

"Hey, it's me! Izuku!" he yells as he weaves through your strikes, thinking it could wake you up from the mind control of the drug. "You know me!"

You successfully land an energetically charged punch to the right side of Midoriya's jaw, knocking him backward before kicking him in the chest and sending him skidding across the concrete. 

Bakugo approaches you from behind while you're distracted, gripping your shoulders firmly. 

"Calm down! We can work-"

You silence him by placing a hand on both his gauntlets, not bothering to turn and face him. Shockwaves of energy come bursting from your hands - his gauntlets shatter into pieces instantly, leaving his arms and face cut open from the shards. Next thing he knows, your fist is connecting to the underside of his jaw.

Bakugo grunts from the impact, gritting his teeth as he's trying to hold onto you a second time. 

"Hey! I know you're in there!"

Should we answer the door, or slam it in his face? 

…who the fuck is in my head?!

The devilish grin settling on your lips is enough to send shivers down his spine - that's not you. Something’s gotta be fucking with you in your head from the drugs. He swallows nervously, not knowing what to do to help you. You shove him away from you with an energy blast to the chest, sending him careening to the concrete like Midoriya. 

Your chest is heaving, huffing and puffing as the drug surges through every avenue of your body. You can barely form a cohesive thought, let alone understand what's happening around you. It's as if you are seeing yourself through a kaleidoscope lens - this unknown version of you  in the drivers seat. 

“What a marvelous display of success!” The woman cheers, hands clasped in front of her happily. “The ‘Overdrive’ serum is exceptional in true combat.”

Something whips at you from behind and wraps around your arms and torso. 

“Stay…still!” Midoriya shouts, pulling the black whip vines taut to keep you in place. You wiggle in its grasp, grunting and thrashing around like a caged animal. 

“Ah, fuck that hurt…Deku! Let her go,” Bakugo calls out as he’s picking himself up off the ground, wincing at the pain in his jaw. “I got her. Take care of that bitch in the coat!”

“But Kacchan, the drug-”

“Trust me, dammit! Let her go before I make you!”

Midoriya retracts black whip as it releases its hold on you. He’s about to leap toward the group of scientists when the rest of the rescue team appears with the hostages in tow, scurrying down the far hallway. He motions for them to keep going to their exit as planned. Uraraka shoots him a nod and thumbs up. 

“Huh? Who opened the cell locks?!” The lady yells, pointing to the rescue team as they disappear down the corridor to freedom. She’s about to charge after them when Midoriya stomps in her path, fists raised in preparation to fight. 

“Your fight’s with me, lady. No matter what, you’re under arrest according to the laws of hero society. You can surrender, or I can make you surrender.”

“It’s gonna take a lot more than a threat to bring us in, hero. We’re making world changing progress that's far beyond your jurisdiction.”

Midoriya winds back and jumps into action against the scientists. Meanwhile, Bakugo’s got his eyes locked on you on the far side of the room, gesturing for you to come over to him. 

“I’m not gonna hurt ya, I don’t wanna fight,” he starts, taking cautious steps in your direction to close the gap between you two. “I wanna help, Lite-brite. I know you're in there.” 

You can't trust him, he's a monster and you're his prey. He's only here to hurt you, to keep you down. Don't let him near us...don't let him near us!

He stops in his tracks when you visibly recoil, clutching your head in your hands with a blood curdling scream. Midoriya whips his head around to the sound, catching him off guard and causing him to take a hit from one of the men. He shakes it off, trusting Bakugo with your well being instead of rushing to your side. 

Bakugo sprints to you, wrapping his blood stained arms around you with no hesitation. You flail, smacking at his arms with open palms, weakened energy pouring out of you with each hit.

Hurt...kill him. Take the monster down.

"Let go of me, Katsuki!" you shriek out of nowhere, hopelessly trying to shove him away from you. 

"No! I'm never letting you go again!" he shouts back, squeezing you tighter. The bursts of energy from your palms are kicking up in strength again as you continue to swat at his body, red marks forming on his exposed skin. 

"I'm not fuckin' losing you a second goddamn time!" 

He can tell that you're spiraling, that this serum is driving you mad inside your head. If only he could go into your mind and pluck out those vicious thoughts, free you of the agony and take some of that weight onto his shoulders.

If you don't take care of him, I'll make you.

"I don't want to hurt you, I can't control this!" You're sobbing, the looming thoughts forcing you to wallow in the pain. "Please...!"

Bakugo grapples the back of your suit, the neoprene material bunched in his shaky hands, locking in his decision to stay put. "I can take it...don't you dare let me go!"

Something in his declaration to stay by your side snaps you back to reality, enough to control the output of your quirk for a split second, stopping the outbursts of energy. The clouds in your eyes start to disperse, clearing the fog from your sight.

You can fight me all you want. I'll always be part of you, waiting in the shadows for you to break again. 

No words leave you as tears gush from your swollen eyes, bawling against Bakugo's chest in defeat. He loosens his grip to pull you away from him, forcibly making eye contact with you. His heart sinks at the sight of your bloodshot stare, but he can see that you're eyes are not as nebulous as before, energy no longer dancing around your pupils. Maybe the drug is wearing off? It's hasn't been an hour, but it's possible this version has a shorter fuse than the normal quirk suppressant.

"No need to cry," he comforts, thumbing away the tears dribbling off your chin. "Everythin's fine. See? Just a few scratches." He points to his biceps and cheek, tiny cuts from the shards of his gauntlets explosively bursting apart. 

That well-known lightheadedness from past experiments returns tenfold, your body's energy depleted to nothing. Bakugo must see the exhaustion in your body language as he helps you settle onto the ground. He takes the mask off his face, untying the back of it. 

"Sit back for a sec."

Bakugo pushes the hair out of your face and runs his hand into your hairline, brushing it back as he stretches the leather of the mask over your forehead. He ties a small knot at the back and tucks it under the remainder of your hair, creating a makeshift headband. Once he's satisfied with it, he taps the earpiece to call into the rescue team.

"Need someone to call the agency, get the cops here an' round up these assholes."

Kirishima responds instantly. "You wanna call the agency? I thought-"

Bakugo cuts him off. "Change'a plans. Get on it, Red! And have Cheeks come back down, need her to lift Lite-brite outta here." He huffs before tapping the earpiece a second time to disconnect the line and casts his eyes toward Midoriya. Two of the scientists are knocked unconscious, the only person left being the witch that started it all.

Bakugo's attention is drawn back to you at the sound of your sniffling. Your tears have dried on your cheeks, faint stains reflecting in the light. He knows you're safe now, no longer lashing out uncontrollably from the fucked up substance in your system. You look like you could collapse and pass out at any moment, but are fighting the urge to let yourself rest.

"Hey," he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear. You turn, head tilted to the side like it's too heavy for your neck to hold, blinking lazily at him.

Even in this disheveled state, Bakugo is aching to kiss you. He knows it's not the right time, not even close to the perfect moment, but the desire burning a hole in his chest is difficult to ignore. Fuck - he didn't even know if he was ever going to see you again outside of his dreams, and here you are.  ~ TIME: 10:38PM "You think you have me cornered, don't you?" the lady jeers at Midoriya. "A revolution is upon us - my revolution. My masterpiece is ready."

Without warning, she pulls a dart gun out of her lab coat, positioning it against her jugular vein. The sounds of her wicked snickering fill the concourse as the dart gun fires, injecting an unknown toxic into her bloodstream.

"Kacchan!" Midoriya cries out, catching Bakugo's attention. "We've got a problem!"

The dart gun clatters to the ground as the scientist convulses, her limbs spasming unnaturally as she wails in pain. She composes herself after a moment, raising her gaze from the floor to Midoriya, her eyes aflame with energy pulsing out of them.

Holy shit. 

She's got your quirk.

"Not so tough now, boys! Now come on, let's dance!"

⋆ ˚ʚɞ — i'm so, sooooo sorry for the delay on this chapter! hopefully it being the longest in the series makes up for it! i honestly just kept writing, deleting, writing, deleting for over a month. but i'm content with this. enjoy the ride! ⇢  tag list! @bakugouswaif @k1tk4tkatsuki @bells2319 @st0nedbitch @deftonianfr @musicbecky @bakubae-by @slayfics @maddietries

[princessbrunette]

lifeguard!rafe …

that’s all i have to say

🦋.

he’d be awful skdjfjdjs he’d literally turn a blind eye to someone drowning if they had disrespected him in the past 😭

❀ꨄ︎⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ꨄ︎❀

let’s say ward completely cut him off because they had a big fight, and told him rafe needed to get a little job to support himself to prove himself worthy so ward would start supporting him financially again. he gets a day job at a public pool as a lifeguard, thinking it pretty easy work. he turns up everyday in his red swim shorts and sunglasses, grumpily sitting on his lifeguard seat blowing his whistle every 5 mins to yell at kids 🙄

“hey, hey — no running y’little shit.”

he puts in half the work necessary, not doing a whole lot of patrolling just showing up to yell from his seat and order people around — and no one’s gonna tell him to quit slacking off, because well— it’s rafe cameron and they’re honestly a little scared.

the one highlight of his day is flirting with milfs who bring their kids to the pool, suddenly switching off the grumpy-woe is me act and turning on the charm, big pearly white smile and compliments that make the women flustered and tell him he’s a ‘mischievous young man’ and sometimes even ‘you’re just like your father when he was younger, you know that?’

that is until one day, you start to show up with your younger sibling— and he instantly just is obsessed? you’re so sweet in your little pink bikini, sat on the edge with practically a mini version of you, kicking your feet in the water, all smiles as you look after them. you’re the girl next door type, the type he always wanted but never would be around to find one. he sits on his lifeguard chair twiddling his whistle in his mouth thoughtlessly, occasionally catching eyes with you and watching you shy away nervously. adorable.

your little sibling is fairly well behaved, but obviously they’re a child so occasionally they break a rule or two. he finds himself turning on the same charm he would to mindlessly flirt with milfs, but instead with genuine interest. leaning forward on his chair when you walk past to catch your attention instead of blowing the whistle and yelling.

“hey, just tell the little one to be careful running by the side of the water, a’ight? would hate to see ‘em slip. gotta be careful.” he informs you, voice softer than he was anticipating and a smile teasing at his lips. you’re instantly all doe eyes and apologetic nods, promising to keep an eye on your sibling better. “thanks, sweetheart.” he smiles before leaning back, dismissing you. you’re head over heels instantly.

ward calls him up a week on, telling him he’s heard good things about rafe at the pool and wants to welcome him back with some financial aid. rafe shrugs him off, deciding to stick around a little longer ‘til he can secure you before he welcomes you into his world.

❀ꨄ︎⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ꨄ︎❀

[unclewaynemunson]

It's a little past two AM when Wayne opens his lunchbox and finds himself unable to stop the smile that's creeping onto his face.

He's met with a note, in neat handwriting:

My dear Wayne, I hope you're having a good day/night at work. I made you some extra healthy sandwiches because of that cough you were worried about – I hope you like fresh tomato and lettuce. (Please don't get mad at me for trying to make you eat vegetables on your bread.) I also hid some clementines in your bag. I'll be thinking about you when I go to bed, and I can't wait to see you again in the morning. Love, S.

'Munson!'

He startles when he hears his own name and looks up to find his colleagues looking at him with various degrees of amusement.

'Who woulda thought?' John McMillan laughs while some of the younger guys let out wolf whistles. 'Wayne Munson got himself a lady?'

'We've been working here together for almost ten years and I don't think I ever saw you smile before,' Bernie adds. 'So she wrote you a love letter to go with your sandwiches, huh?'

Wayne rubs a hand over his beard, trying to hide his inclination to hide away from all those eyes staring at him like he's something funny. He has never liked being the center of attention.

'Don't act like y'all know somethin' you don't,' he grumbles.

'Who is she?' asks Logan. 'Can't be someone from the trailer park, you never were interested in any of 'em. Found yourself a more classy one? Someone from Loch Nora who gets the hots for a working man?'

Wayne suppresses the urge to roll his eyes at him.

'You got it all wrong, boys,' he says, hoping they'll back off soon.

'Do we, now?' With a taunting smile, John McMillan plucks the note out of Wayne's hands, and starts reading it out loud to his little audience in a high-pitched, faux dramatic voice.

Wayne isn't ashamed, and he knows the teasing is mostly meant in good fun, but he feels an overwhelming relief about the fact that Scott had been smart enough to not sign the note with his full name.

'S, look at that!' McMillan exclaims triumphantly, putting the note back into Wayne's lunchbox. 'So he got a mystery lady... Guys, who do we know with names starting with an S? Any girlfriends or wives we should get worried 'bout cheating?'

There's laughter, some guesses thrown around by people thinking they're funny, but Wayne mostly lets it glide off him, the same way he'd endure their comments about Eddie back in March. Granted, this teasing is much less mean-spirited than the so-called banter back then, but he still doesn't like to get involved. The less these men know about him, the better; that's a lesson he learned a long time ago. So he eats his bread – and even a clementine – while he lets them guess and pretends to laugh with them.

When the break is over and they get up to go back to their job, Bernie matches his pace to Wayne's.

'Look, you know we've been teasing you, but we're happy for ya, man, you know that, right?' he says.

Wayne pats him on his shoulder. Bernie is a good guy. He was one of the few men around here who actually seemed concerned about Eddie when all that shit went down. As far as Wayne knows, he never chose a side back then, never came for his nephew like those guys like Logan or John McMillan, with their big mouths and narrow minds.

'All good, Bernie, thanks,' he says.

'Does she make you happy?'

The question catches him by surprise; it prompts his lips to curve into the second unexpected smile of that day.

He thinks about the way Scott looked at him before they said goodbye this evening. He thinks about the sparkle in Scott's eyes whenever he talks about his students. He thinks about the way his hands held Wayne all through the night they spent together last weekend. He thinks about his neat mustache, his soft sweater vests, his long fingers cradled around one of Wayne's mugs. He pictures the private smile that must've surely been on Scott's face, a smile nobody saw, when he filled Wayne's lunchbox with fresh veggies and a surprise note.

'Very,' he tells Bernie, before slowing down his steps to be left alone with his thoughts about the man who will be waiting for him in bed after his shift, asleep and with his hair a mess, but waking up for a second to kiss Wayne's lips like he always does.

There is nothing that makes him happier than that one hour they get to share in bed together before Scott's alarm goes off in the morning.

[bbyseok]

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

cw: more fluff but with implied smut? lowkey suggestive but aged up characters in all aspects! pro-hero au and established relationship.

a/n: i was on vacation in august when i started writing this but couldn’t get to finish it since school started and boy, has it been hectic for me.. anyway this is based off when i spent two hours in the jacuzzi tub in the suite.. all i could think ab was katsu :( oops,, but tysm for over 100 followers !! sending love n kisses to you all

—-

“katsu!” you squeal, lifting your toes out of the water frantically, “the water’s too hot! i feel like i’m gonna boil alive if i get in!”

and you’re right—it is too hot; the water is scalding but damn bakugou katsuki and his tolerance of many things. that includes hot water apparently. (it’s how he built up his quirk anyway.)

“hah?” he calls from the bathroom, still rummaging through the travel toiletry bag for your hair conditioning so he can apply it once you’re both in the water. “it ain’t too hot- you doubting my jacuzzi setting skills?”

“no!” you protest, hissing once again after trying and failing to get a leg into the tub. “but it’s too hot! for me!”

his voice comes again from the bathroom, but closer, “well, it ain’t gonna stop me from jumping in there and takin’ you with me.”

you huff and start adjusting the tap to allow some cool water into the tub to somewhat level the temperature. “don’t even think ‘bout it, katsuki.”

he appears in the doorway of the bathroom (your conditioner acquired in his hand!) with a shit-eating grin and the familiar narrow in his eyes.

“or what?”

the playful threat is evident in those two words as he comes closer and you squeal, getting ready to scramble away despite your slick feet.

before you can make it to the bedroom, his arms come around your middle and he hauls you up momentarily, your legs flying and kicking in the air as your squeal cracks. “katsuki, stop!”

if you can focus past your own giggles, you can hear him laughing roughly too as he sets you back down. “fine, fine,” he relents after a moment, “m’sure the water’ll be fine in a ‘lil. give it a moment t’cool down.”

you catch your breath and turn to face him, smiling so wide at the carefreeness in the aura surrounding the two of you now.

this vacation was definitely something the two of you both needed. while katsuki appreciated his line of work—ever the workaholic sometimes—this break was.. right. especially because he was with you.

“dumbass,” he quickly snaps you out of your little daze, trying to fight his own smile off his lips, “what’re you smilin’ at? my face funny?”

your nose scrunches up as your lips morph into a giddy grin. “no, katsu,” you giggle, reaching up to pinch his cheek, “your face is handsome.”

and then he’s flustered, wincing at the hold you have on his cheek and the unexpected compliment. (there’s pretty blush on said cheek.) “it’s still not too late to throw you in the water,” he threatens.

“you wouldn’t!” you gasp at him as he removes your fingers squishing his cheek and grabs your wrist to tug you back to the tub.

he rolls his eyes at you and despite his supposed threat, he checks the water’s temperature to ensure you won’t actually burn yourself.

“should be good,” he huffs, looking at you with a glint in his eyes, “now get in there ‘fore i make you.”

it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “turn around.”

he raises his brows incredulously. “babe. i know what you look like without clothes. ‘m gonna see you without ‘em once you’re in the damn tub anyway.”

you can tease, alright. “katsuki, there’s bubbles,” you point out, “you ain’t gonna see anything yet, mister. now turn around!”

his eyes narrow, catching on with a challenging huff. “fine. have it your way, idiot. we both know i’ma see you naked sooner or later tonight.”

you flush and he smirks at the promise in his voice before you’re turning him around frantically. “no peaking!” you scold as if you’re not literally engaged to this dumb hunk of muscle.

he scoffs at your words and crosses his arms but his back remains facing you as you slide and toss off your clothing, aiming for it to land on the bed. (and you miss. oops. you’ll pick it up later.)

you step into the tub and sigh a little once you feel the warmth of the water—it’s perfect. once you settle in, you sink down until you’re sitting all the way, turning to face and look up at him.

“okay,” you hum in approval, “c’mon, katsu. the water feels really nice!”

he turns and with a brow still raised, he begins undressing unashamedly.

in all seriousness, he’s beautiful. always will be. pristine skin that shines under the light of the bathroom, decorated with scars that display his story. a perfect blend of lean and defined muscle; a build he worked and prided himself on.

so you can’t help but stare as he strips. besides, it’s only fair as you have the right to, since you’re his fiancé and all.

“hah?” he presses as he joins you in the tub, “tch. you’re such a pervert. i can’t watch you undress but you can watch me?”

even when the blush blooms across your cheeks, you snicker and flick some water at him with a swish of your hand.

“ah- you little shit-!” he splashes you back, nearly sending a wave out of the tub with the force of it.

thoroughly soaked, you giggle and pout. “katsu, you’re getting water all over the floor!”

he huffs, smirking. “just c’mere, dumbass. don’t be annoying.”

you continue to pout at his words but shift over so your back rests against his chest and you settle between his legs. (he’s pleasantly warmer than the water.)

you feel him reach around to grab your conditioner—the sound of the packet ripping open comes after that.

“stay still,” he hums, slathering up his palms with the conditioner to apply it to your hair.

you say nothing but sigh in content once he begins running his slicked up fingers through your hair, gently kneading your scalp at times.

with the comfortable silence between the two of you, you take the time to absentmindedly touch and feel along his legs, squeezing the muscle every now and then.

“thank you, katsuki,” you say softly. “your hands feel really nice.”

he mumbles in response. “yeah, yeah.”

after a while, once he’s sure all of the conditioner had been used, his rough hands trail down to your neck and shoulders.

“we shouldn’t stay in the tub for too long,” you remind him, basking in the sensation of your lover massaging you, “even if it’s super nice. i know you and your old man sleeping time don’t slack—even on vacation.”

and then he presses down roughly on a certain spot on your shoulder in retort.

you wince, whining. “ow, katsu!”

“excuse me for the wanting to have a full night of sleep regardless of whether i’m on duty or not,” he growls lowly, motions paused.

you giggle, splashing the water a bit. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry!”

he huffs and lessens the grip he has, returning his hands to kneading your upper back. “yeah, you better be. who’s the one who actually gets your ass out of bed?”

“is it the same person who makes me unable to leave the bed in the first place?”

he barks out a laugh at that. “guilty.”

you draw your legs closer to you, the sound of his laughter like music to your ears. “you don’t sound too unhappy about that.”

“damn right.” and he tugs you closer, still working on your upper back with detail. “why would i be?”

“smug bastard.” you can practically see his smirk even though he’s behind you.

a little moan escapes your throat when he presses down on a knot in your shoulder, and he snickers.

“yeah? that feel good, baby?”

you roll your eyes a little, amused. “i don’t know what you think this, katsuki, but yes, it feels good.”

he snickers again. “hope y’know that ‘m expecting the same thing for me once i’m done.”

you roll your shoulders a bit, enjoying the attention on them. you lean against him even more ever so slightly, teasing, “only if you ask nicely.”

one of katsuki’s hands travel up to tangle his fingers with your hair, pulling it back gently so he can speak into your ear. his voice is all low, used in that tone he knows will make you shiver no matter what he’s saying. “make me.”

yeah, it’s safe to say that the two of you stay in the tub for a ‘lil longer.

[moralesmilesanhour]

okay okay, i have had this one thought in my head about a platonic gender-neutral (or male/masc-leaning) reader fic. this is for either miles (more so 42 than 1610 bc i can imagine his face of exasperation). imagine just being his dumbass friend, like yeah your smart enough to be in visions, but goddamn!! you leave your braincells in your school locker once the final bell rings. your self preservation instincts are questionable at best and the only reason you're not dead yet bc you're proving that quote "you can't kill stupid" as a true fact. at least you bring homemade food over everytime you visit his home and his mom likes you, so you're not completely hopeless in life. (i've had this rotating in my brain for days and still haven't written it myself) -☁

a/n: I went the masc route with this one with a sprinkle of gender envy if u squint

You thought doing homework on a rooftop would be a nice change of scenery.

Dangling off of the rooftop? Not so much.

A tiny group of pigeons had been hanging out near the edge, and you had the idea to try and feed them with the bag of sunflower seeds you'd brought with you. Carefully, you step forward toward the flock, until some unknown force of nature causes you to trip over your own feet and sends you careening over the edge.

Somehow, you manage to grab hold of the railing of the fire escape just below, but your palms are sweaty. You heave as you use all of your upper body strength to hold yourself up while desperately trying not to look down.

It's not enough.

Just as you lose your grip, a strong arm catches you. It's covered in purple leather, ending in a familiar clawed hand.

"Again?" Asks an amused modulated voice as wind rushes past your ears.

"You make it sound like a daily occurrence."

You feel a jolt as the masked figure swings and lands in front of an alleyway before putting you down. As you adjust your crooked glasses, the mask whirs and splits in two before receding, revealing the smirking, deep brown face of your friend, Miles.

"What happened this time?"

His voice is low and nearly too soft to hear, a stark contrast to the tinny high pitch of your own. No amount of lowering your larynx or whispering could ever get it like that. Part of you wishes you could steal it sometimes, or borrow his voice modulator, at least.

If only.

"Tripped," you answer, rubbing your upper arm as a side effect of the claws' tight grip. "Dunno how you always manage to catch me."

"Easy," Miles explains as he unzips his black duffel bag. "I see that ratty ass gray hoodie you always got on and swing right over."

With a whir and a clank, he removes the claw on his right hand, then his left, tossing them into the bag.

"How does carryin' those around like that not damage them?" you blurt out suddenly. Miles snorts.

"You gonna fix 'em for me, genius?"

"No."

"Thought so."

Finally, he removed the grappling hook strapped to his back and tied his jacket around his waist.

You say his catchphrase before he does: "Let's bounce!"

This earns you a burst of laughter from Miles as you make your way out of the alley.

"What, I say it wrong?"

"No, it's just..." he catches his breath and claps you on the shoulder as he passes by. "You make it sound so friendly."

"Whatever, man."

-

"Yo, pay attention, dude!"

You feel Miles' hand yank you backwards by your hoodie as a car horn blares past you. Once you look up from your phone, your eyes widen.

"Oh, shit."

The car had barely missed you.

The streetlight across from you finally turned white, and the two of you crossed. Miles keeps glancing back at you until the short journey to the opposite sidewalk is completed.

He stops, crossing his arms. "How many times are you gonna almost-die today? Lemme know so I can adjust my schedule."

"Until someone finally finishes the job," you joke before remembering something. "Ah fuck, I hope the brownies survived."

You swing your book bag off of your shoulder and kneel to open it, revealing a small Tupperware container filled with home-made brownies stacked on top of your textbooks. Thankfully, there is only a bit of chocolate smudged on the sides; the pastries themselves remain (mostly) intact.

Miles raised an eyebrow. "You know taking the textbooks home is optional, right?"

Zipping your bag closed, you reply with a shrug,"I like re-writing my notes. I need to access the source material."

"I need to access the source material," Miles mimics you in a nasally voice before strolling past you. "If I were a worse person, I'd shove yo' ass in a locker."

You laugh, breaking into a jog to catch up to him with your 'source material' weighing you down.

"Just for that, I'm telling your mom the brownies are just for her-shit!"

A piece of cracked and lifted cement trips you up and scuffs your sneakers. Your hands shoot out to break your fall, planting themselves onto the ground. Your glasses aren't so lucky.

"Aw, man, I just got these!" You frowned as you dusted off your khaki shorts with one hand, holding your glasses in the other.

One of the frames now has a crack right down the middle.

"That's tough, buddy," Miles remarks.

He had spun around as soon as he heard you yell in case of another near-death experience, but was now trying desperately to hold back laughter that escaped through his nose as he walked backwards towards his destination.

"It's not funny!"

"It's a little funny. You're like a Looney Tunes character."

You laugh, "If an anvil falls on my head, it's your fault."

[adamstnheights]

Second Chances - Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Summary: Ever since your unit merged with Task Force 141 one year ago, your dynamic with Ghost had been confusing to the others. At first, it just seemed like the two of you didn’t get along. Then, it was clear that you and Ghost didn’t like each other at all. But in the last couple of months, Soap has noticed a shift. Sometimes he catches you staring at Ghost during briefings, with some sort of a sparkle in your eye. He notices the way Ghost moves to position himself between you and someone who might not be trustworthy. He sees how you rush to Ghost’s side when he’s injured in combat and the way you whisper reassuring things to him as you tie a bandage around his wound. Surely… something must have happened between the two of you, right? Soap decides to find out for himself.

Content: Reader uses she/her pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Past relationship, Angsty flashback where Ghost is kind of really mean, Ghost not feeling like he deserves love, Near death experiences, Angst with a happy ending, Supportive bestie Soap, Talking about feelings, Making up, Reassurance, Soft Ghost

Word Count: 5.5k

Soap finally finds out the deal with you two during a night out drinking with the rest of the crew. You weren’t there, because you weren’t really one for drinks, but surprisingly, Ghost was also absent. He never would get as rowdy and excited from a night out as the rest of the guys did, but he’d usually never pass up drinks. Soap wondered if he was with you.

Soap thought back to earlier that day at training, how he noticed Ghost’s hand on the small of your back. With his other hand, he had patted you on the shoulder in a more friendly ‘Good job’ way, but the way his other hand brushed along down your back was certainly something different. Soap had stared wide-eyed from across the workout room, unashamedly, because he knew both of you were too caught up in the other to even notice. And he needed to commit all of his evidence to memory, anyways. Now, as he looked around at the table, conveniently missing both you and the lieutenant, Soap thought he might as well ask the question—see if he’s crazy for the things he’d noticed recently.

“So… er, anyone know what the deal is with Y/N and Ghost?” He asked.

Soap thought there’d be laughter or at least some smiles amongst the group, because there was absolutely no way that only he had picked up on the ways Ghost’s edge would soften around you. It seemed like a right opportunity for the rest of the guys to tease Ghost for acting all soft and sweet, but instead, the group fell silent.

“What the—um, did I say something wrong?” Soap scrambled. “I mean, come on, there’s no way I’m the only one who sees the way they make ‘fuck me’ eyes at each other during training, right?”

Gaz almost choked on his drink. Everyone else at the table looked over at Price. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“They— Uh— Look, you know the Lieutenant doesn’t like his shit being talked about,” Price said lowly, “But I think everyone here must have some idea of what their deal is… Well, they used to be together. Together together, probably about five or six years. The both of em were in the army for years, just in different units and such. But a… near death experience really got him fucked up. And around that same time, Y/N had been talking about getting married, but however jumbled up Ghost’s brain’d got from what happened—he said no. Told her they couldn’t get married because… for some reason he was absolutely convinced that he’d get killed in action and he didn’t want to hurt her like that. As if breaking things off with her wasn’t a million times more hurtful. And things were manageable when they were in different units, but two years back, her squad merged with ours, as you know. I think they were forced to confront what had happened. It’s fuckin’ obvious that Ghost’s feelings haven’t changed ’bout her. I’m sure he knows what he did was a mistake—he just doesn’t know how to admit it. They basically act like they’re married anyways, or at least, still together. It’s ridiculous.”

Soap couldn’t believe it. He’d seen Ghost make some poor decisions on the battlefield before, and the way he would always refuse to get medical attention after a particularly hard mission annoyed Soap to no end, but saying no to getting married to you was certainly the stupidest thing he’s done—Soap now knew that for sure. His heart broke just a little more for the secretive couple; the sweet, fleeting moments he’d caught between them now seemed even more bittersweet knowing their history. He wondered how on fucking Earth you’d put up with him for the past two years, seeing him practically every day you were on active duty. You were a strong woman for not punching Ghost in the face for what he’d done; Soap was greatly considering leaving the bar, finding wherever the fuck the lieutenant went, and doing just that.

“Fuckin’ Jesus… And… she’s just okay with that? And with being around him all the time after that? I would have requested a fuckin’ transfer the moment I realized,” Soap fumed, anger rising in his chest on behalf of you.

“I think…” Price stopped for a moment, really thinking about it. His mouth formed a somber smile and he turned more towards Soap. “I think she would rather see him every day, even if it hurts, just to have the reassurance that he’s alive and well.”

“What a right fuckin’ bastard,” Soap cursed. 

———

When the group returned to base, Soap passed by Ghost’s room on the way to his own. The door was closed, as always, and he couldn’t hear anything coming from the other side. It looked dark, except for a bit of dim light shining through the crack under the door, leading Soap to believe he was probably in there. He always betted on the Lieutenant living off of only an hour of sleep a night. Maybe he was just laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling like the strange fucker he was.

Soap slipped into his own room, hanging up his jacket in the closet. He hesitated, only for a brief moment, before stepping back out into the hallway and making his way over to the other side of the building, where your room was. Unlike Ghost’s eerily quiet room, soft music could be heard from the other side of your door as Soap approached. He knocked.

“Who is it?” You asked.

“Jus’ me,” Soap announced, knowing his accent was enough for you to know who it was.

You turned the music off and unlocked the door, opening it. 

“Hey, Johnny,” you smiled, moving aside to let him in. “Weren’t you and the guys out at the bar? D’you want to use one of my face masks again?” Whenever Soap got drunk, he enjoyed raiding your skincare collection. The last time he’d stumbled into your room after a night of drinking, Ghost had walked by your room as well (now Soap knew why he was stopping by) and saw you and Soap putting the scented, damp masks on your faces. Ghost had shook his head and mumbled something about the two of you looking ridiculous, to which Soap had said that they actually looked a lot like him! (Hey, L.T., there’s even little eye holes in this thing, kind of like your mask!)

Soap shook his head, much more sober than any of the nights that he came by for his silly shenanigans. The ride home thinking about your and Ghost’s history certainly sobered him up a lot. He knew it was truly none of his business, but the two of you had become so close over the years, Soap almost felt offended that you’d never told him before.

“Not this time,” he said softly, “I, er, wanted to talk to you, a’tually.”

You suddenly became serious, not knowing what he’d want to talk about. Was something wrong?

“Of course, what’s going on?”

Soap sighed. There was no easy way to ease into the subject. “Price told us about you and Ghost. I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my business, but I pried and and we were all kind of drunk and he told us.”

“Oh.” You choked out quietly. “Right. I mean— He… everything?”

“Mostly,” Soap replied, “About you two being together for a long time before… and then something happened with Ghost and he pulled back from you… and him saying no—” You buried your head in your hands, a small whimper leaving your lips. Soap shut up and went to sit next to you on the edge of the bed, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said.

When you dropped your hands from your face, your eyes were shiny with tears, and a few had run down your cheeks. You wiped them off with your sleeve quickly, looking at Soap with a pathetic smile. “I knew you were looking at us weird the other day,” you said, “When we were in the hallway talking, and you came up behind us and gave me a look… I didn’t know what you were thinking… I didn’t know if you’d seen the way I was looking at him.”

“Can I ask you something blunt?” Soap asked slowly, unsure if he should even be asking at all. You nodded. “Why… why’re you acting all civil ’round ’im? I mean… how can you stand to be around him after what happened?”

You remember back to what was the beginning of the end.

———

He’d been captured and tortured—almost to death—for a week before 141 found him. Price had called you the moment Simon was loaded into the ambulance, and you had rushed off of the base you were on to the hospital. You were in a different unit, so you had no idea what kind of a mission 141 had been on or what had happened. Even Price didn’t know everything—only Simon knew what happened in that torture chamber, and even then, a lot of it was lost from memory since he had faded in and out of consciousness. All Price had told you was that he was tortured (but that he was a good soldier, he didn’t give up any information) and that it was all too close. Simon had a fair amount of violent exchanges under his belt, more than you could count. But you could tell from the somberness in his voice that this time, it was really too close. You’d shuddered at the reality that Simon could have died. You’d pushed past everyone else and ran into the hospital room where he was.

He was groggy, mostly unconscious. He was hooked up to a heart monitor, slowly beating. You’d run to kneel at the side of the bed, resting your forehead on his arm. You were sobbing. Simon was awake enough to realize your presence, but he could barely move. His body was riddled with stab wounds, his skin was still stained with dirt and blood. As much as he yearned to sit up and hold you, he also wanted to push you away, not allow you to see him like that. He didn’t want you to cry. He didn’t want to feel helpless lying there while you worried. Somehow, he felt painfully guilty as you stayed in the hospital room with him without question, leaning against your jacket to fall asleep in a chair placed next to his bed.

Of course, Simon had insisted he go home the moment the doctor said it could be allowed—not a second later. You tried to convince him to schedule an appointment for physical therapy and he refused. You mistakenly suggested he take some time off, since the mission was over and he wasn’t actively on duty. He also refused. He said if something came up the next day, he needed to be available to go. You chalked up his refusal to Simon just being Ghost. You knew that side of him, the side that refused help and pushed on, past the pain. What you didn’t know was that laying in that hospital bed for almost two weeks created some kind of ugly rage inside of him, a mix of self-preservation and selfishness and self-sabotage. The moment the two of you got back to your apartment, he was different.

You knew damn well not to baby him, but you just thought that getting some take out from his favorite place would help him feel better, after having to put up with the hospital food and all. You suggested it, and Simon only grumbled and retreated to your room. You assumed he wanted to shower and get changed. After an hour passed, you pushed open the door to see him lying on the bed, back towards the door.

By the next month, his initial coldness seemed to wash away. He was seemingly back to normal, cuddling and kissing you in the mornings and cracking his usual jokes. But deep down, Simon still felt unusually gross. He felt disgusted by himself. He hadn’t felt that way in years, not since he met you. Now, he was having nightmares about being held up in that cell, taunted and stabbed and starved. Over the years, you’d coaxed him to open up to you about any nightmares he may have, any sadness or anger that may be creeping in. But this time, somehow, was different to him. He didn’t want to let you in to what he endured. He didn’t want you to be stuck with him and all of his burdens anymore. So, he would do what he did best: put on a facade.

Another two months passed by and soon it was your six year anniversary. You’d suggested setting up the dining room all fancy, since Simon wasn’t one to go out to eat. You lit candles and used your fancy plates and you put on an outfit you were saving for a special occasion. He had been quieter than usual, but you understood completely. You couldn’t imagine what he had gone through. You would try to get him to open up about his feelings another day. All you wanted was for him to feel loved on such a special day. You did most of the talking at dinner, and you began rambling about how much you love him and how you were grateful for him. As you became more emotional and sentimental, you felt as though it was the perfect time to bring something up. Nothing final or definite, necessarily. But it was something you and Simon had talked about before.

“...And maybe one day soon, we could think about really settling down…you know?” You’d looked up at him with wide, eager eyes, but met with an unfamiliar, blank look. A cold silence filled the room for an uncomfortable amount of time. Simon’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to do this, but he had to.

“What? Are you askin’ me to marry you?” He sounded more angry than excited, and it made your stomach turn.

“I— I mean—” you began to falter, “I don’t have a ring or anything, no, but I mean, before you left a couple months ago we were talking about maybe getting married, and I just thought—”

“That was a long time ago,” Simon said.

You blinked. “So, what, you’re saying… you’ve changed your mind?” Tears began stinging your eyes.

“I’m saying that a lot of shit has happened since then,” he practically spat. You know what he meant, that the last mission—the torture—was going to weigh on him for a while; hell, it would probably affect him for the rest of his life. You weren’t one to expect trauma to be pushed to the side, simply “gotten over.” But you didn’t think it would take him away from you. You thought that you could be there for him, to support him, for the rest of your lives.

“So… what, y–you don’t want to be with me?” You choked out, desperate for him to just say what he meant.

“I don’t think we should get married.” Simon paused, looking down at the table. “And… I don’t think you should be with me.”

You froze. You’d heard him say that before, many times before actually, but it never had that much edge to it. He would say it quietly, when he was feeling self-conscious or sad and thought that he didn’t deserve you, and you would rub circles on his back and kiss him slowly and tell him how much you love him until he felt better. Before, it was a cry for help, a way for him to tell you that he needed your reassurance. But this time, it was a statement, a demand.

“You— You don’t mean that,” you tried to rationalize what he was saying. But Simon was too good; he didn’t break. He shook his head and even though you saw tears run down his cheek he was still being so mean.

“I’m only going to hurt you,” he pushed, “You shouldn’t be with me.” The stitches in his side were hurting him.

He was hurting you, he was right about that. You wanted to let out the sobs that were rising powerfully in your throat, but unlike every time before where Simon would hold you and soothe you, he definitely wouldn’t this time. So you choked back the sobs in an attempt to look slightly composed.

“Are you… asking me or telling me?” You asked.

“You’ll move on,” he continued, as if you hadn’t said anything, “You’ll be okay.” You hated him for not being able to just say the words I’m breaking up with you. But you understood the message loud and clear.

“Simon—” you cried out, desperately, asking him for anything more to work with.

“I think I should take a walk, get some air,” he said quietly, getting up from the table.

“Please don’t do this,” you begged. “We can– We can talk about this more, a–and work something out!”

“I don’t want… I don’t want to raise my voice or yell, love. Please… just let me go.”

You let him walk out of the front door. You had to hold yourself back from shoving everything off of the table. You cried and sobbed into your hands and curled up into a ball. Everything had changed.

Then, just like he predicted, Task Force 141 called him back onto base two days later. He didn’t even say goodbye but you heard him trudging out the door with his military bags that morning. When you got out of bed, you saw he left an envelope of cash on the dining room table. ‘Please take care of yourself,’ he had written on the envelope. You’d wanted so badly to hate him, but you couldn’t.

———

“I love him, Johnny,” you replied simply. Soap looked at you, almost in disbelief, but after observing you and Ghost for the past couple of months, he fully believed you. You continued, “And that’s not to say that we’ve always acted this way. For the first year or so afterwards, it was dead silence. We were in different units anyways, and after we split up I wouldn’t have been able to even see his face. But then our units were combined and I just had to accept it. It was almost easy to pretend like nothing happened. I just focused on my work and if I needed to address him, I only called him ‘Lieutenant.’ I was able to push back my feelings for almost a year and a half. But then I found him one night in the common area some months ago. He always had trouble sleeping, and I just kind of stood next to him and leaned against him. I thought he would shove me away, but he didn’t. There was…some kind of understanding. We kind of just started acting like we were together again, like nothing ever happened. It felt right, it felt natural to slip back into old habits. You know Simon’s not a man of many words, and I’m too scared to ask him what he’s thinking. I’m scared of driving him away again. He’s here, he lets me care about him and for him, and that’s really all I could ask for.” Soap coughed to stop himself from saying Bullshite.

“Well why don’t ’cha then?” Soap inquired, “Ask him, I mean. Force ’im to actually communicate for once. You deserve to get some sort’a closure, sweetheart. Truly, I mean, when Price told us about how it went down, I thought’a comin’ back to base and beating the shite out of him for being such a bastard.”

You sighed. Soap was right—nothing would ever come of this unless you took the initiative.

“I mean… What the fuck am I supposed to say?” You asked, breathing out heavily.

“Tell ’im exactly what you’re thinkin, how you’re feelin,” Soap said simply. “Somethin’ tells me that he’s probably thinking the same exact thing you are, sweetheart.”

You smiled sadly, shaking your head and looking down at your feet. “I just… he just… didn’t want me anymore.”

“That’s what he told you,” Soap said, “Not necessarily what he really meant.”

“How do you know?”

“Jus’ do,” Soap smiled, “I promise ya that he’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. Price even said that you two already act like you’re married anyways.” You smiled halfheartedly.

“I doubt he wants that anymore,” you whispered, “I… I don’t even know…”

“It’s okay not to know everything right now,” Soap gave you an encouraging nod, “But if you still feel the same way about Ghost, and God knows he still feels the same way ’bout you, then what’s the harm in talkin’? It already looks like you’ve rekindled a lot, so if anythin’, you two only gotta make it official by putting your feelings out there. You’re allowed to ask for what you want.”

You nodded slowly, as if you were trying to convince yourself that it would work. Your mind flashed back to every fleeting moment you’d had with Simon since that one late night together, and you know, even if it’s hard to believe, that he still cares about you. Maybe he even still loves you. But you wouldn’t know unless you asked.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, then,” you decided. Soap smiled.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, anything.”

Soap broke out into a grin. “So… what does he look like?” You snorted and punched his arm.

———

Later that night, you snuck off into the dining area to get a glass of water. The barracks were practically dead silent, as most of the other men who came back shitfaced were soundly sleeping. As if, somehow, Simon had overheard your and Soap’s conversation earlier, you found him standing by an open window in the common area. Almost exactly like the night you fell back into his arms.

“Hi,” you whispered, standing right up next to him, your sides touching. You looked out into the night sky, too, at the stars he’d been staring at.

“Hey yourself,” Simon replied softly.

He had a thick, black sweater on, along with his normal work pants and boots. He was wearing an all black balaclava. You missed buying him new ones for his birthday; sometimes you would try to get him to wear a different colored one, and he would oblige once or twice because, well, it was you. You also missed being able to see the locks of dirty blonde hair that the balaclava covered. Sure, you’d seen him full-faced multiple times over the past months. It was one of the ways that you knew he still trusted you. Maybe he didn’t like you anymore, but he trusted you. Some nights, you let him into your room when he couldn’t sleep, and you barely had to exchange any words. You’d lift up your blanket and he’d crawl right next to you. You’d tug at the balaclava gently and he’d take it off himself, letting you wrap your arms around him and massage your fingers into his scalp. It helped him fall asleep without fail. It looked like tonight was another one of those nights.

“Can’t sleep?” You offered.

Simon shook his head, still looking out the window. “Negative.” You smiled. He was always so formal.

You both stood there in silence for a few minutes, the wind outside blowing fresh, cool air into the room. The proximity of your bodies made your face flush. Simon reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He opened it and held it out to you, first. You could almost cry. Simon, ever the sweet gentleman, despite the reputation he made for himself, or the way he was convinced he was as a person. You took a cigarette out and placed it between your lips. He leaned closer to you, partially shielding you from the breeze coming from the window as he lit your cigarette.

After you took a drag, you held it out to Simon. He looked at you, through you, for what felt like the longest split-second, before taking it in between his two fingers and taking a drag himself. He blew out the smoke towards the open window. You tried to get yourself preoccupied with the stars in the sky again. He passed the cigarette back to you.

“They know about us,” you finally said, looking straight ahead of you.

There was a beat, but he didn’t flinch or make a sound. He turned his head to look at you. “Who, Price?”

“Not just him. Everyone knows now. Soap was the last one to find out, tonight.”

“Fuckin’ Johnny…” Simon sighed, his eyes not leaving you. You had to muster up the courage to turn and look back. “You okay? Did he say anything to you?”

“He told me to… ask for what I want,” you spoke slowly. Simon’s gaze was intense but concerned. You put the cigarette out on the brick of the windowsill, hands trembling.

“And… what is it that you want?” He asked, suddenly and somehow much closer to you.

“I want… you.” You turned to face him, nervous to make eye contact.

Simon laughed softly. His hand grasped the side of your arm gently and trailed down to hold your hand. “You already have me, love.”

You swallowed hard and took a step back from him. Your hand dropping from Simon’s left his hand cold and his eyes darted around your face, trying desperately to read it. You shook your head. “No,” you said, “Not like this. I don’t want any more of this sneaking around. I don’t want you like this, like we’re just trying to forget everything that happened, everything that we’ve been through. I don’t want this in-between limbo shit where I don’t even know what you’re thinking! I want you, truly, fully, a hundred percent. Like… like we used to be.”

Simon winced and he was grateful most of his face was covered by the balaclava. He knew you weren’t spitting at him, but he knew that you were implying that he was the one to have ruined it all. He was the reason there was a way things used to be. He thought about it every day. How he was the one to pull back from you, under the guise of protecting you, but he knew even then that it was bullshit. He was scared of himself, of hurting you, of possibly being responsible for hurting you. And—

“Simon?”

Your gentle touch to his arm brought him out of his mind. He looked down at you, your eyes were shiny with tears but you gave him a sweet smile. It only broke him more. “Say something,” you pleaded softly.

“Fuckin’ hell… I– I’m so sorry for everything. I mean it.” His own eyes were now brimming with tears.

“I don’t want to lose you again. I have you back in my life again and I’m so grateful, but we’ve just been dancing around it for the past two years, and I can’t—”

“You have me, I promise,” Simon reassured you. “Look, I ran away from you, from us, because I was a coward and couldn’t deal with my own feelings. I feel like— I felt like I just hurt everyone around me. And I don’t want to hurt you, so I thought that’s what I was supposed to do but I was stupid.”

“I thought you… didn’t want me anymore,” you whispered to the ground. “You were shutting me out, Simon.”

“Fuck, every day I was without you, I regretted everything I did and said. I wish I could go back and change it, be a little braver and hold your hand a little tighter and tell you that we would get through it together. I… If I’m being honest, I felt so out of control after 141 rescued me. The torture and all of that shit made me feel like the most useless person on Earth and I felt embarrassed that you still wanted to be by my side afterwards. I almost died. That was the closest call I’ve ever had in my life and it was fuckin’ scary. And I just thought about when I came home and saw my mum and Tommy and… the reality set in that you could come home one day and I’d be dead and I’d have hurt you. And… in my mind, family is a curse. If you’re my family, you get hurt. By me, inevitably. If you’re tied to me, you get killed because I’m too useless to save you in time. And marriage would mean that you would be tied to me. And my mind just— I couldn’t do that to you. In the hospital I’d have nightmares that you were the one being tortured instead of me. I convinced myself that you needed to get away from me, far away. So I gritted my teeth and I was mean to you and I was so fuckin’ horrible and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself. But I never… I never didn’t want you. I just thought… you’d be better off with someone else.”

You stared up into his eyes. His black eye paint was completely smudged by tears and he was almost trembling as you held his hands tightly.

“I’m not better off with someone else,” you shook your head. You leaned up and gently wiped away his tears with your pointer finger. The paint smudged onto you, and more of Simon’s skin was exposed to you. “I only want you. I want to be with you through everything, even the shit. I wanted to… after what happened… I wanted to help you. I wanted to be the one you could turn to. I don’t want to give up on this, on us.”

“I— I love you,” Simon whispered so softly, like if he said it too loud he would somehow ruin everything. “I never stopped.”

“I love you, too,” you broke into a smile, breathless, as he leaned down to bump his forehead against yours.

“Marry me.”

You almost choked. “Simon, come on, don’t be silly.”

“I’m not,” he said firmly. “Marry me. Like we always said we would. Before I was a fuckin’ bastard to you. You don’t have to answer now, but I promise, I’ll spend the rest of our lives makin’ it up to you. Please?”

You felt like you were going to cry, you were so overwhelmed. Your composure broke and you let out a laugh and then a cry, falling forward into Simon’s arms. He held you tightly, resting his head against yours. He rubbed circles on your back and you clung to him, as if you might lose him again in an instant.

“You’re okay, love,” he whispered, “I’m here. I’m not leaving you ever again.”

Simon brought two fingers to your chin, slowly tilting your head upwards, inches away from his. It was as if the world stopped. You’d kissed him before, since joining 141. One night when he was lying in bed next to you, and you were both on your sides, facing each other, you had slowly inched closer and closer until his slow breath was tickling your face. His eyes were closed but you knew he wasn’t sleeping. You’d nuzzled your nose against his and his eyes fluttered open, a small smile spreading across his face looking at you. He’d leaned in slowly, brushing his lips against yours. Your lips had moved against his, slowly and sweetly. And when you pulled away, he had smiled and held you close until the two of you fell asleep.

You’ve kissed him many times, quiet and sweetly, but it was always cautious. You weren’t sure if you were crossing a boundary or setting yourself up. Now, as his fingers cupped your chin gently and you looked up at him, you felt nothing less than confident as you leaned up and tugged the balaclava up over his nose. He smiled and leaned down as you leaned up and your lips met his. You melted into him and his other hand held your waist. His hands were shaky; he was nervous he may break you with all the love he had for you.

Breathless, you pulled away, your foreheads still touching. Your arms were wrapped around the back of his neck, toying at the back of the balaclava. Simon raised his eyebrow slightly, smiling down at you.

“My room?” You asked, a light playfulness in your tone.

For once, Simon felt like he could let out a sigh of relief. He had you back in his arms, a hundred percent this time. He held your hand, small in his, and squeezed. It would take work—every relationship does—but he was ready for it, the talking, the vulnerability, the opening back up, if it was you. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

“Yeah, love, your room,” he said lowly, “But not for sleepin’ this time, yeah?” He smirked and pinched your waist.

“Don’t get too cocky, Riley,” you cooed, yanking the balaclava back down over his chin, earning a laugh from him. You grabbed his hand and pulled him behind you.

Simon smiled. “Lead the way.”

[bunnypeew]

Delusions - Vox x Gn!reader

okay okay so I have found a cool prompt to write so I'm gonna write it for Vox cuz I've been in love with him recently and I also haven't written anything for Vox yet ahahha just so you know I'm sucker for doll Velvette so she is seen as one here

They started this job at the Voxtek enterprise building a couple of months ago, they were really down on their luck but we were also really good with tech in general and, since it hadn't been that long since they got in hell, they were looking for everything that guaranteed them some sort of protections from the exorcists but from the hell citizens in general.

Now, it wasn't like them to make friends with their boss, hell not even in their life had they ever done that, they always had kinda creepy bosses all their life so it was easy not to befriend them. But with the Vees it was different, well at least with Vox and Velvette, they had always found Valentino a bit creepy with the kink stuff and everything but the other two had been somehow nice to them for the past few months, they both weren't the best at showing kindness, it was actually kind of a struggle but they somehow did it only with them.

Now they were really naive so they couldn't really tell that Vox was mostly being nice cuz he was starting to fall for them, he wouldn't admit it to himself or to anyone really but he was. Velvette had caught wind of that and started flirting on purpose with Y/n to the point where Vox would short-circuit often from how mad he was, today was one of those days.

''so Y/n, what are you planning to do tonight?,,

Velvette says, a smirk on her face while looking at Vox scolding one of his employees, now Y/n was a bit concentrated on their work so they weren’t really listening going “huh” like two times before catching what she said, this made them blush a bit

“oh, em, nothing really, working probably, why?,,

they say putting down their clipboard and looking at the doll like demon

“oh I don’t know maybe you’d want to hang out or something get away from work for a bit,,

they giggle at the offer she made but shakes their head and takes their clipboard and leaves.

as they leave they bump into someone walking towards them, that someone being Vox himself, he catches them last minute with a hand on their back, then looks them in the eyes before helping them back up.

“you gotta be more careful newbie,,

they fix their posture and looks at him while laughing

“can’t believe you still call me a newbie even tho i’ve been working here for months,,

he smirks and chuckles moving his hand to stroke the side of their cheek to some non-existent dust, they unconsciously lean into his touch and blush. This made Vox almost short-circuit again for the thousandth time but instead, he took a deep breath and looked them in the eyes for a rather long time

''em, mister Vox are you alright?,,

they say a little bit concerned, reaching for the side of his screen to see if he was over-heating or something, but as soon as he saw the hand come near him he backed away and coughed out loud

''do not worry dear I am fine, now get back to work please,,

they heeded and picked up their clipboard and ran to whatever their job was. Vox now that they were gone dropped his happy and calm facade for a more concerned and stressed look, he then goes and bumps into Velvette

''what the fuck Vox look where you're going and what is it with the face- ohhhh, I get it. Bumped into Y/n have you? mhhh?,,

she says mockingly, laughing and looking at him getting mad

''listen here you little shit, I am not in the mood for your bullshit,,

''wow come on, what happened now,,

he slaps his screen and sighs

''I happened, I'm such a shit flirter I SWEAR TO GOD- T-T-THIS IS SO STUPID-D-D-D,,

he was starting to short-circuit again.

''Vox chill out for fuck sake,,

a little bit of smoke was coming out off the top of his screen while he was glitching again, he did manage to calm down after a few seconds, took a deep breath and facepalmed himself whining

''you're in love aren't you,,

his head springs up and looks directly at Velvette with a hated filled stare

''I think you're delusional,,

''and I think you are in denial,,

she says with an all-knowing expression on her face, hands on her hips striking a pose

he just grunts and stomps the floor a couple of times before taking a deep breath, fixing his tie and walking away to find Y/n

they were doing some shipment paperwork for the carmine parts that were supposed to come, they stopped when they saw Vox come into the room

''oh hey sir, do you need something,,

they say smiling and putting the paperwork down. Vox comes closer and pushes them towards a wall to then pin them.

their face was completely red and they had a confused look on their face, their arms pressed to their chest, eyes looking directly in his.

''s-sir what are you-,,

''stop calling me sir okay? just call me Vox, understood?,,

They nod sheepishly and look sideways shyly only for Vox to pull up his hand and turn their head back to his. He then leans in and kisses them on the lips. this transmits electricity all throughout their body making their hair fizzle up a little. They kiss him back tho, putting a hand on the side of his screen and the other one on his chest

Electricity was literally in the air around them. They stop the kiss, a sparkle leaving both their lips before they look each other in the eyes again. They both hear a snap of a camera, making them turn around to see Velvette taking a picture of them while yelling yoink and running away

''VELV-E-ETTE-E-E-E,,

I LOVED WRITING THIS LITERALLY LOVED ITTTTTTT I LOVE VOX SO MUCH RN EHEHEHE ANYWAY HOPE YOU ENJOYED THEONESHOT <3

[pollenallergie]

cassie my love, i need more of this in my life. getting high post-sex w older!tom just seems soooooo <3

So…. it took me an embarrassing amount of months to get back to you on this but um…. here you go… this took a turn??? and then a swift turn back in the other direction???? so um…. horny whiplash warning??? ig????

Tagging @ali-r3n bc she asked me to and also @ghosttownwherenoonegoes because Eri helped me out with a lot of the british specifics (the britifics??) so thank youuuu

Okay, okay, without further ado:

Your First Introduction to Older!Tom’s Post-Sex Ritual

(except I can’t stick to a prompt)

Word Count: 2.1 k

Warnings: Nudity, allusions to sex and also some *ehm* inappropriate touching, reader has boobies and a bajina.

18+ only!! MDNI!! Minors do not read this!!! This is not for you!!!! This is for adults only!!!

“Fuuuuuck,” Tom exhales as he lays on his back, staring up at your bedroom ceiling.

“Fuck,” you agree weakly, still slowly drifting down from cloud nine. Tom chuckles at your response as he sits up and eases out of bed. You smile at the sweet sound of his laughter, though you don’t immediately register the movement; still just a bit too far gone.

When Tom struts past your line of sight, still naked as the day he was born, on his way out of the room, that movement manages to catch your attention finally. You frown, at first, because you were already missing him, and then because you were disappointed in yourself for already missing him. Casual, this is just casual, keep it casual, you remind yourself. Tom doesn’t do the whole dating thing, you know that, so keep things platonic and casual. Don’t scare him off.

Suddenly, you’re pulled out of your internal self-lecture by the sound of a distant, but not distant enough, crash and Tom exclaiming, “shit!”

You sit up as quickly as you’re able to, your whole body still feeling pretty limp and boneless after Tom spent the better half of the evening pulling as many orgasms from you as he could. Once you’re upright, you call out, “Tom? Are you alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah. Shit! Er, yeah, just, erm- hang on,” Tom calls back. You hear more shuffling and clattering from the other room, and then you hear the undeniable creak in the floorboards from Tom’s heavy-footed steps as he approaches the bedroom. Soon enough, he appears in the doorway, still shamelessly nude but now with a joint in hand and a sheepish expression on his face.

“Have you got a lighter or, er, matches or anything like that? I tried looking ‘round for either of ‘em, but erm… Yeah, I couldn’t find anything,” he asks, his cheeks blushing as he carries on.

“Is that what all that crashing was?” You ask amusedly, failing to stifle the grin that curls on your lips.

“Yeah… I erm, I might’ve knocked some of yer shit over,” Tom admits sheepishly.

“Tommy,” you say, your tone a perfect mix of amused, exasperated, disappointed, and scolding.

“But, but!! But I put it all back, and none of it’s broken. Swear on me granda’s grave,” he promises.

You can’t help but roll your eyes fondly at that before chastising him a bit, good-naturedly, of course, “Don’t swear on that poor man’s grave. Knowing you, you probably already put him through enough when he was alive.”

Tom chuckles, “Fair enough,” he concedes before raising up the joint to draw your attention back to it, and then simply asking, “Lighters? Matches?”

“Er, right. Lighters. Kitchen, the counter to the left of the fridge, top drawer, it’s my catch-all drawer, there should be a few lighters in there, take your pick,” you inform him.

Tom grins at your response as he makes his way over to the bed. His grin widens tenfold and becomes much more smug when he notices your gaze flit down toward his cock, which gracelessly flops around with his strides, still limp and spent from your previous activities. When he reaches your side of the bed, he places his hand down on the mattress near your thigh, using it to support his weight as he leans over and plants a kiss on the crown of your head. He holds his lips there for a few moments, softly inhaling the residual scent of your shampoo as he does so, deciding to allow you both to enjoy this moment of peace without even being truly aware that that’s what he’s doing.

When Tom finally breaks away, he leans down to whisper into your ear, “Don’t get any ideas, love,” he warns cheekily, “You and that heavenly little place between your thighs milked my cock dry; don’t think I’ll be able to get it up again anytime soon,” he finishes teasingly before kissing you again, this time pressing his lips against your cheek to punctuate his teasing.

You scoff and stifle a smile as you push him away. Cocky little bastard, you think.

Tom holds his hands up in surrender as he backs away from the bed, joint still clutched between his index and middle finger and a smug grin still on his face.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, baby. It’s yer fault for bein’ greedy,” he teases as he walks off into the other room, still refusing to put on clothes.

God, how are you supposed to keep your feelings in check when he treats you like that? He’s just one of your mates, and yet he treats you better than many of the dickheads you’ve dated in the past ever had, better than some of your mates’ current partners treat them, even.

As if he can sense that you’ve begun to spiral from the other room, Tom calls out to you, effectively pulling you out of your fretting, “Ay, me lover, think I’m gonna light up and make meesen a bacon butty. You want anything while I’m out ‘ere? Water? Bacon butty? Some wine? This Crunchie you’ve got hidden in your cupboard? Actually, wait, nevermind, I call dibs on the Crunchie.”

“Maybe some wa- Hey, wait, Tom, no! Leave that Crunchie alone! I’ve been saving that!”

Of course, you frantically try to get up to rescue your precious candy bar from Tom’s thieving grasp. However, your legs are still a little unsteady, which forces you to walk to the kitchen looking like a newborn giraffe, all while Tom’s grating (read: annoyingly sexy) chuckle fills the space of your flat.

You find him cock out, lit joint pursed between his lips, standing in front of your stove, hands on his hips, heating up a frying pan for his bacon, and, annoyingly, nowhere near your candy stash.

“I haven’t got any bacon, so, it’ll just be a butty, I’m afraid. No use heating up a pan for that,” you grumble as you walk over to the cupboard where you stash your candy. Might as well snag that Crunchie before he can.

At the sound of your voice, Tom turns around and looks at you, bemused, albeit amused as well, and says, “the fuck are you doing out ‘ere on those wobbly li’l legs, Bambi?”

His words come out a bit muffled, thanks to the joint perched between his lips.

“Thought you were gonna steal my Crunchie,” you shrug and admit sheepishly through a mouthful of chocolate and honeycomb. At that, Tom barks out a laugh, which quickly morphs into a cough from accidentally inhaling during said laugh. He promptly removes the joint from between his lips, ashes it in the makeshift ashtray he’s made out of foil, clears his throat, and goes back to smoking.

“Jesus, you’re a strange one, aren’t you,” he remarks fondly, his voice slightly hoarse from coughing, as he begins to gather the ingredients for his sandwich.

“I’m very serious about my Crunchies,” you reply, half-jokingly.

Tom chuckles as he rifles through your fridge.

“Yeah, I’m well aware of that now,” he replies, pausing to inhale before continuing to speak on his exhale, “Sit down at the table then, yeah? I’ll get you some water and make us some toasties if that sounds alright?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, okay,” you agree awkwardly as you sit down nearby at your kitchen table, watching him as he works on preparing the food.

Soon enough, he comes over to you with a glass of water and that same cheeky smile.

God, that smile will get you in so much trouble someday, won’t it?

“What’s that grin for?” You ask as he sets down the water, though you can’t help but reciprocate it with a smile of your own.

He shrugs before leaning over to press his lips against yours, moaning into the kiss when you needily take the initiative to deepen it, parting your lips eagerly for him. Far too soon for your liking, though, he’s breaking the kiss, pulling away just slightly to look into your eyes with his lovely brown ones.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have really, really great tits?” Tom asks, his voice low, sultry, and serious, but you can see the mischief swimming in his gaze.

You roll your eyes and scoff at his question, leaning back in your seat, though anyone could see the amused smile you fail to keep from tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Yeah, you have like a million times since we started hooking up,” you reply with a chuckle.

“What can I say? I’m a man of honesty,” Tom teases, making you huff out a laugh; he smiles at the sound of it before holding up the joint in your line of sight and asking, “Do you want to take a few tokes ‘a this while I finish up our sandwiches?”

You nod and purse your lips, and, as if it were already second nature to him, Tom slots the joint between your lips.

Instead of immediately going off to work on the food, he sticks around to watch you take your first few puffs, still leaning down so he’s just about at eye level with you, his hands boxing you in on either side, one palm pressed onto the tabletop and the other holding onto the back of your chair. Meanwhile, you sit diagonally in your seat, facing him and maintaining eye contact as you smoke. The haze of your high slowly but surely begins to set in, lowering your eyelids to a relaxed level and easing your posture. Between your new relaxed state, the sex hair you’re sporting, the fact that you smell like you’ve just got done having sex, the fact that you’re completely naked right now, and the fact that you’re, well, you, Tom thinks you might be one of the prettiest things he’s ever fucking seen in his whole life.

But he mustn’t forget about the toasties!

So, he plants one last kiss on your cheek because, hey, he fucking feels like it. Then, he surprises you by kneeling in front of you to say goodbye to ‘his girls’ (your tits).

“I’ll see you ladies in a minute, yeah? Be good while I’m gone, try not to miss me too much,” he whispers to them, making you giggle.

“Tom, you’re so fucking wei-” That (affectionate) jab immediately dies on your tongue the moment he leans forward and wraps his lips around one of your nipples, engulfing it in the warm, wet heat of his mouth and applying just enough pressure to make a heated, buzzing sensation spread beneath your skin as he sucks on it. Then, just as you feel that pleasant sensation spread down through your core, Tom’s pulling away, but only so he can give your other, neglected nipple the same attention.

Small mewls and moans spill out from between your parted lips as the long forgotten joint, still clutched between your fingers, hovers over your table, where the ashes fall from it carelessly, sure to leave a mark. Once Tom’s had his fill, he places a final kiss to the center of your chest before pulling away completely and leaving to go finish preparing your sandwiches, waltzing back over to the stove as if he hadn’t just done, well, that.

“Tom… what the fuck was that?” You ask breathlessly. Still too bewildered to notice the damage the neglected joint is doing to the surface of your table.

Tom has to stifle a cheeky, mischievous grin as he feigns nonchalance, shrugs, and simply replies, “Just giving the ladies a proper goodbye, love. They get nervy when I leave ‘em just out of the blue. You know, separation anxiety, and all that?” Tom tuts, “Poor girls. Think maybe you should start keeping a couple pictures of me in your bra, one in each cup, so they can still see me when I’m not around.”

“Tommy, you’re ridiculous,” you laugh as he dishes up the toasties onto plates and turns off the stovetop.

“Ridiculous…ly fit? I know, baby, but why don’t you finish that glass of water and eat some of that sandwich before you go jumpin’ me bones again, yeah? Gotta stay fed and hydrated,” He teases you as he brings the plates over to the table.

“Oh, and, you’re ashing on yer table, love,” Tom informs you with a kiss on the head as he sets the plates down and goes to grab a wet rag to wipe the table off with, along with the makeshift ashtray.

“Shit!” you exclaim as you lift the joint away from the table. You hand it to him when he gets back, trading it off for the rag so you can wipe up the mess you’ve made whilst he gets everything else sorted.

Tom tuts and shakes his head, feigning disapproval, “that’s the devil’s lettuce, it’ll do that to you.”

“Shut up, Tommifer,” you reply, feigning annoyance all while sporting an amused smile. He chuckles at that, though he also appreciates the fact that you neglected to call him ‘Thomas,’ his full first name, when you very easily could’ve.

“Eat yer toastie, me birdie,” He says as he nudges you teasingly, “sooner you finish it, sooner I can get back between those thighs, yeah?”

[suguwuus]

Could you write a connor x daughter of Athena. Where she has been at camp for a year, but they have known each other for about two weeks and he flirts a little too much in training and she thinks he is being mean. but in the end they make up.

★ nice

oh em gee my first req i feel like spongebob on his first day with his shiny lil spatula and squeaky shoes

p.s. so sorry this took so long i was so very sick when you sent it in and then exam week left me bruised and broken and so sleepy 😭

wc: 2.4k words

Who the Hades is this guy? Or more like, who the hell does this guy think he is?

You stared at the hunched-over figure wiping your bronze weapon down with a cloth, whistling as he went. It was too casual for someone like him to be doing something like that, especially with your weapon.

You recognized him as one of those Stoll brothers. They had been at camp for almost as long as you had, yet it seems that he's been popping up and about into your business these past few days. And he had been doing it a lot. Offering to carry your things, greeting you good morning and good night, even going so far as to try and make your bed for you. It was strange. Suspiciously strange. And you didn't trust him. From what you've heard and seen around camp, he was a prankster, an awfully resourceful two-faced troublemaker who could ruin your day with two paperclips and a cup of orange juice.

You thought he was no match for you, though. After all, you were equally crafty and clever as well, if not more than him. You thanked your mother, Athena, for both those skills and the grace to notice the signs this early on.

Gods, what was the purpose of all of this? You couldn't figure him out. You had some ideas, some guesses, but you couldn't pinpoint anything exactly. You needed direct contact with him; you needed to observe him up close so you could finally see his true intentions. Did he get bored and were you his new target? Was he doing this for a bet? Did you do something recently to catch his attention?

So, it was strange. Strange that you two have been skirting around each other for the past few years, not talking unless forced to and if you did, you only exchanged small talk. Why was he now all up in your business? Was he plotting something? You remembered when he put a tarantula in your half-sister Annabeth's bunk. You thought that was the last time you'd see those two boys.

"You look like you're plotting to kill him."

You jumped. Said Annabeth stood behind you, holding a plastic bag full of something you could only guess was your cabin's deposit of trash. Every other morning someone would do this to keep the cabin clean—and every morning Connor would greet you. Today, he added an offer to wipe your weapon down. You reluctantly agreed, vulnerable at 7 in the morning.

You knew you shouldn't be driven by rumors and gossip, shouldn't judge a book by its cover. But your overly paranoid self just refused to try and get to know the boy.

You pursed your lips and turned to Annabeth, sucking in a breath. "What's he like?" You asked.

"A little shit," Annabeth replied, and your heart sank. "But," she continued. "He's a reliable little shit. He's not evil or anything like that. He just has a talent for getting on people's nerves, him and Travis. It's a Hermes kid thing. Why?"

You glanced nervously to the side. "He's been doing the absolute most for me recently. Asking if I need help with anything, greeting me every time we see each other. We're not close. We're not even close to being close."

Annabeth took a few moments looking over at him as well, a small smile on her face. "Hmm. Well, I can't say anything for sure. But there's a very low chance he's doing this out of malice."

You cringed. "So..."

"Just wait and see where this goes," She advised, swinging the plastic bag. "If he hurts you, beat him up." Then she went away.

You scratched your head, starting to walk away from your cabin. That was...sort of helpful? No worries. You could handle this. It wasn't everyday you dealt with someone with the first name Connor and last name Stoll, but it wasn't everyday that you climbed the lava tower, either, no? And you survived that. So how hard could a boy be?

Quite hard, as it turned out to be.

You watched him stand up, stuffing the dirty cloth in his pocket. He then looked around the camp, walking in circles as if searching for someone. You knew he was looking for you, so when he turned in your direction you reluctantly waved a hand, but not enough to be obvious or easily noticed in the bustle of the camp.

When he spotted you, he jogged up to you like an excited dog, haphazardly swinging your weapon. He held it out with calloused hands. "Here!"

"Thanks. Erm, Connor." You added his name for good measure and took your weapon back. You inspected it quickly. No tampering, as far as you could see. It was clean, too. You looked back up at him and nodded. He had done a decent job. An honest, decent job?

"Did you just wake up?" He blurted out, sporting a smile that made you feel...what, self conscious? His words didn't help.

"No, I've been doing errands while waiting for you." You kept your answer plain and simple. "Why?" Without realizing it, you smoothed out your shirt.

He saw where your hands were going and chuckled, his eyes crinkling as if you just cracked a joke that amused him twice as much as the average pun did. "Don't worry, sunshine, you're not the ugliest thing I've seen in my life."

And the he walked away whistling, probably going off to tie someone's shoelaces together to trip them up. What the fuck? You thought, still processing what had just happened. What was that all about? Don't worry, sunshine?

You bet Apollo was laughing at you from Mount Olympus with the way the sunlight was shining right onto your face as Connor walked away, blinding you as you stood there in confusion.

You eyes searched the assortment of campers for Annabeth, some tiny bit of support you could anchor yourself to. She wasn't there. No striking grey eyes of hers among the orange shirts. You grit your teeth, accepting your defeat.

Well, not exactly your defeat. Not yet, at least. Hopefully not.

You gave Connor your best glare as he walked up to you in the middle of the arena. He swung his sword in his hand back and forth as if this was a game to him. Luckily for you, you also saw it as a game. A fun game to try and get to learn a thing or two about him. You wanted to observe him, close up? Here was your chance.

Sword practice. Sparring. Percy as the instructor overseeing the match. Perfect.

"Shake hands, guys," He said, standing between you and Connor. He then nodded at the boy. "No cheating, alright? No extra tricks."

"Yeah, yeah," He said, tapping his foot. You saw how he seemed almost giddy, but when he met your eyes, his smile melted and he cleared his throat.

You held a hand out. He shook it, not taking his eyes off you. He had a serious expression on, devoid of all humor or teases. "Nice shirt," he mumbled. And then he was off, stepping backwards until he was a reasonable distance away from you.

Shaking the confusion out of your head, you got into position, holding your weapon as you adjusted your stance.

Percy gave the signal and you two were off, celestial bronze clashing against one another. Your ears rung and you tried to not let the sun blind you.

Frustratingly enough, you couldn't observe much except for his physical traits (a light spray of freckles across his nose bridge, a nasty looking scar on his knee and a bruise on the other one, a hand with only one fingernail painted cherry red; unsurprisingly enough for a son of Hermes, he seemed to be ambidextrous) and that he was awfully talkative.

"I might have trouble focusing, but I'm multitasking right now, see? Your face is distracting, but I can handle it." "You're nice to look at when you're cornered like this, you know? Cute and mad, I should piss you off more!" "I really like your lack of enthusiasm all the time!"

Parry. Strike. Slash. Clang! The tip of his sword grazed your jaw and you swiped at his shins. Contrary to his blabber, you stayed silent except for grunts and the like, determined to finish him off.

Someone in the audience of campers yelled for Connor to focus. Instead he laughed. Soon you ended up with your weapons pressed against each other, screeching as the material of each grinded against one another. You were face to face with him now.

"You seem a little rusty, maybe you should consider practicing with me—"

That was your last straw. You pushed him back, so hard that you ended a few feet away from him, and charged, but at the last second swung to disarm him from his waiting sword instead of striking. With your momentum, you wrapped an arm around his neck, pushing his head upward, and stepped behind him, holding your weapon to his throat.

Victory.

"You know, I'd say something, but I don't think it's very audience friendly, I think it should be reserved for someplace without overbearing coordinators or nine year olds," He giggled.

You released him after Percy gave you the signal. Of course, you had to be somewhat polite. So you maneuvered his body so he was facing you, standing properly now. You took his clammy hand and shook it, looking him straight in the eye.

"Good duel," You said, nodding, chest still rising and falling from the intense practice match.

"Yeah, yeah, good duel," Connor replied, stumbling over his words. "Percy didn't...didn't have any comments for us, y-yeah, that's...that's good, right?"

You nodded again, and he let go of your hand, swallowing and glancing at the floor. He wet his lips, as if there was something he was itching to say, something stuck in his throat.

"You...you have nice eyes." He walked away with something you might have called a scurry.

Tilting your head in utter confusion, you heard a voice and felt a hand tap your shoulder. You turned around to see a little girl of about 12 years old. Strands of her dark hair stuck to her chubby cheeks from sweat. "Return the compliment. That's pamahiin, you know." She shot a cautious glance at Connor's turned back.

"It's what?"

"Superstition where someone curses you in the form of a compliment. He's been saying all kinds of things since the start of your match!"

"That doesn't sound like a Greek superstition to me. Where'd you hear that?" The girl left before you could finish. You shook your head. Silly kids.

You decided you had some business to attend to, so you jogged after Connor, following him down the path to the archery range.

"Hey," you called. "Connor!"

He slowly turned around, looking anxious. "...Yes?"

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"You're being strange. You kept talking during sword practice—you never do it that much, and you keep offering to do things for me. Are you following me around? Why did you compliment my shirt out of the blue right before we started?"

His brain seemed to load. And then he smiled. "You watch me during sword practice?"

"Sometimes, when there's nothing else to watch. The point is, you're acting off!"

He cleared his throat. "Well, erm, you know, I've just been seeing you around and I wanted to get to know you more. Wait, I complimented your shirt? We're all wearing the same ones."

You stepped closer. "No, are you up to something? Trying to get under my skin? Everything you say is somewhat backhanded and it feels like you're planning to get me in trouble, or both of us in trouble. If you don't like me, just say it straight to my face." You clenched your fists as you finished.

His expression morphed and looked horrified. "Oh, my Gods. No, I'm sorry."

You stared hard, waiting for him to explain himself.

"Shit, Y/N. That, uh...that wasn't...oh man, I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I mean, I am mouthy all the time, but I didn't want you to think of it like that! I do, I'm complimenting you, I guess we just don't match up in terms of what's a 'nice' gesture or not.

"I'll say it straight, then. I'm being nice to you, trying to say nice things. Because I think you're nice."

You raised a brow. "...Nice?"

"Yes, nice. And I really liked practicing with you. And greeting you in the morning and at night. And you. I like being nice to you even if you don't understand my little pickup lines sometimes."

"So you weren't trying to be mean?"

"No, absolutely not."

"Ah...okay. I see. That's...fair. I guess I was just paranoid." You slowly nodded, understanding his defense. You could see him nervously putting his thumbs through his belt loops.

"Mhm." He looked to the side. "Oh, and by the way, maybe the thing I said this morning was confusing, you're not ugly at all, I think you—everything about you, is very, pleasing to the eye."

You chuckled. "—Is nice."

He let out a relieved laugh at how you had caught on. "Yes, exactly that. Oh," He perked up, looking behind your shoulder. When you followed his gaze you saw some campers walking towards him, and they did not look very happy. He put his sword back into his scabbard and tied his shoelaces, which had come undone.

So he was a prankster. Obviously. But he wasn't as bad as you thought. Not mean, just a little mischievous at times. You definitely were just paranoid. It's not everyday you got that many compliments. Puzzling ones that needed comprehension, yet still compliments. And he was easy to talk to. Not mean at all. Come to think of it, you hadn't fallen victim to his or Travis's pranks lately, not in a long while—

"That's my cue," he reached over and awkwardly patted your shoulder, averting your gaze. Despite that, he was smiling ear-to-ear. "See you sometime, okay? Bye!"

"Bye...!" And he dashed away, leaving you beaming in amusement. Wait, pickup lines? Those were pickup lines to him?

Nice? Nice as in flirting?