#could be read as lt or a reader. either way. whatever

[daincrediblegg]

JFJ + to shut them up (please ily)

James loathed nothing more than a pause in conversation. It was an absurd anxiety, he knew, but he'd always tried to fill it. It became easier when he had a wealth of valorous stories to fill that silence with, ones that in good company would find amicable laughter, spark anecdotes from his peers (men and women, who in truth he never felt an equal to), but it never gave him long enough to think about what they must think of him. In his youth, a silence was the sound only of an elephant in the room, and more often than not, that elephant was his, carried it around like a dutiful pet, feeding it the more he told his stories, the more he held up his glorious existence on display. It never sated the silly thing, in the end. The quiet would always come after one way or another. But at least he alone would sit with it, and not another.

He felt lucky, when he realized he didn't have to hide that from you, from Francis, two of the precious few people he could call true friends to him. The silence was comfortable around you. Perhaps for the first time in his life there was a safety in the lull that found him in your company, in your knowing what hung over his shoulders. You didn't need to hear his acts of valor to love him, nor would the truth of him dissuade you from it. Either of you.

And years he never felt the need to don his mask, but on his return to England, it found him again all the same. It found him tonight, stuffed into his naval blue coat and pauldrons, medals and gold hanging off him and trapping him in it. And the need made itself known again. Helpless to recount "that damned sniper story" again, as Francis so liked to remind him. But somehow, the words didn't come as easy as they used to. He found himself pausing more often than not, the flare in his voice gone. But he pressed through, despite so desperately wanting to tell what came of the wound. What scurvy had done to it. But that wouldn't be very pleasant conversation, would it?

A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his train of thought. His head snapped to find a kind smile, and something of a knowing look in your eyes, peering up at him.

"James, may I borrow you for a moment? I'm afraid it's urgent."

Your eyebrows raised as you nodded towards the door. He nods his excuse to the party of invisible faces he found himself surrounded by, muttering a quiet "of course" before following you into another room, unoccupied, and dark, secluded.

"What is it? Are you all right? Is Francis-" is all he had the time to say before he was forcibly silenced by your quiet caring lips, slotting over them. He felt his heartbeat pick up a moment as your lips lingered, then as he settled into your soft embrace, felt it slow. Parting he found he could not produce another word for a moment.

"Shhh... it's all right James," you crooned, a gentle hand on his cheek, tracing his dimple with your thumb.

"You were doing it again. Looked like you needed saving."

He chuckled a little at that, half out of nerves, half from relief. How many times had you and Francis teased him for that damned sniper story? Too many to count by now.

"I suppose... I was," he sighs, leaning into your touch, close enough to touch his nose with yours. He breathed again, soaking in the blessed quiet, the faint chatter from the party outside feeling far away now.

"Thank you."

You nod, hand reaching to the back of his neck to pet the curls that draped below. He let your quiet reassurance embrace him, wrap him up and calm him, enough his eyes softly shut in contentment for a moment, and then a few more.

"We can leave, you know," you said once the time had passed enough, and James' eyes fluttered open to yours, doe-eyed and concerned and content. Now that was a thought. He'd been so wrapped up in his words, in his nerves, in truth, that he hadn't fully considered that as an option. He considered it seriously now, as you looked at him encouragingly.

"Shall we go?" you ask. James smiled. A sincere one. One that he'd only ever shown to two individuals in his whole life. He smiled and nodded.

"Yes. Please, I... I don't think I have the stomach for much more of this."

You returned his smile, and kissed his cheek again, soundly.

"I'll go get Francis. Get our coats and we'll meet you by the door."

He enjoyed how you gave orders. They always sounded so pleasant he couldn't help but widen his smile to know such care as this. He kissed his confirmation to the corner of your mouth gently, before withdrawing again.

"Don't be long."

"We won't."

Your hand grazed his cheek softly as you went, making its absence even fonder. He stood a moment, plucking up his courage from the floor where you had draped it, and made his exit a short moment after, heading towards the hall where a footman retrieved your coats for him to carry as he waited, already having put on his own.

He was only stood there a few short minutes before hearing the familiar sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and James turned to find you and Francis, walking arm in arm towards him. A great sigh left the older man's lips as he trekked down the hall to him, relief washing over his shoulders as he dropped the straightness in his back and square in his shoulders.

"Thank bloody Christ that's over," Francis groaned, eliciting a faint chuckle from his walking partner that made him smile.

"You can say that again," you replied, taking your coat from James' hands, wrapping it around your shoulders with grace and gloved hands. Francis reached next for his own, fingers gripping James' arm gently as he plucked his own coat, lingering a moment.

"All right, James?" he asks, his eyes warm, searching, concerned, glinting a warm pale blue in the candlelight. James nodded, soundlessly save the the small whimper that escaped him in the effort. Francis nods his understanding, a warmth renewing his grip before letting go to don his own coat.

"Home then?" Francis asks. James smiles with thoughts of fireplaces, and a shared warmth, and quiet.

"Yes. Home."

[pythonmoth]

cw: post-traumatic stress disorder (torture). reader is unreliable, angry and inconsistent. reader is traumatized. military inaccuracies. jealous simon, jealous johnny. bros kissing their mates.

× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141.

Part 6

After your talk with Price, and the promise of Gaz bringing you food, you realize there's not much you can do. You can't use your fingers properly, you can't walk, you can't read, you can't even use a phone. It's not like you can concentrate, even if you wanted to. Your mind feels fuzzy and blurry, like you're under water.

Ironic.

Having nothing else to do, your mind goes back to Ghost and Soap. You try to concentrate on the man under the mask, on Johnny's loud laugh when Simon would pin him to the bed so you could tickle him or forcefully shave that disturbing mustache he gets sometimes, or Simon's crude, ridiculous jokes. A smile makes it to your lips when you remember your favorite.

"What do you call a dog with no legs?" you mumble, shaking your head. With a sigh, you look at your hands, the dull pain making your eye twitch. "Doesn't matter. He's not coming either way" you whisper to yourself, closing your eyes. Now that the panic has gone down and now that you know the full story, from Price's mouth at least, you really, really want to forgive them.

Really.

But just thinking of them makes it impossible for you to focus on the good parts; at least not long enough to forget the rest. The soft kisses, the cuddles, the long nights filled with smoke, and drinks, and holding each other in a single bed. All of that, is covered by a thick layer of betrayal and pain. You might understand Price, but the fact that he used your deepest fear against you is something you will never forget nor forgive. Same goes for Ghost and Soap. They don't deserve your forgiveness, and you're aware of that.

Your mind goes back to the day Simon confessed, making your dark thoughts pause for a moment.

All of you were drinking that night and they wanted to play truth or dare. Price had to lick places around the base nobody would dare mention again, Johnny had to wear your bra filled with peanuts for seven rounds —Price thought it would be funny—, and you all had fun making each other kiss. Hands, cheeks, lips, foreheads. If Gaz had to kiss Price's ass, nobody will ever mention it again.

It wasn't so funny, though, when Gaz dared you to kiss Simon. You were dismissive, saying it's funnier when they kiss each other, but then:

"Just say you're a wimp. You're scared you'll like it".

Not even two weeks later, Simon confessed. He wrote a ridiculous poem of your eyes shining like grenades, your hair being as dry as the desert, and your lips tasting like the first sip of water you take right after waking up at night in a mission, rusty but perfect.

It worked, of course.

A soft knock on your door makes you flinch, sudden fear making your heart pound hard. All thoughts and memories leave your mind in a second. You keep silent, staring blankly at the door as it slowly creaks open.

"Hey, it's me. Come in peace. Brought you food".

"Gaz" you cry out, rushing to stand up. It was a bad idea, but you couldn't even focus on that. Gaz' eyes go wide and jumps forward, nearly dropping the food in his haste to catch you when your knees give out, hissing in pain as your feet touch the ground.

"What are you getting up for, you idiot?" Gaz scolds, his arms under your armpits to keep you up, gripping the bag of food between his teeth so he can help you onto the bed. "Dumbass. Come on".

He keeps on grumbling at you for a few moments, setting the food aside after making sure you're comfortable. He tells you something about how he had to fight the lady in the mess hall for it, but you can only stare at him. He looks tired.

"You look like shit" you mumble, interrupting whatever he was talking about. Gaz looks down at you and grips your nose between his fingers, shaking your head slightly.

"Missed you, too. Now, come on, let's eat. I'm starving" he says, not giving you a moment of silence. You know he's trying to take care of you, so you just let him guide you, both of you sitting on the bed. You watch him set the food between the two of you.

He talks about his mission, though you're not sure he actually did all that or if he's bluffing just to make you concentrate on something else. He's halfway done with his food when he realizes you're just listening to him talk and haven't eaten.

"Weren't you hungry?" Gaz questions, his voice a little muffled, his mouth is filled with food. It's terribly disgusting, but it makes you feel warm.

"I guess. I don't know" you sigh, uncomfortable. You stab the food silently, not really in the mood for eating. Just the thought of it being even a little salty makes you want to throw up. And, using a fork feels ridiculously hard, even with all the bandages keeping your fingers safe from pain.

Gaz reaches out to steal a piece of chicken from your plate and takes a bite, munching happily as he starts talking again, mouth full. You don't realize he slowly starts feeding you the bites he steals, filling your mouth and watching you chew.

He's the same as always. Maybe it helps that he doesn't treat you like a victim, or perhaps it is that your tummy is full, because your head lands on his shoulder at some point. Gaz watches you sleep, his yapping coming to a stop as you drool on his uniform. He gently moves the food from the bed, making sure you stay comfortable resting against him.

Deep in sleep, your dreams are haunted by Ghost's mask. It morphs into a smile, laughing at you, haunting you, the teeth opening wide as if to bite your head off. Hundreds of Soap's hands grip you from everywhere, and you scream, and cry, and beg, and Ghost's just laughing at you, Price's voice echoing somewhere in the back of your mind, but you can't make out what he's saying.

You slowly wake up from your nightmare, your head spinning. Gaz' shaking your shoulder slightly, a lazy smile on his lips. "Oi, morning. You slept like a rock for nearly a day, good for you".

Gaz has to trick you so you can eat again, but when he leaves, promising you he'll be back later, your coffee remains untouched. You stare at the cup as the medics come and go, checking your hands and your feet. They tell you it's for the discharge, but you're really uncomfortable as they touch you, as they check on the wounds. You knew they were bad and that it would take at least four to six months for you to walk with the boots again and not feel pain, but when they confirm it, you want to curl in the bed and cry.

When the military psychologist gives you a visit, your sobs just can't stop. Talking about it is even more difficult than experiencing it, you realize. Your mind has locked so many things but you refuse to let them out for now, not wanting to accept anything but the pain they caused you. In any case, the psychologist isn't there to be of help just now. You know it's for the discharge, again, but it's as if they wanted to make sure you're truly crazy traumatized enough for them to send you home.

The exams take three days. Gaz and Price have been visiting you as much as they can, both of them managing to make you smile, or at least distract you. Even Ghost? Simon comes to visit you, with a different mask, and he takes it off as soon as he's inside so you can see his face. He looks as tense as always, but he keeps bringing things he knows you like: a chocolate, sour candy, even some of Johnny's cookies.

"Is he... not visiting?" you question him, your eyes fixed on the sour candy, blinking slowly. In a way, it pisses you off that he doesn't have the balls to come and see you. Again, it's not like you expected—

"Johnny's scared you won't want to see him" Simon answers, his voice gruff and hard, but it's clear he's trying to be gentle. He sounds different without the mask, and that helps your shoulders relax. Not much, though.

"Well, he hasn't come. How is he supposed to know?" you grumble, crushing one of the cookies with the heel of your palm. "I don't want to see you and you're here, anyway".

When you don't hear his response, you look up at him. He looks like he wants to cry, you realize. He's been doing that. Whenever you tell him the truth, he goes silent. Whenever you say you're scared of him, he's silent, whenever you say no, why would I want you to hug me?, he's silent.

You know you're probably being unfair, but how is that your fault, though? You're angry, pissed, and he keeps coming, showing you his face like you're so dumb you can't understand he will still wear the other mask outside, like you're so stupid he can fool you and make you think he never meant to hurt you. Isn't that why he did that, anyway? The only reason you stand him is because Price and Gaz have been telling you he's been mopping around like a fucking pup, and that maybe just letting him sit with you isn't a bad idea. But how's that not a bad idea? It's ridiculous to think—

"Do you want me to leave?" he cuts you off, his tone quiet. Only then, you realize you were speaking out loud.

It makes you falter. You take a moment to genuinely think about it.

"No, I don't" you admit, crumbling another cookie, keeping your eyes down for a moment. The silence is oppressive, exhausting. It keeps you on edge. "Did you believe me when I told you this was over?"

"Yes".

"Good".

On the third day in the clinic, Price tells you you're going home the next morning. It's so relieving to hear that you give him a hug, and then immediately freeze because Simon's in the room, staring at you, no mask. Johnny's right next to him, looking down at his feet and using his index finger to pick on his fingernails. They say nothing, only staring as you let go of Price and turn to Gaz, your shoulders relaxing completely.

Simon and Johnny share a look at your reaction, their jaws clenching hard enough to almost break their teeth, but they both remain silent.

You've grown used to their presence at this point, but as soon as Simon slips the mask back on, you have to look away. Perhaps the fear will always be there, even if you're half convinced he won't hurt you again. After a while, the two decide to leave so you can rest. Price leaves a few minutes later, promising to be there when you leave the next morning. Gaz is the only one who stays with you, as he has the past few days, but instead of him sleeping on the floor you two share the bed.

It's the last day, so why not?

He tells you a bit more about how he got certain scars, about how he plans on visiting you when he can so you can show him your house. You smile, nodding at the idea, just listening to him talk your ears off. It's comforting. You feel like you're in a sleepover with your friend, sharing gossip about other soldiers, and making fun of Price.

Your head is nested against his chest, your arms gently curled between the two of you as he holds you lazily, one of his hands caressing your hair. It's comforting and warm, and slowly, at some point, the idle gossip turns a bit more serious, finally reaching Simon and Johnny.

"You don't have to forgive them. Fuck them. I hope you remember that" he mumbles against your hair. You can hear the anger in his voice, and it makes you feel a little better. "Maybe you'll learn to understand why they had to do it, but that doesn't mean you have to be cool with it".

"And I'm not" you mumble back, shaking your head as you shift, looking up at him. "It's hard to just... look at them and not think of it. It happened like a week ago, anyway, so I can't be blamed. Right?"

"Fuck no. I'd say you give them hell a few months" he says, winking at you and nudging you slightly. It's enough to bring a smile to your face. You shift again, feeling restless, anxious.

"I don't know. I understand, I guess. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same in their position, but... I don't want to think about that right now".

"Of course" Gaz hums, his hand gently rubbing on your back. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

It's warm, and it's nice. You melt into him, your eyes blinking lazily as you both lay in silence. Since Gaz has been taking care of you these past few days, you haven't been allowed more than two minutes of silence whenever he's in the room, so you treasure it.

Perhaps is the peace you're feeling, perhaps is the way he's holding you, but you can't help but look up at him. He's lost in his head for a long moment, looking up at the ceiling, before realizing you're staring at him. He raises an eyebrow, playfully poking your back.

"What do you want? Is there something on my face?" he asks, moving so he can look down at you properly, his eyebrows furrowing.

When he shifts, trying to get comfortable again, you surge forward.

It's only a brief, soft press of lips.

Gaz is silent when you pull back, his eyes worried, mostly surprised, but also deeply conflicted. His body is frozen, half lifted from the bed where he was changing his position. You feel shame deep in your stomach. Fear, maybe.

"I'm sorry. I'm really—"

He cuts you off.

It's a soft kiss. There's nothing but calm and affection in it. You're not sure for how long it goes, but it's only when he cradles your face, the kiss slowing down, that you realize you're crying. He hugs you closer, letting you cry into his chest, caressing your hair.

It takes a while for you to calm down, your hot face buried deep in his chest, embarrassed. Ashamed.

"Are you angry?"

"What? No. Why would I be?" Gaz asks, sounding genuinely confused.

"Because I kissed you?"

He hums, his hand never stopping where it's caressing your back. "No. I'm not mad. It was a good kiss." You groan, hitting him on the ribs with your elbow. He laughs, patting your back so you settle against him again. "Nothing bad with kissing your mates".

"Shut up!"

"Fine, fine. Well, look" he starts, shifting to turn the lamp on so he can look at you. "I think you needed that, and maybe I did too. I don't think I'm a replacement, either. Or am I?"

"No!" you shriek, your face heated.

"Then that's fine. Just kissing the mates goodnight".

"Garrick!"

"All I'm saying" Gaz says, grinning down at you and placing a hand on your head, "is that a kiss can just mean that. Did it feel good? It helped?"

You purse your lips, frowning. It did feel nice. It's not like it took away the trauma or anything, but it was nice. Your restlessness isn't there anymore. "Yeah".

"Then that's alright. Don't question it much".

"Should've asked. I'm sorry".

"It's cool. Just don't do it in front of the rest. They wanna kiss their mates, too, but they need alcohol for it".

"What? You'd be embarrassed?"

"No. You would be, though".

"Why? It's not like— ugh!"

Gaz playfully grips your face, not letting you move, and kisses your cheek loudly, making you laugh for the first time since you woke up. He manages to keep your good mood, not letting you dwell on whatever that kiss could've meant. At some point, you hear him snore softly, and decide to settle against him, focusing on his heartbeat.

Your feelings haven't changed for Gaz. You're deeply aware the kiss wasn't romantic. It's like... you're just closer, somehow. With a big sigh, you let your body relax, and fall asleep.

The next morning, it takes you around half an hour to be ready with the medics help. Johnny packed your things, now in the truck, and Simon's wearing the full black mask as he pushes your wheelchair.

Price can't make it, but you're not surprised. Gaz gives you a big hug for him, squishing your face against his chest. Johnny and Simon very carefully help you to the truck, never once touching your bare skin, never once meeting your eyes. You stay very still, but when Simon's hand gently rests on your waist to help you adjust, you look up at him.

"I'm sorry" he says, removing his hand instantly.

"It's alright" you mumble.

You both stay quiet for a moment. Then, Simon nods and slowly takes a step back. "Take care of yourself. I'll... text you?"

"I'll try to text back. Won't promise I will".

That seems to be enough. Simon's eyes warm behind the mask, filled with hope. He gently lifts a hand, his movements predictable and slow. Your shoulders tense a little, but you give him a nod, your eyes on his. He caresses your hair, drinking you in, endulging himself in the permission you give him. In the end, he steps out of the truck.

Johnny's eyes are filled with guilt, and he doesn't touch you, standing right there, just a step away from the door. "Take care, yeah?" he says, his hands gripping the seat in front of you.

"Yeah. Thanks" you mumble, your palms rubbing on your thighs. You feel uncomfortable around him, instead of actually scared. He hasn't tried to talk to you much at all, so it's a little confusing.

Finally, Gaz steps in and your smile becomes genuine.

"I'll see you as soon as I can" he says, his hands gripping your cheeks just to squish them together. "If you don't eat, I'll personally go and shove it down your throat".

"Lovely. Thanks" you grunt. You motion him closer, and press a kiss to his cheek. "That's for you. And tell Price that I'm thankful, all in all".

"No".

"Fuck you, Gaz".

"You wish".

You roll your eyes hard enough for it to hurt, but your smile is warm, content. With another tight hug, you say goodbye, and the engine rings in your ears.

Then, you're off.

so! there's that. no, this isn't gaz x reader, im just heavily projecting and I think he's down to kiss the homies for fun and comfort, like I am.

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

Masterlist | Part 7

Buy me a coffee

simon going from simon to simon isn't a typo, she just hates him less. 😋

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @dorothy-rainbird @adventurerabby @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @defronix @clickbait-official (im adding this one very nervously so😭 I'm sorry)

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Author's Note: I had a comment left on my post HERE. The person who commented brought up this scenario of Simon being dared to kiss you and you think that he won't, but he actually does and sparks end up flying. So, of course, I had to write it because... I mean... Come on... (lol). And here it is.

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader, Soap

Summary: During a game of Truth or Dare, your lieutenant is dared into giving you a kiss, but something about the way he has been acting lately may mean this is going to be more than a quick ordeal. And the way you have been feeling towards him won't be helping.

Word Count: 4k

Part 2: READ HERE

The night has started innocently enough: you and your fellow officers sit around together in the rec, blowing off a little steam after another successful mission. Some nice, simple fun of playing cards and shooting the shit like you usually do when leaving the base to go down to the bar isn’t an option. Everyone happens to be here tonight, including that brooding, mask-faced lieutenant that you can’t seem to keep your mind from drifting to as he stands against the wall behind you. 

Maybe it’s just your imagination, but you’ve noticed that the lieutenant’s presence has become more and more common lately, especially when you’re around. He keeps mostly to himself, staying on the edge of the fun by just watching, yet you swear that if you are stealthy enough from out of the corner of your eye you can catch his gaze lingering in your direction. 

Whether it’s just a trick of your mind or the truth, either way it makes your pulse race. And tonight is no exception.

All has been pretty calm so far, nothing too rowdy or out of hand. At least, it was until now as the night has waned on and inhibitions have fallen. What was once an innocent bit of fun has turned a bit more risque as Soap decides that cards aren’t enough to keep everyone entertained. What game is it he always seems to pick when everyone is more loose? One where the consequences always end up interesting: Truth or Dare.  

Several rounds have passed already where the truths have consistently gotten more honest and the dares even more spicy. No one is ready to call it quits just yet, but there is one person that hasn’t had a turn after all this time and that just won’t do, not if the Scottish sergeant has anything to say about it. Taking matters into his own hands, Soap turns his attention to the big man standing with his arms crossed, watching quietly. 

“Oy, Lt. Come on, you’re already ‘ere. Ya gotta join us,” Johnny says through the raucous laughter to drag the silent lieutenant into the merriment. “Or are ya chicken, hmm?”

As much as you want Lt. Riley to join in, you would rather him stick around and something like this could get him to walk out; you don’t want that to happen. “Fucking can it, Johnny,” you say as you strike him in the bicep with your fist. “You’re talking out of your ass, alright? Knock it off.”

To everyone’s surprise and yours, after a momentary pause, Lt. Riley steps up closer to the table with his arms still crossed. “ ‘s fine,” he dismisses your concern. “But, one round is all you’re gonna fuckin’ get from me, sergeant, so better make it count.”

Johnny nods his head in agreement, actually caught off guard that he is even able to get this far with the ever stoic and cold-shouldered officer. It all seems a bit too easy, but Soap isn’t going to pass up an opportunity like this to get the lieutenant involved. He’s gotta make this good whatever it is that gets chosen and so he pauses a minute to think of an idea for either scenario before speaking up. “Alright Lt, ye know how it goes. Truth or dare?”

Truth is never going to be an option for Lt. Riley, not with the level of secrecy he keeps to at all times when it concerns his life; he knows if he gives Johnny an inch he will take a goddamn mile. So, there is only one other option and though he tries to hide the fidgeting in his hands, he picks it.  

Maybe it’ll be something that’ll help him strike up a conversation with you later. “Dare,” he says. 

The grin that lights up Soap’s face instantly lets the entire table know that he is up to no good and the words that follow are a testament to that fact. You thought you knew Johnny well enough by now, but not even you could have been prepared for what came out of his mouth then. “Alright, I dare ye ta kiss our sassy little sergeant right here,” he says as he looks at you with an unwavering gaze. 

You meet his blue eyes and hold them in stunned silence. Is he fucking serious? As if Lt. Riley would ever go for something so fucking dumb as this. Johnny has to be out of his goddamn mind to put you in this position; it’s like he knows something he shouldn’t. Again your immediate reaction is to sock him in the arm, this time a bit harder to drive home the point that you are done with his bullshit. 

And yet… shockingly… you hear the lieutenant speak up.

“Fine,” Lt. Riley agrees to everyone’s amazement. 

You turn your attention to face him. “Are you sure? Johnny’s just being a dick, you don’t have to listen to him, sir,” you reassure as you shoot a glare that has the Soap nervously shifting in his seat, worrying about what is going to happen to him later for pulling such a ridiculous stunt.

“Said it’s fine,” he repeats, his gruff tone metered. “But I ain’t doin’ it ‘ere though; you’re not gettin’ a free fuckin’ show if that’s what you’re after Mactavish.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll give ya that,” Johnny concedes. Those blue eyes scan the room for a solution. “How about ‘round tha corner there.”

He points to the bend in the wall a few feet away; far enough from the group that they won’t be able to tell what’s happening behind it. Since there are now stipulations that the lieutenant has set, Johnny is going to add his own as well for good measure. “However,” he pipes up, “since it ain’t in front a us here, ya gotta stay in place for 10 minutes. I doubt ye’ll actually do anything, but might as well make ye both have ta awkwardly stand there for a bit. And don’t think yer gonna pull a fast one; I’m gonna be countin’.”

You look back at the lieutenant and he gives a nod. “Fine,” you agree as well. How you are able to keep your voice so steady when you feel that jolt deep in the pit of your stomach is a mystery, but you pull it off just fine.

With the rules set Lt. Riley stares at you as if waiting for you to get up from your seat first before he moves. You do and he immediately follows close behind as you make your way over to the wall just past the corner amidst the sounds of whistles and whoops. With a quick flip of the bird back over your shoulder to the group, you both vanish around the side and come to a stop a few feet from the edge. 

You lean your back up against the wall as he comes to stand in front of you, watching you intensely through the opening in his thin balaclava. As you wait to see who will speak first, you notice a tension in his broad shoulders that hadn’t been there before. This is the first time you both have ever been this close to one another and you can’t overlook the fact that he seems even bigger now that you are standing so near; you can’t help but admire how small you feel next to him.  

The longer he stares at you with those golden eyes, studying your face as if he is deciding something, the more rapid your heartbeat thumps heavy in your chest. He takes a step closer and then another before coming to a stop again. Now there is less than a foot’s distance between your bodies and suddenly there is a shift in the atmosphere around you both, a thick tension that is growing harder to ignore. 

The sounds of laughter filters over to the both of you, breaking you out of the haze of your thoughts. “You know, we don’t have to do anything. If you want me to lie, it’s fine, sir,” you speak before he has a chance to. “Fuck Johnny for putting us in this situation. We can just stand here in silence until we get called back.”

He clears his throat. “Who said anythin’ ‘bout lyin’?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrow that you can make out through the mask. “Just don’t wanna, is that it?” 

Something in the way he says the statement catches you off guard. Why does he sound slightly disappointed? Did he want to actually do this? You couldn’t really believe that; no, you must be reading this all wrong. “No, that’s not…” you stumble over your words; why is it getting harder to speak? “I just… didn’t think you’d want to… but… if you do then…”

“Yes or no?” he cuts off your string of stammering.

“Yes,” you confirm. 

Nothing else needs to be said other than that. His hand moves to his face, his fingers finding the bottom edge of his mask, and now you can’t breathe as you wait to see what’s under there. This is the first time you’ll be able to see more than just his eyes and that leaves your mind reeling.

Okay, you prepare yourself, it’s just a kiss, right? Nothing to it; you’ve been kissed before. This will be no different. Just breathe and we’ll get through it.

The mask is wrenched up above his nose so that his mouth is revealed and spread across waiting for you is a subtle, cocky smirk. Your cheeks flush as your eyes are drawn to the facial hair covering his jaw and outlining his lips; short, light brown outgrowth from not having shaved today. It accentuates his strong jaw perfectly and though you try, you can’t look away.

Still focused on his face you miss the warning as a strong hand suddenly finds its way onto your waist as he moves against you. His broad chest is pressed up to yours, you can feel it through the thinner fabric of his shirt, and you can’t tell whether it’s your own pounding heartbeat or his that you feel. That tension is suffocating now that he is this close, the air so thick it feels like you can cut it with a knife. You wait impatiently for the moment to finally break.  

It feels like you are holding your breath when after a few more seconds he finally speaks. “Good,” he says with a bit of breathiness to his voice, “cause I’m no liar.”

Leaning his head down slowly to reach you his lips inch ever closer until you can feel their warm, ghostly presence brush over your mouth causing your eyes to flutter shut as the ecstasy from the anticipation of them making contact overwhelms you. They are there, right there, and you plead with the universe to finally let them touch. You feel him inhale sharply and with that they are crashing against yours. It is with such an automatic, visceral intensity that it knocks the wind from your lungs.

Simon had been certain until the second your lips made contact that he could keep himself under control, that this was nothing more than sinless fun, but as he breathes in the hot, moist air from your mouth while he captures it again, he already knows that this is not going to end how he has intended. There is an immediate magnetism that you both cannot pull from and what is supposed to be something quick, turns mind-numbing in an instant.

Time stands still as your lips twine together in that familiar back and forth and what can only be a few short seconds extend out into an eternity. It’s like flicking on a switch how easily you melt into his embrace, like acquainted lovers, like your lips have always meant to be pressed tightly together. 

How can this be the first time you have ever kissed?

The stubble covering the exposed half of his face pricks along your cheeks the more he advances; the skin around your lips and your jaw growing more raw each time he moves, but the way it makes your face burn is far from painful. His breathing has become more strained, muscles tensing as he risks nipping carefully at the skin on your lower lip.

You inhale a sharp breath through your teeth and then it happens: an unconscious reaction to the pleasure surging through your veins like liquid fire. You can’t stop yourself as a sneaky moan creeps up your throat and before you can swallow it back down you hum it into his mouth. 

That low, alluring sound leaves that hulking military officer hungry to hear more. Those large hands of his desperately want to paw at your body, to caress all those silky curves against the coarse skin of his palms, to let his fingertips linger at all that delicately soft flesh for as long as he can. A deep, gnawing ache settles itself in his chest as he takes your lips with more feral aggression; Simon has never craved something more in that moment than to keep you like this entangled with him. 

The longer he goes, the more there is nothing tentative about his movements; he kisses you like he owns you. Lt. Riley steals from you as if your lips are air and he will suffocate without them, his desperation is the kind that feels like this is life or death and he needs you to survive. You are unprepared for the fucking bliss of it all, the raw, unbridled passion that his lips create as the friction abrades the tender skin of your mouth. 

And your thoughts scream for him to keep going.

You match his intensity with your own, kissing him back with everything that you have in you. He opens his mouth slightly and without thinking your tongue moves in and presses against his, trying to shove its way into his mouth. Fuck, he is not prepared for you to be so keen and it throws him off for only a moment before he leans into that passion and comes back with his response.

The lieutenant braces one of his large hands near your hip, pinning you to the wall while his mouth engulfs your own as he slides his tongue in between your teeth to fill the cavity full. It slithers over the surface of your tongue towards the back of your mouth, the taste of you intoxicating so that he cannot get enough. The pleasure is so intense that it severs his connection with reality and everything outside of your joined mouths fades away into background noise. His other hand moves from your waist and is suddenly wrapped around the back of your neck, his thumb holding steadily against your jaw to keep your head securely in his grip so that he can pull you as tight against his face as he can stand. 

Your head is reeling from the potency of those hot, feverish lips that are suck yours into their desperate embrace. Then his knee forcefully pries its way between your thighs and you are sure that you will not come back from this. It’s too much to handle and you’ve lost all control… no, that’s not right. You’ve yielded everything completely to him without even having to think about it and he has taken every single ounce of what he has been given as if it has always been his. 

Leaning up into him, you stand up on the balls of your feet as he guides the movement of your head by tilting it from one side to the other in that natural dance that happens when lips play. You are both insatiable as that carnal need to devour the other makes it impossible to not relinquish yourselves to the ecstasy that overwhelms in that moment. 

Never in your life have you wanted a man to possess you more than you want your superior to right now. Images of him picking you up and slamming your back into the wall, making you encircle his waist with your legs, his cock straining and throbbing between your clothed sex as you plead with him to take you, fill your mind until they make you light-headed. 

Lt. Riley is not faring any better and he has to focus his entire will into keeping his hands engaged so that he can resist the tingling in his fingertips to find the button on your pants and undo them. If you were alone without the threat of interruption, you might already be half undressed by now, but just as that urge reaches its peak and his fingers are moving in, you both hear the words that make your hearts sink.

“Eh, you two,” you hear Soap calling out from a distance, “times up.”

It is torture to pull away from you; Simon is on the verge of combusting from being forced to stop before he is ready.  But he has to or else he might be found out and there is still hesitation to admit that he might actually want more of this. Even after the ecstasy you both had just shared he isn’t sure how far he should let this go and so with a sigh of defeat he releases your lips from his own. 

By the time he lets you go and moves out from between your legs, your stance is unsteady and your mind fuzzy. The sudden lack of pressure against your mouth leaves you feeling empty and you have to stop yourself from whining aloud. As your eyes slowly flutter open you look up into his face and are met with that chocolate brown gaze lingering on you. There is something swimming in the depths of his eyes: a question, a statement, you’re not sure, but he doesn’t say it aloud. The need to say something yourself eats at you, but you close your mouth tight and bite your tongue to keep silent. 

You can’t bring yourself to risk admitting that you don’t want him to stop; what if he doesn’t feel the same? The pressures of putting it all out there at this moment is too much to handle. Instead, you let the moment die away quietly as you breathe deeply through your nose.

“Times up,” Lt. Riley repeats the phrase softly as he situates his balaclava back down under his chin to hide himself from you once again. The others are cheering for your return, giving you no time to collect yourself, so you simply sigh and stride back to the group together.

Heads turn your direction as you reappear back into the main room. “Well?” the heavily accented voice of the bastard that has orchestrated this whole thing questions you both. 

Trying not to stumble back to your seat, you play it off as if you hadn’t just had your soul sucked out through your lips. “Well what?” you return as the lieutenant passes you up and takes his place back behind the group.

Soap’s brow furrows. “Don’t play dumb with us, lass,” he chides. “Was he any good?”  

You cautiously take your seat back where you had been as everyone waits for your answer, trying to give yourself more time to calm your pulse that is still racing like wildfire through your tingling limbs. “It was fine,” you say, hoping you are collected enough to pull off such a bold-faced lie. 

“Oh really?” Johnny asks skeptically as he eyes you up and down to read your body language. Your heart leaps in your chest as you think you’ve been found out, that the bloom in your cheeks is still too noticeable, but he continues like nothing. “I think yer full a shit. Probably didn’t even get a peck, knowin’ LT. I bet ye did nothin’ back there, but stand in silence.”

You snicker at him, carefully adjusting yourself in your seat so you can squeeze your legs together to relieve the throbbing in such a way that it doesn’t draw attention. “Aww... Guess that’s only for us to know and for you to spend all your time worrying about, bitch. It’s gonna eat at you, isn’t it? Gonna lose sleep thinking about me and the lieutenant, hmm?” you pick back, which seems to get him off your case. 

“Ye wanna add anythin’ here?” Soap asks as he turns to the mask officer.

You risk a glance over your shoulder back at your superior, knowing that this could undo all your progress at regaining your composure, and you catch him completely lost in thought, not having heard a word that Soap just said. Quickly he recovers, clearing his throat. “What’re ya on about, Mactavish?” he questions back. 

“I asked if ye had anythin’ to add to her account of events,” Johnny chuckles. “Or are ye too stunned ta speak?”

The lieutenant shoots him a glare before pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Don’t push yer fuckin’ luck, yeah?” he answers it like a threat as he flips open the pack and places a cig in between his fingers.

Soap holds up his hands innocently with palms facing out in agreement not to start any trouble. “Ye must a been terrible, lass,” Soap picks as he turns his attention back to you to keep the jovial atmosphere up. 

You slug him hard enough to make his chair squeak from the force before joining in the others laughter to disguise the heat still burning through your cheeks. Simon takes the opportunity to slip out unnoticed, though you let your eyes follow him one last time. It is a monumental task that he has to perform to actively put one foot in front of the other, to calculatedly focus his breathing to stay calm, and make it out of the door without anyone noticing that his composure is clearly broken. 

Once out of sight he hurriedly steps out into the cool night air and immediately rips up his mask as he lights his cigarette, taking a long, heavy drag off it as he leans up against the brick of the building. The nicotine tingles his throat and he hopes it’ll be enough of a distraction to stop the intense pounding in his chest. Breathing the smoke out in a weighty sigh he adjusts the crotch of his pants as they have suddenly become too tight for his comfort. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters under his breath as he leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, desperately trying to focus on anything in a vain attempt to calm himself, but he already knows its no use.

The second his eyes are shut all he can think about is that kiss: he can still feel his arm around you, detect the ghost of your lips against his, sense the warmth of your breath in his mouth. He tries to push the delectable sensations from his mind, but they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon and he knows it. 

Opening his eyes he stands back up off the wall with a need that compels him, making him move strategically so that he can peek through the door without being seen. Sneakily he stares back into the building, those brown eyes catching the sight of you smiling and laughing, those full lips making his blood pressure rise as he watches them move about as you speak, still red and swollen from being claimed. 

This is a problem, a big fucking problem. Now the only thing that that hardened military man can think about, instead of keeping his distance, is how he can recreate that exact scene with you again.

And maybe, just maybe, take it even further.

[yenhan]

Silent Readers Club

Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

Masterlist

Synopsis: After reluctantly joining a reading club for the sake of his mental health, Simon really wants to get his shit together, or so his therapist hopes.

Ghost never liked small talk. Or small spaces. Or people, if he was honest about it. It took him a year to get used to Price’s authority over him and more not to strangle Johnny and his endless yapping. Even back when he hadn’t been framed as a ruthless war criminal but a boy, scrawny and not half as brave as the main characters in the stupid comic books Tommy kept in his hidden stash. His old man had done a fantastic job of messing his head so bad that normal human interactions were now completely out of the picture. But therapy had a way of digging up things he'd long buried beneath years of bloodshed and Kevlar.

When Soap had gone down, unmoving like a puppet with cut strings, Simon had thought that was it. He’d crouched over him, calling for a medevac under Garrick’s horrified stare. The sergeant lived by sheer Scottish spite because his Ma’ would never forgive MacTavish for perishing half a continent away, but something in Simon cracked open that day.

He spiraled in a dark, dark place first thing back in England. Price found him unconscious on the floor of the shitty apartment Simon had rented for the rest of the leave. He didn’t remember what had happened before his captain barged in, nor did he remember the following days. His mind was a blur of fragmented memories he wanted to drown in a good whisky and two packs of cigarettes.

The therapist—middle-aged, didn’t flinch at the mask bless her—told him to “find spaces that feel safe.”

"Try something relaxing. A hobby, a better coping mechanism."

A hobby. Christ. The hell was he supposed to find? A fuckin’ pottery course? He scared his own fellow soldiers with his size, how could he have fun among civvies?

But he gave it a go, because even the voices in his head were tired of shouting.

He found himself in a tiny library off a back street in Manchester, sitting on a hard plastic chair in the back corner of something called the ‘Silent Readers Club’. No introductions, no chatting, just show up, read, leave. Sounded doable.

Again, it was a place where he didn’t necessarily interact with people, but being in a public space for two hours straight without crashing out was a big step towards the ‘healthy lifestyle’ his therapist wished for him.

What surprised him wasn’t the quiet. He liked the quiet. It was you.

You were already there when he first stepped inside. Curled up in the window seat with a worn paperback and headphones tucked behind your ears. When he entered, combat boots and the damn skull mask he was supposed to wash two weeks ago, you looked up. And smiled.

You didn’t tense up, didn't bolt through the door the second he appeared either. Just nodded once and went back to your book. Like he was just another bloke. Not the ghost of a man who’d never had the chance to live.

Not a jumpy one, uh. Or maybe you didn’t know what's best for you. Survival instinct seemed pretty lacking in young people these days, especially on that Tik Tak—trash Johnny was obsessed with.

Simon sat in the chair two tables away. Every Saturday after that, same spot. You’d smile, maybe wave if you were feeling chipper, and he’d stare at you a little more intensely. No words passed between you, none. But it became a thing. A habit he could accept. Habits were safe, predictable.

He read whatever he could stomach—mostly war memoirs or thrillers. Once, you left a book on the table near him before leaving. A battered copy of an old crime fiction. No note. He read it twice before giving it back.

He didn’t tell the lads about you. Not a chance in hell.

Price would raise an eyebrow, ask if you were a civilian, if he had to update Simon’s emergency contact.

Gaz would side-eye him thinking he was being slick.

And the Scotsman, if he ever got all his words back, wouldn’t let him live. “Lt. pullin’ a lass at the bloody library without me,” he’d laugh.

Oh, maybe he could tell Johnny. The younger man could use a distraction from the physiotherapy and disgusting slop they served in the hospital. But Simon kept it to himself. His little secret.

One day, you brought two cups of tea. Handed him one, sat down, and opened your book as usual. Simon's eyes twitched in subtle delight. There was a note on the lid: “What’s your name?”

[asuyaka]

Hello Hello!!📞 Hope ur having a wonderful time zone, author I just wanna say that I have read 2-3 of ur writings and I alr love it! Keep it up! ur writing's amazing.💗 I was wondering if I could request a Geto from jjk fic about him with a Curse! M reader, not a curse user, a literal curse like Mahito. But unlike Mahito the reader doesn't understand human emotions and from observing Geto (after he betrayed jujutsu high and became a cult leader) think's that its normal to kill and hate non-sorcerer's. Reader just sticks around in the shadow's and watches Geto and observer's his behavior until Geto notices and question's reader but after learning that, oh shit this curse is actually pretty powerful he might actually be useful, and promises reader to teach him about human's in exchange of him staying by Geto's side and helping him in his goal. Geto (as time passes) fall's in love with reader while reader get's this feeling that he can't understand when he's with Geto. sorry if this is a lot to ask and if u don't understand what i meant, u can just ignore me and my rambling😅

★ - s'okay lovely, descriptive reqs are jus as interestin' as non descriptive ones! <3

☆ - Cult Leader! Suguru Geto x Curse! M Reader!

♡ - typical Geto stuff! racist ta non-sorcerers, n tha word 'monkey' s'used one too many times (toji only said it once, by that way.)!

Geto remembers finding you— a curse who's stuck by his side ever since he deflected from the Jujutsu world— letched onto the side of a very popular road for couples to hang out and do whatever it was that couples do.

The very first time you two met, he remembers your soft voice, body radiating heaps of untapped cursed energy—untapped potential. Your curled up body, eyes void of emotion looking up at him with something that resembles confusion. "You can see me?"

Ever since then, you've been stuck to his side. While he doesn't think of you as useless, it has taken a bit too long for the potential— the strength he wants to see from you come out.

He's willing to wait, of course, he needs all the help he can get before initiating his plan against Jujutsu High, but there's only so much patience one man can have.

Especially, a man who's already running low on time.

You're accompanying Geto on a trip to a 'money-collecting monkey', as he likes to call them. They went back on their payments to the...cult (?) home (?) and he came to give them some 'personal counseling'—which was what he always said when blood was more than likely to be shed.

"Remember why we're here, [Name]," Geto says as he gets off his manta-ray curse, extending his hand to help you.

You stare at him, muttering a small thank you. "Help the monkey?"

Geto pushes his arms into his sleeves with a smile that makes your tummy churn in discomfort. "And?"

"Work on my cursed technique..." You mutter, kicking a pebble on the ground with an unseen pout working its way on your face. Ever since Geto quite literally found you on the side of a road, you've been his right-hand man ever since. Even if your understanding of cursed techniques and cursed energy is slim to none.

You've always understood in the back of your mind that he needs you for something. He had to—otherwise, he would've turned you into a ball and swallowed it on the spot. He always says how you aren't necessarily a bad curse, but he's never said you were good either.

You've never understood what he meant by that, but by the way Nanako grimaced whenever he said it, you assumed it wasn't a good thing. Without knowing, the pout grew into a frown and you found yourself huffing. Humans and their weird emotions always intrigued you ever since you were born, but you could never understand it.

Which is why you've been with Geto for so long. He's the first human who acknowledged your presence, the first human to act (kind, was it?) around you, so by process of elimination he was your first and only candidate to learn from.

When you two reached the house you overhear Geto whisper something about how the stench of monkeys would get everywhere.

'... Monkeys = bad people, they make Geto angry.' You think to yourself as you rummage through the pockets of the clothes Geto lent to you, bringing out a small spray bottle and handing it to the male beside you.

The action seems to take him by surprise. His smile falters and he stares at the item in your hand for a beat too long, grabbing it with a 'thank you' and spraying it on his clothes with a tight expression.

"Come here, you aren't getting monkey on my curses, or around the house." Geto waves you over, spraying a generous amount on your clothes and on your face. The spiciness takes you by surprise, spluttering as you try to get the taste off your mouth and the burn out of your eyes.

Surprisingly—shockingly even, you hear Geto laugh. It doesn't sound like the one he uses around the curse-collecting or money-collecting monkeys, it sounds like the one he uses around Nanako and Mimiko.

'Geto laughing = good. He's happy or excited.'

The laughing stops but he brings up a finger to wipe the tear that fell down your cheek during the sting. His hands are slightly calloused but soft to the touch. "Come on, let's get this over with. I'd rather stay away from monkeys on my weekends."

Nodding, you follow behind Geto as he walks up to the door, planting three brisk but firm knocks against the wood. You make sure to stay a step behind him, your body stiff and your eyes blank in case the monkey decides to try anything.

The door opens a slither a pair of green eyes widening the second they see Geto. "G-Geto-san! What do I owe the pleasure?"

"Good afternoon to you as well, Mr. Ashido. From my understanding, you're to fund my organization with three hundred thousand yen a month, am I correct?" Geto smiles, but it doesn't feel nice like when he smiles at you.

'Monkeys make Geto's smile weird. All monkeys are bad.'

The man nods shakily, his grip on the door faltering slightly. "Y-yes, but I cannot make up with the payments anymore because—"

"Correct me if I'm mistaken, Mr. Ashido, but you were the one who said three hundred thousand, am I correct?" Geto interrupts with a slight movement of his head, his signature bang moving with it.

"But Mr. Geto—"

Then, Geto's smile falls. His nose scrunches up in disgust and his eyes narrow. That means he's going to kill someone.

Before either of you knows what's happening, a surge of cursed energy flows into your hand, and the man's body squishes onto the ground until it pops as if the gravity on his body somehow quadrupled.

Geto's eyes widen, staring at the eyeball that rolled on the tip of his sandals. He turns to look at you, equal parts shocked and amused. "You did that, didn't you?"

"Monkeys are bad, and you looked like you were going to kill him anyway. I'm sorry for acting out of line G—"

"Don't you dare apologize for that." Geto interrupts with a sharp cut to his tone, making you stutter and trip over your words.

'Don't apologize, Geto gets angry. Angry = bad emotion.'

You nod hastily, but the nagging feeling to apologize stretches along your throat, itching to come out. Geto huffs, walking down the stairs and dragging you by the collar. "Seriously, the one time I take my eyes off you, you go change the actual laws of space on a guy?"

"Sor—" You stop yourself midway, remembering how apologies made Geto feel. You opt to stay silent and let him drag you wherever it is he wants to.

As you and Geto ride back home on the manta-ray curse, you see the smile on his face from earlier still hasn't left.

'Killing monkeys makes Geto give Nanako and Mimiko smile. Feels better than what he uses with sponsors.'

"Did I do good, Geto?" You ask absentmindedly, shifting closer to him until your chest is pressed against his back.

Something that resembles a laugh comes out of him, but it seems airy. Still genuine, but not as hard as when he sprayed you in your face. "Yes, [Name]. You did well."

A slight flush and embarrassment creeps up on you, causing you to plant your face on his shoulder. It didn't feel bad, just new. The same thing you feel whenever Geto falls asleep on your shoulder, or when he and you stay on his flying curse for hours at a time, doing nothing but basking in each other's presence.

It feels great, and you're glad to be feeling it with the only human you would put your life on the line for.

[fiendishfables]

Camillo Carmine x Reader

General Headcanons (SFW + NSFW)

warnings: nsfw, mentions of blood, mentions of biting, cursing

words: 1.4k+

a/n: this was a highly requested work, so enjoy and have fun with the little bonus at the end! This is not really an x reader, but it could be read as such, so oh well. Let me know your thoughts on Camillo's character, and/or if you'd like to see more of him in the near future <3

SFW

✧˚ · . Camillo is basically like a big cat

✧˚ · . Tall motherfucker, standing at approximately 8,2

✧˚ · . The guy is very calm, silent, and sneaky all at once. If anything, he would make an excellent spy and has been offered positions before in that line of work

✧˚ · . Very independent; wont work for anybody but himself and is beyond stubborn

✧˚ · . He is a hardass, but underneath his tough, strong front, is an individual who is a giant kid at heart, who is so deeply loyal and giving that it hurts, and who takes all relationships he makes very seriously, as in he would gladly put his life on the line for someone he cares about; questioning his loyalty is the worst you can do

✧˚ · . Favorite colors consist of greys and purples of any shade; it always struck him as having more of an elegant, dancer sort of vibe, and the display of the colors usually help him to relax in times of distress. His whole bedroom is centered around that color palette and it hasn't been changed since he and Camilla have inherited the mansion

✧˚ · . On the subject of Camilla, he likes to annoy her. His real personality can start to be seen the more time he spends around his sister; they behave just like any normal pair of siblings would. The two have had a love hate relationship growing up and it still is that way, even if just a bit more watered down now. The two like to joke and hang around together every now and again when they aren't off busy with their own lives

✧˚ · . What a Carmine lacks in affection, they make up for in loyalty

✧˚ · . If you wanna talk about dancers, he is one. He loves dancing in his spare time and even uses the Carmine manor as a spot to host dancing lessons amongst sinners willing/wanting to learn

✧˚ · . His silvery pointed dancing shoes are like his literal children, and he always goes into a slight panic whenever he can't find them. They provide him with that sense of security, as dancing is a huge part of his life and he could never stand to be without it; they were also a gift from his mother

✧˚ · . Never likes to ask anyone for anything, especially not help. He likes to cover up his needs with smart-ass comments and handsome smirks that most can't stay mad at for too long

✧˚ · . Has been told he has a very punchable face

✧˚ · . His fangs make for a great, sarcastic smile; his face either consists of a frown or that signature smirk. He uses his fangs for a lot of things, including biting people when they get on his nerves

✧˚ · . Can totally play the piano; claims its a very calming and dignified instrument. He doesn't play it often but when he does, its a gift to anyone around to hear

✧˚ · . On the asexuality spectrum, identifying as demisexual and biromantic. It takes him a little longer than the average sinner to develop feelings for someone, let alone sexual feelings

✧˚ · . As stated before, his relationships are one of the most important things in his life and he handles them with great seriousness

✧˚ · . The epitome of that one secretive, mysterious, tall and mysterious stranger everyone wants to be friends with, but are too afraid to approach directly to ask

NSFW

✧˚ · . It's very difficult to get anything verbal out of this man when he's in the process of being intimate with someone, even if they're his s/o

✧˚ · . The most you can expect is some pleasured grunts, maybe some low groans if you're lucky

✧˚ · . It's not that he isn't enjoying whatever is being brought upon him, he is just one to closely guard his feelings and never really express them too vividly; yes that ends up following him into his sex life

✧˚ · . 9 times out of 10 he prefers to give pleasure rather than receive it

✧˚ · . Loves to degrade and use pet names with his partner; sweetheart, doll, slut, and whore tending to be some of his personal favorites to use

✧˚ · . Big on consent. If you are ever not comfortable with anything he proposes or is in the middle of doing to you, then he will stop instantly and get you anything you need. He may seem like an asshat sometimes, but he is a decent person (if that comes as such a shock)

✧˚ · . Into some form of pet play/leashes, no negotiation

✧˚ · . He always likes to be in control and rarely ever is the submissive one during intimacy.

✧˚ · . Will speak Spanish in bed, usually doing so in order to fluster his partner; it often gets him a positive response

✧˚ · . Being blindfolded is a big kink of his. As a dancer, he is used to having to be accustomed to other senses, so when they are heightened after his sight is temporarily taken from him, he will have a ball of a time

✧˚ · . One of his top favorite things is watching his partner ride him. Just the sight of his cock being sheathed inside your body over and over again as he watches you get off on his lap all on your own

✧˚ · . Dirty dancing is something he is much too fond of. The act of getting all worked up from dancing with one another, teasing each other all the while, then getting to fuck his partner into the ground, whispering praises to them about how well they danced with/for him; he is all too eager to teach you more of what he knows about the dancing world

✧˚ · . The little shit is one of the biggest teases you will ever meet. He honestly has a sex drive that's more so on the lower side and does not need sex as often as most sinners seem to

✧˚ · . But, be prepared when he does have the energy to pleasure you, for he is astounding at it.

✧˚ · . Kissing, biting, steamy makeout sessions, eating you out, fucking you raw; he can do it all and excel in the process

✧˚ · . His fangs usually come into play a lot during sex; a huge fan of biting and leaving marks on his partner to let others know that they have already been claimed

✧˚ · . Camillo is one of those demons you'd be lucky to have sex with. It's not even an egotistical thing, he's just not very sex-coded when it comes to relationships or really anything in general. He believes in a true connection with someone first before engaging in any sorts of those activities, hence his sexuality

✧˚ · . Sex with Camillo is always very serious and passionate. He never allows himself to be as vulnerable as he would be right now, so better to cherish it whilst it lasts

✧˚ · . It's almost like he picks one mate for life, then he's done looking, like some species do

✧˚ · . Thinking of it, when he really gets into action and the rare times he wants to have sex, he fucks like a wild animal. He does have his vanilla, gentle side where he will care for you nothing short of a husband, but if he has the chance or some pent up anger to release, you better prepare to go for multiple rounds of very rough sex

✧˚ · . To top things off, he does have a praise kink. It may be hard to pick up on at first, but if you praise him, let him know how good he's making you feel, he's a mess (at least internally). Nothing really gets him going more than knowing he is fulfilling his job as a partner; making you feel good in every aspect that he can. It gives him purpose and that's really all he needs when he's with his s/o

BONUS~

✧˚ · . One of Camillo's wildest fantasies is to have his lover cockwarming him whilst he plays a song for them on his piano. He can imagine struggling to not fumble over the keys, not let his fingers slip, as he feels you clench around him, biting his lip or your shoulder hard enough to draw blood in order to stifle any noises that may find their way past his lips. That vulnerability is something he knowingly holds sacred; you could potentially be the one to coax it out of him.

[enhafilthandfiction]

Secret naughty things you two only know about >:)

A/N : Hello! ik the title isn't that clear but idk how to phrase it, like inside jokes between you, but not jokes, like things in general- whatever read and find out :)) Inbox is open!!

Pairing : Bf!HyungLine X Fem!Reader

Warnings : some crack, sexting, dirty talk, degrading names, being horny, slight mentions of oral (f.rec) at the end.

Word Count : 900 Words (About 225 words each)

Masterlist

» Lee Heeseung «

Intertwines middle fingers with you

When you two are out, instead of holding hands like a normal couple, he tends to fuck his middle finger into your fist until you get the message and also stick out your middle finger, wrapping it around his, forming a little chain.

Sexting each other when you're with friends but both bored

He takes out his phone from his back pocket and opens your contact, sending you a cheeky message. He glances at your spaced out face from across the dinner table and you feel the familiar vibration of your phone in your back pocket. A smile forms on your face as you read the message, smirking and sending him one back.

Hee <3 - 6:32 pm Fuck baby, you look so pretty, can't wait till we get home, wanna fuck you in that slutty little dress you're wearing

Y/n-ie - 6:35 pm I'm so wet for you Seungie, can't we just fuck in the bathroom?

Hee <3 - 6:35 pm Anything for you baby, you go first, I'll come after you ;)

» Park Jay «

Wearing each other's clothes

He absolutely loves it when you ask him for his clothes because 'he has a better style' or because 'his clothes are comfier'. He loves picking out clothes for you, it makes him feel warm on the inside because you're like his little baby. He loves knowing that you're wearing something of his so you could think of him whenever he's not with you. He also doesn't mind asking for something out of your closet, always wanting to keep something of yours with him. He especially loves the fact that no one knows that you share clothes.

Eye fucking each other

He tends to stare at you for too long, just to get you hot and bothered. He won't take is eyes off of you until you start looking back at him. It soon becomes an intense staring competition until one of you breaks. You can see him smirk from your peripheral vision, feeling small under his gaze. When you break contact, he just winks at you and flicks his eyebrows up and down, a signal to what he's gonna do to you back home. All you can do is smile, and he gets your message. He loves how you two can communicate just with eye contact without anyone suspecting a thing.

» Sim Jake «

Wearing matching underwear

Every time you two go shopping you always end up coming home with a new pair of matching underwear. It could either be a leopard print or with colourful doughnuts but his boxer briefs and your panties are always matching. The benefit of this is that when you two are getting dressed, you always pick a pair of underwear together and sometimes he even offers to put it on for you. Even before showering, he prepares your pjs (which could also be matching) and most importantly, your matching underwear. He likes it because you're the only two that know about it.

Whispering dirty / naughty things in your ear

He loves flustering you, making your cheeks go red, especially when you're with your friends. He comes up behind you, pretending to innocently back-hug you, until his lips make their way to your ear, whispering things that only you can hear. That way, no one listens in to your business and it's just between you two. I think this becomes a habit for him and he starts whispering the normal things in your ear too. "You're so pretty Y/n" he whispers as his hands rub along your waist "I'm gonna fuck you so good once we get home" your friends could only guess what he's saying that's making you blush like that.

» Park Sunghoon «

Has dirty talk as a love language

Behind closed doors he calls you all sorts of insulting names, but you know that he's just adoring you and so why he calls you those names. His favourite ones are probably 'slut' or 'doll' so when he calls you that you know he's just cooing at you. He loves telling you what he wants to do to you, all his dirty fantasies involving you. You could be doing something as simple as brushing your teeth and he goes like "Bet I can fuck your mouth better than that toothbrush can" because a thought of you giving him head had just ran through his head. He also loves praising you by degrading you. "My dirty slut, taking me in so well" He knows you like it when he talks to you like that cause you can't stop clenching around him. You love the fact that he only talks like this to you when you two are alone, it's a different hot side of him.

Has codes for when one of you is horny

He suggested creating codes between you so you can know when one of you is needy. It can be as simple as an irrelevant word like 'pineapple' or 'whipped cream' and he gets the message. It could also be a whole phrase or situation like "Hoon, I don't feel too well, I think I'm sick" you say with a cheeky smile. He immediately gets the message and excuses you both from the boring place you were at, taking you to the closest private place and getting down on his knees, lifting your skirt up as he stuffs his face in your wet, needy core.

Hello, thanks for reading to the bottom, I hope you enjoyed reading! My inbox is open for emoji anons and (if you wanna be) moots! Have a good day/night and remember that ily <333

If you enjoyed this post, you can support this blog by tipping me here! Anything is greatly appreciated :)

[loveandmurders]

Good afternoon mi amor✨ I hope you're having a wonderful Friday.. could you possibly write a fanfic of vampire Michael Myers with a plus size reader who gets caught by him and falls for him.. btw love your blog❤️

Hello beauté <3 And thank you so so much for this wonderful request!!! (I mean Michael as a vampire makes total sense and explains why he doesn't die, he is only active at night, his strenght, and the fact Corey didn't need glasses after he met him and turned him into a murderer (aka into a vampire) but I'm disgressing)

I really hope you'll enjoy this &lt;3

FALLING FOR THE DARKNESS

Warnings: no proof reading, plus size female reader, mentions of blood and death, reader is kidnapped, possessive!Michael, coffin.

You heard rumours around town saying that Michael Myers couldn’t be killed, because he was a shape in the darkness, the shadow of death. You weren’t too sure what that meant, but you weren’t really afraid either. You didn’t believe that someone like you could be killed by Michael, because nothing special ever happened to you. Plus, because people weren’t always nice to you - they often bullied you because of your appearance and weight- you preferred to stay on your own most of the time. So really, what were the chances for you to even face Michael?

You were coming back home a little bit later than you had wanted to. It was already dark outside, and even the street lights weren’t comforting you that much. You met almost no one on your way back, and a fresh breeze made you shiver. You tried your best to not be paranoid, but you swore you felt someone was following you. But whenever you would turn around, there was no one. You shook your head. You were being an idiot. You needed to stop believing whatever the journalists and people were saying in town. You still started to walk a little bit faster, happy you had put on comfortable sneakers. You were almost home now, so you relaxed a little, smiling at how silly you could be sometimes.

What happened to you then was like in movies. You turned your head around to check one last time behind you, and when you looked back in front of you, Michael was there. You only had the time to recognise his mask, before he grabbed you and roughly brought you against him. Your bag fell on the ground and your phone too. You were paralysed in fear, you couldn’t even beg for your life. You couldn’t fight back either. He moved his head closer to your neck, removed enough of his mask to free his mouth from it, and suddenly you felt sharp teeth piercing through your skin. You wanted to cry but the fear and the pain made you faint and you collapsed into his arms.

Before you knew it, Michael brought you to his home. He handcuffed you to a bed in his basement, where he usually kept his food alive for an extra few days when he had enjoyed their blood enough for that. And your blood was the most delicious of things he ever tasted. He wasn’t too sure he could find another meal like you, so he was starting to think of keeping you there as long as possible. If he wasn’t too greedy and was feeding you well, he could hope to keep you alive for months, maybe even for years. While you were still unconscious, Michael came back to watch you. You were so pretty he thought, not that he usually cared about what his snacks looked like. And he almost smiled under his mask, thinking that now he would be the only one to ever look at you, because you were all his. Forever his. Well, at least until he would decide to kill you.

You opened your eyes, thinking you were in your bed and that you simply had an awful nightmare. You wanted to move around when you found out your right wrist was chained to a bed frame you didn’t know. You started to panic and you tugged on the handcuff with great strength, to the point you were hurting yourself. Michael didn’t want any of your blood to get to waste so he moved closer to you and placed his hand over yours to make you stop. Your attention was instantly drawn to him and your eyes widened. You didn’t dream. You had been attacked and kidnapped by Michael Myers. Your free hand moved to your neck and you found dry blood on it but no mark. Michael healed you with his blood while you were sleeping. Now his blood was in your system, he could know where you were wherever he was. He didn’t want to lose track of you that easily.

You stared at him, you couldn’t believe that it was happening to you. You watched the mask, hoping it was a copycat but the aura coming from the man made you shiver in fear. You also realised how cold his hand was against your skin. Once he was certain you weren’t going to hurt yourself anymore, he removed his hand and fully stood up in front of you.

Your eyes moved down his body. You had heard a lot of things about Michael. But you never heard he was so good looking. Beneath the dark blue outfit, you could guess the muscles and the strength of the man. You licked at your dry lips. You weren’t afraid. If Michael had wanted you dead, you already were.

“Can I have a glass of water?” you asked in a little voice. You couldn’t see what was going on underneath the mask and it was quite strange to not be able to read his expressions. In a flash, he disappeared and appeared once again in front of you, but with a glass of fresh water in one hand. You blinked. 

“I can’t drink if I’m laying down… I clearly can’t escape you, so maybe you could untie me?” you tried, almost certain it wouldn’t work. But Michael did agree: you were just a little human, you couldn’t escape him. He had tied you up in case you would go insane or he would have to leave you alone in the house. He leaned again and freed you. He impatiently waited for you to sit up before giving you the glass of water.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him. You drank before massaging the wrist you had hurt in your panic. He didn’t like how red and damaged it was so he moved his thumb beneath the mask and punctured his finger before putting the blood on your wrist. You instantly felt better and when you watched at your wrist, it was as if nothing had happened.

Alright, you had tried to pretend that everything was normal but you couldn’t keep doing that. You have watched and read enough movies and books to know everything about vampires. Michael had every “symptom” of one.

But vampires don’t exist, right?

“Hungry?” he asked you. His voice was deep and rich, and helding so much power. You almost felt like you were hypnotised.

“I… Well, yes” you admitted. You were about to go home and cook yourself something. Michael disappeared once again.

You didn’t dare get up from the bed, and you simply looked around. Even if the water helped you feel better, you were still a little bit weak from the blood loss. The room was dark and you guessed you were in his basement, in the Myers house. You wondered when the police would find you.

They were going to find you, right?

After a little moment, Michael came back with food. You didn’t remember the last time you saw such an appetising meal in front of you. You took the plate and started to eat on your lap. You closed your eyes at how amazing it was. Michael never stopped watching you and when you sent him a little glance, he tilted his head to the side in curiosity.

You instantly looked back down at your food. It wasn’t the moment to find your kidnapper cute. 

You finished your meal and shyly gave him back the empty glass and plate. He took everything and left you alone once again. And you realised you hoped he was going to come back soon.

He did come back. He came back every night to feed on you and then to take care of you. He was never saying more than one or two words, generally to ask you if you needed something. You had been very afraid of him the first times he took blood from you, but now you even started to enjoy it. Because he was so good to you. You realised that when you were relaxing yourself and not trying to fight back, it wasn’t hurting that much and he was even a little bit more gentle because he didn’t need to force you. Sometimes he was taking a little too much and you would feel dizzy. Even if he never apologised, he always tried his best to make it up to you in a way or another. It was often with food or by giving you a new book to read or some paper to draw or write on. He even came back one day with a beautiful notebook and a pen made of gold. It looked old and very expensive.

You weren’t allowed to leave the basement most of the time, except to grab a shower. You had the best shampoo and hair conditioner you ever had in your whole existence, same for the soap and the cream you put on your skin. After your shower, he was often having a closer look at your body to make sure you were feeling alright. He didn’t want to damage his most favourite prey. He was always pleased with you. 

You also realised that the more obedient you were, and the “nicer” he was to you. He even started to give you jewels and nice outfits for special occasions. The outfits were always the perfect size and they made you feel good about yourself. During the full moon, you were allowed upstairs and you were listening to music with him, in silence. Sometimes, when you would feel brave enough, you would dance a little for him. At first, you got worried he would find you stupid or… unattractive. But he always seemed to watch you with great interest. One night, he even got up. You instantly stopped dancing, thinking he was fed up with you and wanted you to go back to the basement. But instead, he took one of your hands in his and placed his free hand on your hip, and started to dance with you. He followed your rhythm and tilted his head at how fast your heart was beating in your chest. It was pumping even more blood in your veins, and he clearly couldn’t find you any more desirable than in this moment. You danced with him all night long.

When the morning came, he gave you a choice. He gestured toward the door leading into the basement and then gestured toward another door. You didn’t know where it was leading because you only knew where the kitchen, living room and bathroom were. You bit your lips and finally gestured toward the door you didn’t know. He nodded and grabbed your hand to lead you toward his own room. 

As a conservative vampire, he was sleeping in a coffin during the day. But he enjoyed having a lot of space so it was taking up half of the room and you could easily settle in there by his side. He opened the coffin and waited for you to come in. You hesitated. But at the same time, you were feeling quite safe by his side now. You finally came inside and he followed you before closing the coffin on the two of you. It was really comfy inside.

You didn’t know what to do now though. He put his hand over your eyes.

“Sleep” he ordered you and you nodded. You were afraid to do something wrong but you moved closer to him and you placed your head on his chest. He let you do it. He didn’t wrap his arms around you, because he wasn’t the affectionate kind of man… vampire. But he didn’t push you away and you both slept the day that way.

When you woke up, you were alone in the coffin that was wide open. The empty place next to you made you realise something. Something terrible.

You were in love.

No one ever treated you so well in your whole life. Michael might have kidnapped you and was feeding on your blood, he never hurt you, he was taking care of your physical and mental well being, he made you feel good about yourself with little gifts and by dancing with you all night… He was making you feel special. You didn’t know why he chose to keep you, but you were happy he did. And you hoped to never upset him so he would continue to enjoy you like he seemed to.

And more importantly, you hoped that the police - or anyone else - would never find you.

[flamehairedwritings]

Stray: Chapter One

Characters: Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female Reader 

Rating: E, 18+ ONLY

Words: 5k

Summary: Ghost has a fine time making you admit you need want him.

A/N: Chapter One of Six. A chapter posted every Monday!

Entire Story Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, enemies are lovers, porn with plot, they're not nice people, but are they

Chapter Tags:  Dub-con, only because reader says no when she really means yes, slight degradation, affectionate degradation if you will, praise, praise kink, biting, marking, use of love/ma’am/kitten/slut/good girl, belt around back of neck but no choking, cock-drunk, MDom, maybe even a bit of gentle MDom, rough, dirty talk, man-handling, gloves, fingering, blow-job, deep-throat, unprotected sex, slight possesiveness, permission to cum kind of, creampie

Read on AO3

Stray Masterlist

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites. I do not consent to my work being used for AI purposes.

─

Chapter One - The Safehouse

His boots thud on every step of the wooden stairs, echoing a little in the stairwell.

Bone fucking tired, he's opted for the nearest safehouse; a flat in a crumbling, shitty block. It's one of the smaller ones in the area, but it's quiet, got some good escape routes.

Still, habits being habits and training being training, he'd scoped out the surrounding area anyway, finding it quiet, not a soul around. No threats. Not really a place you'd want to be out in after dark, anyway.

You might bump into someone like him.

He softens his steps as he approaches the front door, pulling the key out a pocket on his trousers. Nothing on the seal suggests interference, and there's no sign of tampering on the lock so, really fucking ready to put his head down, he unlocks it, opens it, steps a boot inside─

And pauses.

Music.

There’s fucking music.

Coming from down the hall, in the kitchen.

It couldn't be one of the others, this is one of his safes.

Fuck.

It's the last thing he fucking wants or needs, whatever this is.

Silently, he steps fully through the door, closing it behind himself. Unholstering his largest knife and a handgun, he squares his shoulders and moves down the hall. Entering the kitchen, his eyes dart about the small space. There’s the battered radio, his radio, sat on the centre of the circular table, soft jazz music playing from it. It’s so old the sound is slightly distorted, the instruments crackling.

There’s pots in the sink, too.

What the fuck…

Someone's made themselves a nice fucking meal.

And the shower's running too.

Lifting his eyes to the door ahead, his jaw moves as he stills.

A distraction or someone's actually having a fucking shower in his safe house?

Adjusting his grip on his weapons, he nears the door─ 

The water stops.

There's the distinct, faint squeaking of the taps as they're tightened shut, and then the sound of the curtain being pushed aside.

He decides to wait instead of barrelling in, not knowing what he could be facing.

Could be a civilian squatting.

Could be a fucking psychopath.

Steeling himself either way, next comes the sound of the door unlocking, then the handle's being pushed down and it's opened and─

You stand there.

Paused in the doorway, unsurprised.

In a robe. A fucking plush white, looks like it came from a spa, too fucking big for you, robe. Of course it's not fucking his, which means you actually brought it here yourself. He'd've laughed if he wasn't so pissed off.

And then you smile.

Fucking psychopath it is, then.

“Hello, Simon.”

“Stray.”

Of course it fuckin’ is.

Short for Stray Cat, you’ve been so named through the channels, and never supplied any other, because you belong to no unit, are loyal to no one, instead aligning with the highest bidder.

Should be because you just fucking turn up when you like and use other people's shit.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

You shrug. “I was in the area. You can put those down.”

He's not sure he can yet, but he does. Holstering both weapons, he remains where he is, watching you move into the kitchen, grabbing the kettle and filling it with water like you fucking own the place.

“Cup of tea?”

“Nah.” His eyes don’t leave you.

You, on the other hand, have your back to him. “Sure? I found some bags of Earl Grey─”

“I'm sure. Why are you here.”

Flicking the tap off, you shut the lid of the kettle and settle it back on it’s holder. “I needed a shower.” You glance at him, lips twitching. “And I like the head on that one.”

He grunts. “How'd you get in.”

“Reveal my secrets?” You flick the kettle on and turn to him, folding your arms as you lean back against the counter. “You know better than that, Simon.”

He presses his lips together, an action you can't see but can practically sense at this point. Your lips twitching again, you tilt your head.

“You're looking well.”

He doesn't answer.

“Tough job wasn't it?”

His eyes narrow a fraction. “What do you know?”

You tut lowly as the bubbling of the heating water grows louder. “I asked first.”

“Actually, I asked first, and I'll ask again: What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

The kettle reaches its boiling crescendo and flicks off, and you smile as you turn to it.

“Sure you don't want Earl Grey? There's no milk and even you surely can't stomach milkless Builder’s.”

“I don't want one,” he grunts as you set two mugs down.

You glance at him over your shoulder, the robe sliding off it a little as you drop a bag into each mug. “I'm not going to poison you, Simon, not intimate enough for me.”

He opens his mouth to snap a retort, when his gaze catches the drop of water that slides down your neck. His teeth grit momentarily as he follows it, watching it disappear under your robe, most likely about to slide down to─

His brow twitches into a frown as he sees it.

“What's that?”

Placing the kettle down after pouring water in each mug, raising your eyebrows, you look over your shoulder again, then tilt your head down to where his gaze is.

“Oh, nothing.” You grip the robe, pulling it back up. “Don't suppose you have any lemons hidden away?”

His eyes are on the back of your head, and you feel it. 

“That's new.”

“And?” Scooping the bags out of the boiling water with two fingers, you half turn, tossing them into the sink.

And you've forgotten how quick he can be.

Before you can turn back, he's closer, grabbing your extended arm at the bicep with a gloved hand.

“Ghost─”

His other hand yanks the robe off your shoulder again, lower this time, giving him a full view of the fresh, jagged, angry scar that stretches the length of your shoulder blade.

He exhales a harsh breath through his nose, mouth in a thin line.

“What─”

“Get off.”

He lets you shove him away, the hand that had pulling the robe up once more. He watches you as you adjust the cord at your waist, tightening it. All humour has vanished from you now as you tear your gaze from his, turning back to the mugs.

You’re pissed off now and he doesn’t even want to start fucking analysing why.

Silence descends as you shove the mug you’d prepared for him along the counter, water sloshing over the sides, and lift your own to your lips, taking a small sip from it.

He releases a long breath, hands settling on his belt.

“Was it from one of his jobs.”

“I'm fine, Simon,” you mutter, taking another sip.

“Why have you come running to me, then.”

You scoff, setting the mug down and turning suddenly to him, an incredulous smile on your lips.

“You think that's what this is?”

His head tilts minutely. “I know it is.”

You laugh, folding your arms as you lean back against the counter again. “You're so cute. I was just in the neighbourhood.”

“You're never ‘just in the neighbourhood’, Stray.”

“‘cause you're the authority on me, are you?”

“I know what can make you cum, that tells me everything I need to know.”

You stare at him. Then, you snort, a wide smile spreading across your lips as you reach for your mug.

“Very cute, Simon.”

He watches your lips settle over the rim of the mug, watches your throat move as you swallow. 

Well, seeing as he won’t get the sleep he wants…

“You know…” Exhaling a breath, he pulls his headset off and sets it down on the circular table. “... You’re still a fucking shit liar.”

“I’m not, I do think you’re cute.”

You’re smiling again, pleased with your funny little quip, you’re always pleased with them, and it doesn’t falter as he moves closer.

“Well, now I know that is the truth…” It does falter slightly as he takes the mug from your hands, places it on the counter behind you, where his hand then rests, arm nearly brushing against yours. Tilting his head down to look at you, you have to tip yours back. “... That’s why you’re here, isn’t it. He can make you dance to his tune, but he can't give you what you need. What you crave.”

Your smile has eased, but he sees the darkening in your eyes. “Your presumptuousness is grating.”

“Leave then.”

You don’t move. Predictably.

Your arms are by your sides, and he’s already noted the quickening of your breath, your chest rising and falling a little faster. And your smile’s gone.

He shifts his weight to one foot, leaning more on the hand behind you, leaning closer.

“Go on,” he murmurs. “Play your little game, mouse. We both know how it's going to end. Or I could just…”

You inhale sharply as suddenly his other hand is at your inner thigh, making your hands flatten against the counter door behind you. 

Movement around his eyes suggests he’s smiling.

Fuck, you hate being too easy.

Gritting your teeth, you lift your chin a little more, silent.

He releases a sound, almost a chuckle. His gloved fingers glide against your sensitive skin, tracing up and down, and you hate that he can probably see how tight your jaw is.

“Tell me you want it,” he murmurs.

You lick your lips. “No.”

“No?”

His fingers inch higher, so close to your aching pussy.

Your lips part. “No…” You lift a hand to his face. Then, you grip the material of his cloth mask.

Instinctively, his hand darts up from your thigh, gripping your wrist tightly.

You still, gazing at him. After a moment, you lick your lips again. 

“Just want your mouth, Ghost. Please,” you murmur.

He stares at you.

Then, his grip loosens.

“Did you just fuckin’ say ‘please’?”

“Shut up.”

Pushing his hard mask up and off, and the material one up off his mouth, you then claim his lips. He groans against your mouth as he hears his mask clatter to the floor, your arms wrapping around his neck. Sliding his arms around your waist, he tugs you against him, making your lips part with a gasp.

“Always so fucking needy, aren’t you,” he rumbles as you bite at his lower lip.

“Funny, I thought that was your hard cock I can feel…” you breathe, trailing off with another gasp and a smile as he tightens his grip on you.

“Shut up.”

He kisses you fiercely, so hard it’s almost bruising.

You love it.

Rising up on your toes, you press as hard against him as you can, and he holds you there, but it’s not enough.

“… stupid, fucking vest…” you hiss as you draw back suddenly, and then your hands are fumbling with the fastenings. He just watches you, hands gripping at your waist.

“Thought you liked feeling it against your tits.”

“Not today.”

Shoving it off of him, it joining his mask on the floor, you return to your position, and… yes… it will do.

He’s never gotten entirely naked with you, and it drives you insane sometimes, but you don’t dare to push, lest he make you stop completely, so you don’t try today, just let him take the lead.

And he does.

He captures your lips in one, long, firm kiss that nearly steals all the breath from your lungs before he’s kissing down your chin, jaw and neck, making your head tip back.

Well, kissing is generous, it’s more like he’s biting and sucking.

Trapped between him and the counter, all you can do is arch against him as he mouths at your skin, your eyes closed, mouth open, harsh breaths escaping you.

“Beg for me,” he mumbles against your skin.

“No…” you breathe, and his hand is suddenly between you, pulling at the robe cord.

Parting it, his gloved hand glides from your stomach, up over your tits and down to your hip

“Beg.”

“No…” Even you would admit how breathy and pathetic the single word sounded.

He bites down where your neck meets your shoulder, making you cry out softly, and then his fingers are tugging at your hard nipple.

“Beg for me, then I’ll give you what you want,” he murmurs into your ear.

All you do is moan, gripping at his biceps.

“Mmh… I…”

“Beg, love, then I’ll play with your needy, puffy little cunt.”

Turning your head closer to his, you bite hard at his jaw, your saliva slicking the skin and stubble there as you moan, and he knows he nearly has you.

“You want that, don’t you, love… Want my fingers stroking your aching little clit… My cock stretching your hole open…”

You would be embarrassed at the moan you release but you don’t care.

“Simon…” you breathe, and he presses an almost soft, open-mouthed kiss to a bite-mark that’s forming, and you crumble. “… Please, I want that, I want you, please─”

Snarling, he grips your waist and spins you, walking you backwards swiftly and shoving you against the table. Gasping as your hip bumps against a chair, you gaze up at him with half-lidded eyes as he shoves you up, making you sit on the table. Falling back onto your forearms, you send the radio and his headset clattering to the floor.

One of them sounds like it breaks, probably the radio from how the music suddenly cuts off; you don’t care.

“You’re gunna fuckin’ pay for those,” he rumbles as he unbuckles his belt, eyes fixed on yours.

“How would you like me to do that?” your murmur, corners of your mouth lifting as you rub your ankles against his hips.

“You know.” Pushing your legs further apart, he stands between them. “You want my fingers first, want to be stretched open for my cock?”

Licking your lips, your chest rises and falls swiftly as you look at him. “Yes.”

“Want the gloves on or off?”

“Off. Want to feel you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Removing his right glove, he settles his left hand on your hip, before he runs the other straight down your inner thigh, to your pussy, where he slides his forefinger right into your slick hole.

You cry out as your back arches, eyes falling shut.

“Yeah… That’s good, isn’t it…” he murmurs as he starts to fuck you with it “… Tell me that’s good, kitten.”

Lying back, your head nearly hanging off the table, you don’t want to give into him fully too quickly, so you just moan. And he allows it, for now.

“So fuckin’ wet already… Were you drippin’ from the moment you fuckin’ saw me… I bet you were, weren’t you, you needy little slut… Bet you could take another finger already…”

He eases a second, long finger in so easily, and you fist the robe that’s spilled around you. 

“Oh, God…”

“Not quite, love.”

When his thumb moves from your hip and starts to slowly circle your clit, you’d happily call him so.

You rock your hips into his hand as you moan, almost mewling like your namesake.

“That’s it, fuck yourself on my fingers…”

Gazing up at him, you could cum just from the sight. His eyes flick from your own to your cunt, his shoulders loose, relaxed, and, looking at his chest, you can see his breathing has picked up. You love what you can do to him… but you know you can do more.

Locking your ankles at his lower back, you drop your knees down to the side, giving him better access, and a better look, at your soaking cunt.

“Why don’t you get on your knees, Simon…” you purr. “... Why don’t you taste how wet you’re making me…”

He grunts, though it almost sounds like a groan.

“Now that’s really cute…” Suddenly, his hands are off of you, and before you can whine at the loss, he takes the fronts of the robe in both hands and pulls you up and forward until you’re on your feet, held between him and the table. “... You think you can give the orders here, love? Don’t fuckin’ think so.”

Then, he releases you, and takes a step back. 

“On your knees.”

Lips parted, your body thrumming with pure fucking lust and adrenaline, you smile.

And then you sink to your knees.

“Good girl,” he gravels as he unbuttons and unzips his trousers.

“Fuck you, Simon,” you murmur, your smile lingering and your thighs squeezing together as you tip your head back and open your mouth.

Creases appear around his eyes again; he’s smiling, too.

Pulling his cock out, his groans in the back of his throat as he strokes it a few times with his ungloved hand before he places his heavy tip on your outstretched tongue.

“You know what to do.”

His hand falls away as, instantly, yours takes its place, and you start to stroke, squeezing lightly, as your mouth closes around his cock and you suck hard.

“Oh, fuck…” he hisses, fingers flexing at his sides as his hips buck.

You let his cock sink in deeper from the action, and then you take him all, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

You’re used to it. Or, rather, used to him.

“Christ…” he grits out, a hand flying up to grip your shoulder.

He never touches your head when you suck his cock, unless you ask.

You draw your head back, and then take him all in again, then again, then again, until, looking up, you see his eyes have closed. As if sensing you looking at him, his eyes snap open, and he tightens his grip on you.

“Yeah, you look at me with those big fuckin’ eyes while you suck me off… I’m gunna empty that pretty fuckin’ head of yours until all you’re thinkin’ about is my cock.”

Drawing your head back, you use your tongue to push thick globs of saliva out of your mouth and down his cock before smiling. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Shut up. Put your mouth to better use.”

Exhaling a laugh, you then take him all the way in again, keeping your eyes fixed on his. He grunts and watches you, drawing in sharp breaths. You fucking love sucking his cock, feeling the ridges and veins with your tongue; it’s thick to the point where your jaw will have a delicious ache tomorrow if you carry on for too long, and, well… On your knees, sucking the cock of the feared Ghost and having him grip at you for it? 

That’s pretty fucking intoxicating.

When you have him all in once more, nose brushing against his trousers, you then still, holding all of him in your mouth and throat.

“Yeah, get it all wet for your cunt…” he breathes, voice tight as his eyes flutter, trying to keep them open.

You nearly have him. He’s so very close to the edge.

And you want to push him right over it.

Pulling your lips back, squeezing them around him, until you reach his tip, you suck hard at it, swirling your tongue as your hand strokes up and down his thick shaft swiftly. He gives a strained gasp, quickly gritting his teeth as he hisses out breaths, and you moan against him.

“Cum in my mouth…” you murmur, gazing up at him. “... Cum down my throat…”

You suck at his tip again, swirling and swirling your tongue and─

He steps back, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet, unceremonious ‘pop’.

“What─”

He’s gripping the front of your robe again, hauling you up, and shoves you against the table once more.

“What did I say…” he half-pants, gripping the backs of your thighs and making you sit up on the table. “... about givin’ fuckin’ orders.”

Your heart pounds with excitement and a smile pulls at your lips as he shoves the two chairs either side of you away, sending them toppling to the floor.

“I can’t remember…” you breathe as he stands between your open legs, his wet, heavy cock pushing against your stomach. “... All I can think about is how much I want your cock inside me, Simon…”

He makes a sound akin to a growl, and then his gloved hand is between your breasts, pushing you down. Lying back on the table, you place your heels on the edge of it as he grips his cock, other hand gripping your knee.

“Say it again.”

“Want your cock in me…” you mewl, rolling your hips as you run your hands from your stomach up to your breasts, tugging at your nipples and drawing a soft moan from yourself. “... Want you deep inside me, want to cum on your cock…”

He’s staring at you, your eyes, your fingers, your tits. He’s at the edge of his control… but he’s also a bastard.

“Magic word.”

You exhale a short breath through your nose, rolling your nipples between your fingers. And then you lift a leg, settling your ankle on his shoulder.

“Come on, Simon…”

His hand slides from your knee, up your shin to your ankle, cupping it, and he turns his head to it.

And then he presses a soft kiss to the skin there, keeping his eyes on yours.

Oh, fuck you.

Inhaling a ragged breath, the word sounds like it’s almost punched out of you.

“Please.”

He smiles.

“Good girl.”

You’re moaning before you even feel his tip. When he sinks into you, your eyes fall shut and your head tips back… and it’s bliss.

“Fu-uck…” you breathe out, and you feel his grip tighten on your ankle.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

The groans he releases, so fucking low, so carnal, has you instantly starting to rock your hips, feeling his thick length slid so easily in and out of you, stretching you. Hissing out a breath, he suddenly grips your other leg and lifts it onto his shoulder, taking over and thrusting into you, already setting a hard and fast pace.

The table creaks beneath you with each snap of his hips, but you can barely hear it, all that’s left of your mind focusing on the pleasure that’s pulsing through you.

“How does that fuckin’ feel…” he grunts, hands locked on your shins.

You gasp out moans as you hold his gaze. “... So fucking good, you feel so… so fucking good…”

Shoving your legs off his shoulders, he leans down, settling his arms over your head, mouth hovering over yours.

“Again.”

“So good, so fucking good, so fucking good, fuck, Simon…”

You try to kiss him, lifting your chin an inch, but he moves his head away, instead ducking it to your neck and fixing his lips there.

And then you hear him take a long, deep inhale.

“Fuckin’ Christ…” he breathes.

He thought he’d smelt it earlier.

You smell of the basic, shitty, own-brand soap he keeps here, and it’s driving him fucking wild.

You smell of him.

He thinks of you gliding the bar around your body, soaping your tits up…

“Fuck…” he groans against your skin, spreading fast, sloppy kisses there, sinking his teeth in.

He chuckles darkly when you cry out, your slick walls clenching around his cock.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that, don’t you… Like when I mark up your pretty fuckin’ neck?”

He bites down again, revelling in how you instantly clench again, hard, a ragged moan torn from you. Pressing his lips to your ear, he rumbles, “I’ll be on you for days.”

Fucking hell…

Your hands gripping at his jacket, fisting and tugging, you cling to him as he bites and bites and bites, always covering each one straight after with a lick or a sloppy kiss. And he just keeps fucking you hard through it.

When he suddenly pulls back, you actually whine, hands falling from him.

It takes you a moment to realise what he’s saying.

“... Look at me… Look at me…”

Your eyes snap open, and he fucking loves the almost blankness he sees there, how cock-drunk you are.

Yeah, only he can do this for you. Only him.

“Come here…” He slides an arm under you and pulls you up so you’re sat on the table, his cock continuing to spear into you. The angle allows him to plunge deeper and your eyes almost roll back as they close.

“Nah, keep those pretty eyes open, and stay up, look at me as I fuck you open…”

Pulling his belt out of the loops with a snap, without breaking rhythm he wraps both ends around his hands, and then wraps the shortened length around the back of your neck, keeping you up.

Keeping you looking at him.

“This is why you’re here, isn’t it…” he murmurs, nearly panting. “... To be fucked and spread open by my thick cock, to cum on it over and over and over again…”

You’re gasping in your breaths, hands now gripping his forearms, nails digging in, his words probably circling round and round your empty mind.

“… Say it, love… Admit it…”

Your mouth is open, hurried little breaths and moans all that leaves it. “... I…”

“Go on… Say it… It’s why you’re here, isn’t it… Say it.”

“Y… Yes…” you gasp.

“Good girl.”

You clench hard around him.

He growls. “Yeah, that’s it… Squeeze my cock like a good fuckin’ girl…”

You clench again, releasing a ragged moan.

“You need to cum, don’t you, you need to cum on my fuckin’ cock.”

You can’t take your eyes off his. “Ye-es.”

“Beg me for it.”

You’re talking before he’s even finished, words breathless and moaned.

“Please, please, let me cum, wanna cum on your cock, please let me, please…”

He chuckles, the sound catching in his throat with a groan. “You think you fuckin’ deserve it, huh… Think you can break in here and ruin the quiet fuckin’ night I wanted…”

You don’t know how, but you smile, and manage, “Don’t tell me… you don’t prefer this…”

“Well, now I’ll never know.”

Using the belt, he yanks you closer and claims your lips in a fierce, bruising kiss. You give back as good as you can, but you soon falter as an orgasm starts to build and twist in your lower stomach, making your muscles clench.

And he can feel it.

“Go on,” he mumbles against your lips. “Cum for me, rub your little clit and cum on my cock, let me fuckin’ feel you, squeeze me, make me cum…”

The moment he had said it, your hand had flown between you, fumbling, finding your clit and rubbing swiftly as well as you could. You cry out as the pleasure rises and rises, hurtling closer, your hips bucking. 

He tears his lips from yours, pressing his cheek against the side of your head, murmuring into your ear, “Cum for me, fuckin’ do it, cum now, cum on my thick cock, let me feel you, love.”

Your orgasm erupts through you.

Body jerking, you release a strangled scream as you cum, nails digging through his jacket nearly to his skin. He fucks you through it, grunting nearly incoherently in your ear now as your pussy squeezes him so fucking deliciously.

“... Yeah… Good fuckin’ girl… Fuckin’... Good… Tight pussy… Squeeze me… Take it… Take it… Take my fuckin’ cum… Yeah… Yeah… Oh, fuck…”

He thrusts hard and deep once, twice more, and then he cums inside you with a guttural roar, his grip tightening on the belt. Weakened, blissful moans fall from your lips as you feel him fill you, your back arching.

So fucking good, every single fucking time.

When he stills, his hands fall down to the table, taking the belt with them.

Swallowing hard, in turn your forehead drops down onto his chest, and you close your eyes, just focusing on trying to slow your breathing.

Your hand has softened on his arm, your other gently against his thigh.

His chin rests atop your head.

Neither of you speak, for how long you don’t know, and you almost hope neither of you ever do.

Suddenly, enough to startle you a little, his head lifts.

“Suppose you won’t be polite and fuck off now.”

You exhale a laugh, rolling your shoulders as you lift your head, arching an eyebrow. You find his cloth mask is back in place.

“No, I was here first.”

He just grunts out a sound that might be a chuckle as he pulls out of you, making you inhale sharply. Pulling the robe up over your shoulders as he steps back, you slide off the table with a small groan, rolling your shoulders again. His gaze drops down to your thighs, lingers, then meets yours again, and you give him a slow smile.

“Is that my cum leakin’ out of you.”

“Yes it is, Simon.”

You note the way his shoulders drop as his back straightens. 

And he jerks his head towards the bedroom door.

“Get in there. I’m gunna shower off.”

You give him a faux-pout, your brow dipping as renewed lust surges through you. “You don’t want company?”

You know he doesn’t.

He’ll give you everything but his face. And you give him everything but your heart.

He closes the distance between you, lowering his head to you. “You just get on that bed and keep those legs spread for me.”

A corner of your mouth rises higher than the other as you gaze at him. “Don’t tell me what to do, Simon.”

Letting the robe slip from your body to the floor, you turn from him and step over a fallen chair and the radio, moving into the bedroom.

Watching you go, his jaw moves as he releases a long, slow breath.

Fuckin’ hell…

─

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Masterlist

Tagged: @sistasarah-sallysaidso, @gifsbysimplysonia, @ryethebrokengae, @poohkie90

[thefloorisbalaclava]

a first time for everything

▸pairing: simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader x john 'soap' mactavish ▸words: 3,841 ▸warnings: threesome, unprotected sex, praise kink, size kink, slight choking, oral sex (f receiving), spit as lube, anal play, anal sex, double penetration ▸summary: you, ghost, and soap have a small celebration that leads to confessions and so much more. ▸a/n: this has been on my mind for a while. i don't particularly like how this turned out, but hopefully someone out there does. sorry if either of our boys seem ooc. i tried my best.

👻[masterlist]👻

You sat quietly between the two large men that were practically sandwiching you. They did it on purpose. These two always knew what they were doing when it came to you.

It only took one slip-up to make your size kink known to them; since then, they have found ways to tease you here and there. You weren’t really shocked by Johnny; he was always the prankster. But Simon—he completely took you by surprise.

You looked at him from the corner of your eye, and he was already looking back. It frustrated you that you could never tell what was going on under that balaclava—was he smirking, pouting, biting his lip?

Biting his lip…

He nudged you with his large thigh, and you looked at him fully. Was he purposely manspreading even more just to get a rise out of you?

When you turned to Soap, he was beaming. You were wearing some of the bulkiest gear, yet he still found a way to trail his eyes up and down your body that made you feel naked.

“Pervert!” you said over the com, and he chuckled.

“Takes one to know one, lass. Don’t it, Lt?”

Simon looked at Soap, then at you. “No comment.”

That low rasp had you fidgeting in your seat. “I’m gonna stand,” you told them before pulling yourself up and looking out the helicopter’s open door. It made your head spin, but you needed the air.

“You okay?” Ghost asked. Both he and Soap knew about your fear of flying.

“Yup. Gotta be,” you responded over the comms so you wouldn’t have to turn your head to speak.

“Almost there. Hang in there for us, yeah?”

You nodded and hoped he saw it.

You couldn’t step off the helo fast enough. You closed your eyes, took a few deep breaths, and thanked whoever was listening for the feeling of the ground beneath your feet.

Both men joined you, once again taking their positions on either side of you.

“Here.” Soap offered you some of his water. You were about to point out that you had your own, but you didn’t want to turn him down.

“Thanks.”

He watched as you drank, noticing the drop that escaped your lips and dripped down your chin.

“Oops,” you said before gingerly wiping it away innocently. If you could read minds, you would know that innocence was the last thing on Johnny’s mind.

“Stop gawkin’ at her, mate,” Ghost scolded, punching Soap on the shoulder.

“I wasn’t gawkin’.” He rolled his eyes and took his canteen back.

“Don’t start, boys,” you said before leaving them behind.

“What say we celebrate tonight,” Soap suggested, and you immediately shook your head.

“No,” Ghost said with finality.

“What? Why?” Soap asked.

“We all know that your way of celebrating ends in you drinking too much and embarrassing yourself, then one of us has to take care of you the next morning,” you reminded him.

“If I promise not to drink…too much,” he added, “Can we please just have a little fun?”

You looked at Ghost, and he gave you one nod. “Fine,” you sighed.

“If you pass out, I’m leavin’ you where you lie. I’m tired of carryin’ you,” Ghost said.

“I really need to get out of this gear. It’s starting to get heavy,” you said, already working on the buckles of your tac vest.

“What a tease,” Soap mumbled.

“Whatever. I’ll see you guys later.” You waved and walked off, feeling their eyes on you with every step.

“Who’s gawkin’ now?” Soap asked Ghost with a chuckle.

You all met up in Soap’s room. You lounged on his bed, resting against the headboard while he sat down by your feet. Ghost sat on a chair that he moved closer to the bed.

Soap made you laugh non-stop, and you even heard Ghost chuckle once or twice. You looked over at him, and he seemed a little different. Maybe it was because he had removed the other mask he wore and changed into his balaclava. It was softer, and you could see more of his features.

“Are you listening to me?” Soap asked, grabbing your leg. “Or are you just looking at our dreamy Lieutenant?”

“Shut up,” both you and Ghost said.

“Hey, I got an idea. Simon…take off the mask,” Soap said, and you shook your head.

“Negative,” he said. You figured.

“Come on, mate. The lass wants to see ya.” Soap patted your bottom, and you swatted his hand away.

“Don’t pin this on me. I am fine with just seeing his eyes,” you said, looking back at Ghost.

“Boringggg,” Soap complained.

“Hey, eyes can tell you a lot about a person.”

“She’s right,” Simon agreed, and you smiled smugly at Soap.

“Besides, they might just be my favorite part of the body,” you added.

“Bullshit. Eyes? Really?” Soap scoffed.

“Yes! I can only imagine your favorite body part,” you snapped.

“Ass. Lt. likes boobs,” Soap tattled.

“What?” you giggled.

“Yeah. That time we went to that titty bar….”

Your eyes widened as you looked at Ghost amusedly. He shook his head.

“That’s not…” he started.

“Most of them were afraid of him because of that thing.” Soap pointed at Ghost’s mask.

“Afraid?” You looked at him.

“You ain’t afraid of me, are you?” he asked playfully.

“Never, sir.” You continued looking at him, tilting your head. “How do you kiss while wearing the balaclava?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“I just…pull it up,” he told you, “…Not that I’ve been kissing much lately. Just…” His words trailed off.

“Oooo…someone wants to kiss Simon,” Soap teased.

You only shrugged, and Ghost looked at you. “I’m sure he has some kissable lips under there.”

“Show her, Simon. Go on,” Soap urged.

“Leave it—” you started, then froze when you realized Ghost was reaching up. “You don’t have to, Simon….”

But he didn’t stop, and the balaclava began to reveal his neck… chin…and lips.

“Close your mouth before a fly gets in there, doll,” Soap teased.

“What?” You were still staring at Ghost.

“I think you broke her, Simon,” Soap snickered.

“Nah, she can take a lot more than that,” he said.

“Fuck,” you said quietly. “I mean…um…” You needed to look away, but you couldn’t.

You could finally pull your eyes away from Simon, only to turn to Johnny, meeting his eye. His gorgeous eyes.

“You both…are troublemakers.” It was all you could think of saying.

“What? I didn’t do anything…this time,” Johnny said. “Blame Simon every once in a while.”

You looked at one of them and then at the other. “Would you both call yourselves good kissers?” you asked.

“I sure hope I am,” Soap said.

Ghost only shrugged, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Let her tell you if you are,” Soap suggested. “Kiss her, Lt.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, MacTavish,” you scoffed.

“She has to come over here for me to do that,” Ghost said, taking you by surprise.

“Oh, um…you serious?” you asked.

“Come over here, and I’ll show you if I am or not.” There was a sort of amused tone in his voice.

You stood and cleared your throat before making your way to the chair he was sitting in.

“Holy shit,” Soap said excitedly.

You stood between Ghost’s legs and looked down at him. This would probably be the only time looking down at him would be possible. You leaned in, hesitated as your noses touched, and kissed him. Immediately, it felt like the air was knocked out of your lungs. It was a gentle and cautious kiss.

He knew what he was doing.

When you pulled away, your eyes stayed on him, and he licked his lips.

“Well, is he a good kisser?” Soap asked, pulling you from your daze.

“Y-Yeah,” you stammered.

“What about me?” he asked.

“How would I know?” you teased.

Ghost was still looking at you, your kiss lingering on his lips.

“You could kiss me too, you know,” Soap said.

“Are you two always like this?” you wondered.

“Don’t change the subject. I want a kiss, too,” Soap whined.

“You’re such a brat,” you joked.

“He is,” Ghost added. “Go on. Give him his kiss,” he said. You looked at him, and he nodded before adding, “That’s an order, love.”

Your knees almost gave out at that, but you stood steadily and then walked over to Soap, who had sat up excitedly. He looked at you with puppy dog eyes, although you knew he was nowhere near innocent.

“Get over here, lass.” He yanked you closer, and you giggled before his lips touched yours. “Damn,” he whispered against your lips before deepening the kiss.

“Easy now, Johnny. Don’t suck her face off,” Ghost joked.

Soap pulled away. “If I do, we’ll just get her a cool-lookin’ mask like yours.”

“I…can’t believe I just did that,” you said, bringing a hand to your mouth.

“What?” Ghost asked.

“Kissed both of you…does that make things weird?” you pondered.

“Why would it?” Soap asked. “Hell, I say it’s about fuckin’ time.”

“Really?” You sat on the bed again, both men still looking at you.

“We’re all adults here, and I can admit that I’ve imagined doing more than just kissin’ you,” Soap confessed.

You looked at Ghost, who scratched at his chin. You never expect many words from him. “I know it’s wrong,” Simon started, “But doin’ what’s right ain’t always the solution.”

“Wait…why is it wrong?” Soap asked.

“He’s our superior, Johnny,” you told him before looking at Ghost again. “But all choices have consequences.”

He looked at you, eyes full of awe and something else. “Someone’s been listenin’.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I guess the question is, are we all willin’ to face those consequences if they happen to arise.”

“You know I am,” Soap answered without hesitation.

You shrugged. “Yeah, I mean….”

“You gotta be sure, love,” Ghost prompted.

“It’s truly not the consequences from higher-ups I’m worried about,” you told them. “I’m more concerned about how you two will see me when and if this does happen. I like our friendship and how close we all are. I don’t want it to get all fucked up just because we’re horny.”

“You don’t think it’ll bring us…closer?” Soap asked, and both you and Ghost threw him a look. “What?”

“Okay, well, I’m just gonna flat out ask you both: have you always wanted to fuck me?” You waited for an answer.

“Johnny talked about wantin’ to get in your pants about a week after getting to know you,” Ghost said.

“Simon! That was supposed to stay between us,” he scolded. You giggled, then turned to Ghost.

“And you?”

“Lass, you should see how he looks at you when you’re not looking,” Soap blurted. “The man wants to eat you alive…in a good way.”

“I could’ve told her that myself,” Ghost growled.

“You started it,” Soap retorted.

“Okay, okay, boys. Down.” Surprisingly, they both stopped and looked at you. “Have either ever done something like this before?”

“Sex?” Soap asked, and you rolled your eyes.

“You know what I mean. You boys don’t mind…sharing?”

“I don’t if you don’t mind being shared,” Ghost said quietly.

“Simon.” You looked at him, shocked.

“The man is quiet, but I swear he’s filthier than me,” Soap said. “Now, I’m gonna ask you, lass, do you want both of us?”

“Honestly? I’ve dreamt about it,” you confessed.

“Ha! You hear that, Lt.? She’s been havin’ dreams about us,” Soap said proudly.

Both men watched as you poured yourself a shot and downed it quickly.

“So…we doing this?” you asked.

“Up to you,” Ghost said. “One request, though.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“I want you to take your clothes off. Nice and slow,” he said, pulling the balaclava back down over his lips. You missed them already.

“Is that an order, sir?” you asked innocently.

“It is.”

Soap could hardly contain his excitement while Ghost, well, it was hard to tell. You wish you could because it would be such a turn-on to know that he was just as turned on by you.

You were sure to look him in the eye as you began undressing. Soap stood and walked over to where Ghost was sitting.

“What a fuckin’ treat,” Soap murmured but was quickly hushed by Ghost.

“Shut the fuck up, Johnny. Just use your eyes.” Ghost leaned forward again, and you swear his eyes could burn a hole in you. It made you feel sexy.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Soap whispered as you let your jeans fall to your ankles.

Ghost stood suddenly, and you looked up at him as he walked over to you. You loved the way he towered over you.

“Lie down for us, love,” he said, and you slowly backed up towards the bed as he followed.

When you were finally lying down, both men climbed onto the bed—Ghost on the left, Soap on the right.

“Wait…” you gasped, and both men froze in place. “I don’t have to call you Ghost and Soap, do I?”

“Call me Simon, love. Or sir, if you prefer.”

“And I’m just John or Johnny. Scream it if you need to, lass.”

“Okay,” you breathed. Then John kissed you as Simon surveyed your body with his big hands. You could feel him pulling the straps of your bra down your shoulders. You were going to sit up so he could unclasp it, but at the speed of light, he had yanked it off you like it was made of paper. You gasped into John’s mouth but didn’t stop kissing him.

Simon’s hands continued moving down your body, stopping at your panties. This time, he waited for you to lift your hips so he could pull them off slowly.

John finally pulled himself away from your lips and noticed that you were completely naked, thanks to Simon.

“Good lord in heaven. You can’t be real,” he said, his Scottish brogue like music to your ears.

Simon was silent, staring down at you, and you realized he had pushed his balaclava up over his nose again. He wanted to kiss you again. He leaned in close, his nose touching yours as you looked into each other’s eyes.

When he finally kissed you, you moaned into it, and he did too. The sound of his moan sent pleasant chills through your body. His tongue dipped into your mouth just as John’s tongue lathed at your nipple. You arched off the bed and whimpered against Simon’s lips. These men were already sending you into a feeling of overstimulation, and you loved every moment.

One of your hands found the back of Simon’s neck, and the other found John’s mohawk. You held both men in place—one against your lips and one against your breasts.

John pulled away eventually, pulling your face away from Simon’s kiss so he could claim your lips. The men traded places, and now Simon’s lips were wrapped around your nipple.

Somehow, both men had the same idea—moving their hands between your legs, fighting for a place to put their fingers. You couldn’t tell whose fingers were whose; you just knew that someone was rubbing your clit and someone’s fingers were prodding at your entrance.

“Fuck me,” you whimpered, and someone’s fingers were stretching you on cue. When John finally pulled away from your lips, you could look down and find both men had their fingers inside you. You cried out and looked at both men as they fucked you with their fingers.

“You want more than our fingers, don’t you?” John asked, and you nodded. “Let us taste you first, hm?”

“Yeah,” you whined. You thought that meant John would be going first, but Simon kissed his way down your body and found his way between your legs. As Simon slowly dragged his tongue against your clit, John's fingers were still inside you.

“Fuck…you guys…” you moaned.

“I think Lt. wants you to cum,” Soap said before sucking on your nipple. “Think you can do that for him?”

“Yeah,” you cried. You couldn’t believe this was happening. It was overwhelming in the best way possible.

“D-Don’t stop! Ah, fuck. Just like that!”

John captured your lips again, and you had no choice but to cry out into the kiss. For a man who kept his lips covered most of the time, he sure had no trouble using them.

“Hey, Lt, she’s gettin’ there. I can feel it.”

They both worked you into one of the best orgasms you had ever had. Your body trembled and jerked as Simon drank you down, and John kept his fingers slipping in and out of you.

“All right, Simon, my turn for a taste,” John said, and Simon finally pulled away.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Tell me, love, anyone ever fuck your ass?”

“No,” you whined.

“Well, I’m about to,” he said, lying down and helping you straddle him with your back facing him. He pushed you forward so that you were bent over on him. You could hear him wetting his fingers and then spitting on them before slipping them up and down your ass, spreading the cheeks for better access.

He slid one finger into you slowly, easing his way in. The tight muscle pulsed around his finger, wanting to push against it.

“Relax,” he said, placing a comforting hand on your lower back. “There you are.”

He kept a careful and slow pace for now, only adding a finger when he was sure you were ready for another. You nearly begged him to put them back when he pulled them out.

“You stay relaxed for me, all right, love?” he cooed in a voice you had never heard him use before. Then you felt something prodding at your ass, and it was certainly more than a finger this time. He had slicked himself up with spit and his precum.

“Mmm, Simon…” you whimpered, looking back at him. The tip of his cock pushed past the tight ring of muscle, and you gasped.

“The hardest part is done, love,” he reassured you, rubbing comforting circles on your back. “You’re so good. Doin’ so well.”

John cupped your face and used his thumbs to caress your cheeks. “So good for us,” he seconded.

Before you knew it, Simon was buried to the hilt in your ass. The burn from the stretch gave way to a pleasant sting as he moved slowly in and out of you. Then he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you down to lie against him, your back to his chest.

His breath caressed the shell of your ear as he tried his best not to fuck up into your ass the way he truly wanted to.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “Such a tight little thing….”

John bent between yours and Simon’s legs to taste you as Simon fucked your ass.

“Ohhhh,” you moaned.

“We’ve got you,” Simon said, sliding a hand up your neck. “You can take it, can’t you? We know you can. Our good girl.” He squeezed your neck lightly, and your eyes rolled back.

“Harder,” you said.

“What was that, love?”

“Harder. Fuck my ass harder, sir.”

“That’s better.” He held you tighter and began pumping up into you faster. John had a hard time keeping his mouth on you, but he found a way. You could hear him slurping against you even as Simon’s hips slapped against your ass.

When you came, both men praised you.

“That’s it. Let go.”

“That a girl. Look at you.”

“So beautiful when you cum.”

You had relaxed against Simon. They gave you a slight reprieve before you heard him say, “We’re not done quite yet.” He grabbed your legs from behind your knee and spread you wide open. When you were able to focus, you saw that John was there. You smiled.

“Oh, Simon, our girl’s enjoyin’ this,” John said proudly before looking down at your pussy. “Let’s see if it feels as good as it tastes, hm?” You nodded weakly, and he chuckled.

“Our girl’s a greedy little thing, ain’t she, John?” Simon said beneath you.

“She is.” John was touching himself now, getting himself ready for you.

“But she’s so good for us, so we’ll give her whatever she wants.” Simon was pumping into you slowly, trying to keep you as still as possible as John lined himself up. He began pushing into you, and you swear you went cross-eyed.

“Stay with us,” John teased, tapping your cheek lightly.

You were beyond full, and still, you wanted more. You needed them to move. You squirmed impatiently between them.

“Let’s not keep the lady waiting,” Simon said in a strained voice.

Both men moved in unison, keeping a pace that kept you on the edge. Their grunts and moans mixed with yours, and you thought you had never heard such a wonderful sound.

You would have never guessed that Simon was so vocal, but he was louder than you and John.

“You feel so good, Simon,” you moaned, and he grabbed your face gently.

“Tell John he feels good, too.”

“You feel so fucking good, John.” With that, he began fucking you harder.

“That’s our girl.” Simon matched John’s pace, and soon you were a mumbling mess sandwiched between these two glorious men.

Never in a million years did you think something like this would happen to you. You would almost say it wasn’t real if it wasn’t for the fact that you were being stretched and pulled in ways you had never been before.

Both men were getting close, their thrusts becoming sloppy and uncoordinated. John was the first to let go, nearly collapsing on top of you as his thrusts stuttered to a stop as he filled you. He pulled out and watched his cum drip out of you, down your ass, and onto Simon’s dick which was still pumping into you.

Simon was not far behind, but before he came, he held you close and turned you onto your side. He grabbed one of your legs and lifted it as he fucked you while spooning you. After a few more thrusts in that position, he cried out in your ear as he filled you. He pressed himself against you as if he couldn’t get close enough.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed. “You all right, love?”

“Mm hm,” you answered weakly.

John lay beside you, and you were again sandwiched between the two men.

“I don’t think I can move,” you said.

“There’s no need,” Simon said. “We’ll take care of you.”

“Rest. You deserve it,” John said, cupping your face. “We’ll be here when you wake up, won’t we, Lt.?”

“O’ course we will.” He kept his arm wrapped around you.

You knew they were both men of their word, so you let your eyes close, knowing that you were enveloped by their warmth and would wake up with the same feeling.

[softxsuki]

☾*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

- - - VALENTINE’S DAY LETTER EVENT PT. 2 (CLOSED )

here’s part 1 if you want to read those :3

ONLY ACCEPTING 10 REQUESTS! FIRST COME FIRST SERVE BASIS!

Welcome back to my Valentine’s Day event 😌! If you were here last year, then welcome back! And if this is your first time experiencing this, welcome! Like I said last year, for us single people, this time of year can feel a little…lonely. SO, I want to write you love letters from your favs :3. Love comes in all forms so they can be romantic, from a lover, OR platonic from a friend! And yea you read the above part correctly there will ONLY BE 10 SLOTS OPEN for this event.

You may be asking yourself, “But what if they full up too quickly?” well, don’t worry, because as soon as I get 10 requests, IF I’m able to write them quickly and well before Valentine’s Day, then perhaps I can reopen them quickly and accept 5 more :3. I can’t do as many as I did last year tho! I wish I could but I just don’t have the time anymore :/. I’m trying my best to make you all happy <;3

PLEASE READ EVERYTHING BELOW 👇

Let’s get to the rules. Please read my request rules first before anything! Thanks &lt;3

» REQUESTING RULES

Anyone can participate!

Please only send in one request this year, since my limit is only 10, I want to give everyone a fair chance at receiving a letter! There’s not way for me to know since I do accept anon messages, but pls be honest and only submit one! I can tell most of the time based on the way you guys type is you’re the same person :3

SFW ONLY. NO NSFW or smut :)

Fem!Reader or Gn!Reader only

Only one character per request

» HOW TO REQUEST

Send me an ask either as an anon or not

Select your fandom and character (scroll down to see who I’ll write for in this event. If you request for a character that I do not write for, then I will turn your request down and give your spot to the next request I get SO pls check if I write for your fav)

State whether you’d like a Fem!Reader or Gn!Reader

State a pet name you’d like them to refer to you as (I will be using y/n, but let me know if there’s another name you’d like to be calls too. Eg; baby, darling, princess, sweetheart, love, babe, honey, etc LET ME KNOW :D)

What is your relationship status with this character? Is this platonic with a friend who’s writing your a letter knowing you’re romantically lonely? Or romantic; a crush confessing to you, a partner you just recently started dating, a blind date sending you a letter to tell you how much they enjoyed meeting you or how they want to meet you again, a long-term established relationship, friends with benefits (SFW pls) and he just realized his feelings for you and wants to make it official, ETC. anything

What’s the tone of the letter? Full on love letter where they tell you all the things the love about you, a comfort letter (specify comfort for what), proposal letter (marriage ;D), adoration (not too lovey dovey, but still saying the things they admire about you), ETC…

Select a genre/: fluff, angst, comfort, modern AU, soulmate AU, etc

Location: is he far from you and mailed this letter to you? Or did he leave it beside you before leaving for work in the morning? Or maybe he surprised your with breakfast in bed and your letter was sitting beside the meal he cooked for you as he watches you read it? Do you live together or not? Whatever you have in mind, let me know!

Other info: anything else you think might help me make this more personalized for you! Maybe a specific trait about you that you want mentioned? Or a habit, hobby, WHATEVER

Be specific with what direction you’d like me to go in with your letter! The more specific you are, the better I’ll do :)

That’s all! If you have any questions or concerns, send me an ask :)

Example of a request; “Hello! Could I request a letter for your Valentines Day Letter Event? I’d like one with Pro!Hero Bakugou with quirkless Fem!Reader please. I’d like if he called me ‘baby’ in the letter! We’re in an established relationship for a few years (maybe we were high school sweethearts and have been together ever since). Tone/Genre: adoration and angst to fluff (ish) where he apologizes for being grumpy and snapping at me the night before and goes in to express how much he cares for me without being too over the top (just subtle). Location: we live together, but he’s always out on hero duty so I hardly see him at home. He left the letter in he kitchen, hung up on the refrigerator and even made breakfast for me before he left and mentions that in the later too, saying to heat it up before I eat it! Other info: We’re both 22, I’m pretty reserved, but he brings me out of my shell and makes me feel very confident in my own skin and adores every part of me no matter how insecure I am about my body. I’m quirkless so I spend most of my time in our home just writing since I’m a writer, and watching animes and kdramas while waiting for him to come back home. Thank you!”

Same example as last year ^ lol

If you can’t fit all your info into one ask, you can separate it into multiple asks, just ad a 1/4, 2/4, 3/4, 4/4 and an emoji or something so I know it’s the same request!

ALL LETTERS WILL BE POSTED ON FEB 14th, Valentine’s Day!

This event will close as soon as I get 10 requests, which I’ll add to the masterlist at the bottom of this post!

I’ll also be listing out the characters I’ll write for in this event. (Surprise: I’m including one fandom that I don’t write for yet, but I want to include them in this event bc I’m excited to write for them heh)

(Expand for list of characters and masterlist)

» WHO I’LL WRITE FOR

MHA: for the students, let me know if they’re pro hero’s already or still students! Also tell me if reader is quirkless or has a quirk (if they have a quirk let me know what kind of quirk!)

Bakugou

Todoroki

Midoriya

Kaminari

Kirishima

Shinsou

Dabi

Hawks

Amajiki

BTS: are they in BTS or just regular people?

Namjoon

Seokjin (omg letter from the military :’) )

Yoongi

Hoseok

Jimin

Taehyung

Jungkook

JJK: are you a sorcerer as well? Or a civilian? Idk

Gojo

Itadori

Megumi

Inumaki

Nanami

Sukuna

YOTD:

Hak

Kija

Shin-ah

Jae-ha

Zeno

OBEY ME:

Lucifer

Mammon

Leviathan

Satan

Asmodeus

Beel

Belphie

Solomon

Diavolo

Barbatos

MYSTIC MESSENGER:

Jumin

Zen

Yoosung

Saeyoung (707)

HAIKYUU!!: do they play volleyball still as students? Are they playing as adults? Or do they have a completely different job?

Daichi

Sugawara

Nishinoya

Kageyama

Kuroo

Kenma

Oikawa

Iwaizumi

Bokuto

Akaashi

Suna

Atsumu

Osamu

Ushijima (might be adding him to my regular list soon as well 😝)

TOKYO REVENGERS: Im like half-way through the manga so…

Mikey

Mitsuya

Chifuyu

Baji

Draken

Hakkai

Kazutora

Shinichiro

DEMON SLAYER: is reader a demon slayer or a civilian? Idk

Rengoku

Giyuu

Tengen

TEARS OF THEMIS:

Luke

Artem

Vyn

Marius

ATTACK ON TITAN: not accepting modern AU’s for this fandom

Eren

Levi

Connie

Jean

Niccolo

ONE PIECE: I’m on episode 231, so I just started the water 7 arc. SO no requests with context of anything after that :) thanks. And I’m not taking modern AU’s for this fandom

Zoro

Luffy

Ace

Shanks

Sanji

MASTERLIST

»TR: Shinichiro’s Confession Letter to His Friend

»BTS: Jungkook’s Confession Letter to His Best Friend

»MHA: Todoroki’s Comforting Letter to His Lover

»OM: Beel’s Comforting Love Letter to His Lover

»TR: Mitsuya’s Confession Letter to His Friend

»TR: Mikey’s Confession Love Letter to His Friend

»TR: Kazutora’s Confession Letter to His Crush

»AOT: Levi’s Romantic Comfort Letter to His Comrade

»TR: Baji’s Love Letter to His Girlfriend

»YOTD: Jae-ha’s Love Letter to His Pregnant Girlfriend

»MYSME: 707’s Comforting Letter To His Lover

»JJK: Inumaki’s Invitation Love Letter To His Girlfriend

»AOT: Eren’s Romantic Letter To His Lover

»JJK: Itadori’s Romantic Letter To His Lover

»MHA: Bakugou’s Platonic Letter To His Friend

EVENT REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

Posted: 1/24/2023

Updated: 2/14/2023

[elen-aranel]

Lt., Phone Home (Part 2)

The Engineer’s Adventures

1-1 • 1-2 • 2 •  3 • 4

For @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday. I saw the prompt and was inspired Pairing: Captain Christopher Pike x F!Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: mild cursing, drunk guy being creepy, mild canon-typical violence, alcohol mentions. WC: 2.5k A/N: what is happening to me I wrote this today and um. Yeah. Lots of plot but no kissing? Idk what to say. This is the Captain I needed today. Please excuse the pun title.

“I don’t think I can do this, Captain.”

It has been an... unusual day. Even if in space in general and on the Enterprise in particular there aren’t all that many usual days, this one has been exceptional.

You aren’t privy to all the details of what happened – you were in Engineering, running a level three diagnostic when the alien ship had crossed your path, and, well, ships and technology are your thing. Not theoretical temporal mechanics. Although, you suppose, looking at the... ‘phone booth’? Maybe the mechanics aren’t theoretical anymore.

You were surprised when you were summoned to the conference room, and told that you would be joining the Captain on this mission. Between getting dressed in civvies that wouldn’t look out of place in the twentieth century, and packing a bag with the equipment you’d need to retrieve the artefact, you couldn’t decide if you were more surprised that you were going or that Number One was letting the Captain off the ship, given the circumstances.

“So, why are we doing this?” You ask, as you scan the small town you’ve beamed to the edge of with your tricorder. You know what you’re looking for, but that’s about all.

“The Layrians maybe could have asked before they sent us back in time but... something was stolen from them and wound up here.” he quirks a wry smile at you. “If the... artefact, is allowed to stay here? They showed me the damage that would be done to the timeline, and Spock was able to verify it. Sending us back shielded us.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense,” you reply, adjusting the tricorder. “Well, whatever it is, it’s this way,” you say, gesturing, as you put your tricorder back in your bag. You can’t bring yourself to ask why you had been chosen for the mission.

“Lead on,” Pike says, and the two of you head into the town.

It’s evening, getting dark, and the streets are quiet. Shops are shut, and only a couple of people pass as you walk.

“Is it wrong that even though I can’t believe how lucky I am to be here, part of me wishes it was daytime?” you say, as you turn a corner on to what looks to be the main street.

“No, I don’t think so. I would like to stop for a coffee. Look in the shops. But...”

“But we would probably mess up the timeline.” A vehicle drives past, and you wrinkle your nose. “I wasn’t expecting the smell.”

Pike laughs. “Horrible, isn’t it? Give me a horse to get around on any day.”

“Horses smell too, though, right? Especially when...”

“But it’s a natural smell. It’s different.”

“Whatever you say, sir,” you say, rolling your eyes a little to show you aren’t convinced. “The building we want is that one.” You point across the road to a bar. You hear music coming through the doorway, see people going in and out.

“You’d better call me Chris when we’re in there. We don’t want to draw attention when we’re around people.”

“Um... yes, Chris.”

You should have known that a bar would be trouble. Inside you take a seat at a table in the corner, where you can scan surreptitiously, and the Captain – Chris – goes to buy you drinks. You take a look round. It isn’t full, but it’s a week night, and there are a decent number of people. A band is playing in the corner, with guitars and a girl sitting on a stool singing. A few people are listening but most are chatting. You’re pleased to see that the currency you synthesised on the ship hasn’t raised any suspicions, as Chris returns with a beer for you and a scotch on the rocks for himself.

“Cheers,” he says, clinking his glass with your bottle. You take a sip, savouring the authentic taste of the alcohol.

“Don’t forget, this is the real stuff,” he adds, as he takes a sip himself.

“I can’t. I think this might spoil me for the stuff we usually have.” You avoid saying synthehol – you don’t know if anyone can hear you.

“Don’t play innocent. I know about the hooch you guys brew in the test bay.”

You laugh. “I never drink that stuff, Chris. It is absolutely disgusting.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “It’s fine if you just want to get plastered, but the hangover is not worth it.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience there... do you have a story to tell?” He smiles, dimples at you, and wow. You’re in a bar, in the twentieth century, with a Captain that looks like that, and he has dimples.

“I am absolutely not telling you any stories of any kind,” you return, taking another sip of your beer before opening your tricorder under the table.

You look at your readings. This is going to be a problem.

“The artefact. It’s that thing on the counter behind the bar. Next to the machine they put the money in.”

“The doll-looking thing?” Chris sounds sceptical.

“That’s the one.” You sigh. You have no idea how you’ll get to it.

“I’m going to go take a closer look.” Chris goes to the bar and orders another drink, but this time he stays, flirting with the bartender. She’s pretty, and she doesn’t seem to be trying to shut him down – her laugh looks natural as she leans in toward him, not paying any attention to a couple of guys further along the bar who are clearly waiting to be served. You feel a pang of jealousy go through you at that, but he’s the Captain. There’s no way he’d ever want to be with you. You sigh and power off your tricorder, putting it back in the bag.

“Hey beautiful, looks like your guy abandoned you. How about you and me have some fun, make him jealous?” You look up into the inebriated face of a man in his mid thirties, dark hair greasy and beard unkept. He might even have been attractive if he got cleaned up. If he wasn’t so clearly drunk.

“No thanks, I’m good,” you say, polite.

“Yeah you are,” he says as he sits down anyway. You scan the room. Chris hasn’t noticed – he’s still talking with the bartender, and the band is playing a louder number now. No one is paying attention to you.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you say, moving to stand, but he grabs your arm.

“Don’t be a bitch. I just want to get to know you.”

You stand, yanking your arm out of his grip, and he falls backwards off the chair. But he gets up surprisingly fast, advancing toward you before you can get round him. And somehow, he has friends – those two guys at the bar have got up and are flanking him.

“Come on, honey, is that any way to treat a guy who’s being nice to you?” He makes toward you again and, well. Starfleet doesn’t give you combat training for nothing. You punch him, hard, and he goes sprawling into his friends. Everything goes quiet for a second, and suddenly you realise you have friends too – Chris is on one side of you, and a stranger on the other. Then the guy you punched rallies and all hell breaks loose.

Suddenly everyone in the place has taken sides; a fight must have been waiting to happen, you think, as you push forward to the bar. The bartender is going for the phone, and you see your chance. You catch the Captain’s eye, mouth “leave”, then you jump up onto and over the bar, glad for your pants and sensible shoes.

What you didn’t expect, as you hear sirens in the distance, was that the artefact was going to release some kind of EM pulse when you touched it. The lights all blow. The sprinklers come on. The money machine thing spews out a load of paper then catches on fire before the sprinklers dowse it.

Chris was nearly out the door, so he only stumbled out into the street. You held on to the doll-statue thing with a death grip – you hadn’t come this far to be thwarted – and maybe that protected you? But either way, where everyone else had been fighting or moving to get out the way or protect their drinks, they were now all sprawled on the floor like so many puppets with cut strings.

You check the bartender – she is still breathing, pulse still strong – but the sirens are getting louder. You stow the doll in your bag, go through the bar’s back door, through the dark kitchen, step over the cook’s prone form, and out into the alley.

You want to lean against the wall, calm down a little, but the siren is close now and you need to find the Captain, so you continue out onto the street.

Pike’s hair is mussed. You’ve never seen him look less then perfect before, but there is no other word for it.

“Captain, are you okay?” You ask as you fall into step with him.

“Chris. And I’m fine. Did you get...?”

“Yes, it’s in here.” You pat your bag. “I can believe it could mess up a timeline, based on what happened in there.”

“That was something else,” he says, taking your arm to draw you into an alleyway, out of sight of prying eyes.

He reaches in his pocket for his communicator with his other hand, and flips it open. It doesn’t make the usual sound.

“Pike to Enterprise, come in please,” he says but there’s just silence. Not even static.

He closes and re-opens it but still nothing, so you reach in your bag for yours, handing it to him wordlessly.

“Pike to Enterprise?” but there’s nothing. Yours is fried too.

You get out your tricorder, expecting it to be dead, but it switches on.

“I think the... doll... fried all active devices. Communicators run on low power all the time for translation. We have the tricorder but I can’t use it to contact the ship.”

“Well, we better not stay here. We’re loitering,” he says, with that lopsided smile again. “Not that I... well.”

You wonder what he had been going to say, when—

“Excuse me, sir, ma’am, is everything all right?” You turn to see a Police officer, looking you up and down. You’re glad for a second time that you’re wearing practical clothing.

“We’re fine, Officer. Thank you,” Pike replies, putting sincerity into his voice.

“There was a bit of a disturbance at the bar, Jane’s, earlier. You been there this evening?”

“We stopped by for a drink, but we didn’t stay long. The band was a little loud, and we couldn’t talk. Everything was fine when we left, though. What happened?” Pike looks concerned, and you work to match his expression.

“We’re not sure. They called us to say there was a fight, but when we got there all the lights were off and everyone was flat out on the floor. Looked like they’d been electrocuted.”

“Oh my god that’s awful! Is—is everyone okay?” You hope you didn’t ham it up too much, but the policeman looks at you with approval.

“We’ve got medics on the scene but it looks like everyone will be fine.” He takes a step back. “Call us if you think of anything you saw, that could be suspicious.”

“Of course,” Chris says. Calling. You need to make a call.

“Um... officer? I should call my sister, let her know we’re okay. Is there...?” You’re sure there is some kind of communication system in this era, but you’ve no idea what it’s called.

“A phone booth? Sure.” He points. Just down there, on the right. You two take care now,” he says as he walks away.

Chris takes your arm again as he steers you across the road.

“Well done,” he says softly, and suddenly it begins to hit you. You’re in the past. You’re cut off from your ship. You were nearly electrocuted. That creep who you had to punch. The weird doll. Dealing with the police officer.

You come to a stop in front of the phone booth. It’s very dark now, though the booth itself is lit, and this road is even quieter. There’s no one else around. Still—

“I don’t think I can do this, Captain.” You’re embarrassed to admit it – you’re Starfleet, you’re supposed to be ready for anything. “I know I should be impressing you right now, rising to the challenge, but I—” You stare at the ground.

“Hey,” he says, drawing you round to face him. “This has been a lot, and you’re not used to it. Away missions... you can train all you want but it takes real life practice before you get comfortable, especially when the shit hits the fan.” He touches your face gently, quickly, just enough to make you look up. “I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t know you can do this. I know this is your first time on a mission like this, and I am impressed with how you’ve handled yourself so far. Your quick thinking in the bar back there? You’re a natural. You just need to try one more time. Are you with me?”

“Yes Captain.” You take a breath, and get your tricorder out, and a toolkit. You scan the circuitry, then set to work. Something occurs to you while you have the phone in pieces, and you smile

“What’s funny?” The Captain asks, and you gesture to the keypad.

“Enter 1701,” you say.

It’s worth it for his grin as he presses the buttons.

“Pike to Enterprise?” He says as the phone connects, and you can just hear Number One’s voice, a little tinny, though the speaker. “We have the artefact. Can you beam us back from this location?” He sees you holding up three fingers. “In three minutes. Our communicators got fried and we need to put the... uh... phone booth back. Yes I know.” He rolls his eyes. “All right. See you soon,” he hangs up, and you get your tools out again.

Back on the ship, back in your uniform, back in your time, you are called to the ready room. You bring a PADD with your report.

“Captain,” you say, handing it over.

“Thank you,” he replies. “I wanted to ask you here to say... thank you for your exemplary performance. I wouldn’t be surprised if the mission ends up being classified, but you saved the timeline. The important people know.”

“Thank you, sir. And thank you for your support down there. The stress did get to me but... I’d do it again.”

He looks at you, then, his blue eyes holding yours as he comes to some decision.

“Please understand, this is a request you can say no to. I don’t want to put you under any pressure but... I abandoned you at that bar, a bit, and I was wondering... would you like to join me for a drink, after shift? I only have the real stuff.”

You feel butterflies in your stomach as you reply, “I—I’d like that. Yes.”

“Then it’s a date.”

(Part 2)

[the-canary]

Bathwater - B.B.

Summary: Bucky Barnes has had a museum of lovers for as long as you have known him. It’s that and your own cynicism that makes you doubt that this man could actually be your soulmate. (Modern/Soulmate AU!Reader/Bucky Barnes) 

A/N: happy new year! this is my first story of 2020, thanks to binging on no doubt over the holidays. this is for @bucky-smiles​ secret santa for @sagittree​. special thanks to @softhairbarnes​ for helping with the ending ;A; 

Reasoning as to why I named this “Bathwater”. 

There’s a pop in the back of your head, but you just think its your ears over the loud music and yelling of frat boys. Nat laughs at the momentary discomfort on your face, before shaking her head. You bit back your remark, because you had promised to come with her if she had helped you with your paper. 

One favor for another. That’s when all your thoughts stops at the sound of an all-too familiar voice. 

“Chug another one, Barnes!” 

The commotion causes you to look up, as you see a boy drinking like he wasn’t going to live to the next day. People start chanting, as you just shake your head – once again unsure of what you were doing here in the first place. 

You hear Natasha laugh next to you. The young man manages to complete the whole thing as he yells at the crowd after he is done.

Tall, dark-haired, and blue-eyed – the definition of fuck boy in your book. 

Natasha, in the years to come, would laugh and say that is the definition of your type. 

———–

The pop comes back at times. It shatters your eardrums and leaves you with a headache for the rest of the day, though the times it does are few and far between. It could mean several things, but the most obvious is the one that you choose to ignore – because you of all people don’t believe in those aged stories of maybe, potentially finding the one. 

On the other hand, you end up meeting Natasha’s latest conquest after another visit to the college's medical office. He’s standing in the middle of your really small and shitty-looking kitchen without a shirt, messy brown hair and and easy smile on his lips. 

Pop! 

You feel the headache come back at the sight of Barnes (you don’t know his first name), as you rub your shoulders back. You can’t tell that his smile drops at the sight of you. However, you don’t say anything as you simply groan, rub the back of your head, and walk past him without a word exchanged between the two of you.

You take a Benadryl and pass out for the rest of the day, not really caring if Barnes or Natasha are in the apartment.

———–

You think about it once, maybe even twice after you see the dark-haired man moving about in your apartment. He isn’t with Natasha anymore, but that causal relationship had turned into an even stronger friendship. Though to you, it just meant that you spent less time in your apartment when he was there and more time in the library. 

The subtle musk of books and lack of sleep makes you question the thought over and over again. You had heard the idea over the years – movies and fairy-tales always spoke of the one. 

Your mother and father had thought of the concept dearly once. 

But then, as you glance at the rows and rows of books ahead of you, you remember reading it in a statistics book once. 

Less than 5% of the world’s population ever find their soulmate. 

It echoes in your head for a good while, making you sorrowful like a child that had lost its favorite toy. However, you are quick to sigh it out before going back to studying. 

You steel yourself and develop of routine of sorts – pop, ignore Barnes, take a pill, and leave the room. 

It becomes your go-to for the rest of college. 

———–

Bucky Barnes, as you end up learning his name during graduation, isn’t someone that you consider a friend after college is over and done with. He sits at the edge of meetings with Natasha, of saying hello to him and his pretty date, and being nice enough to introduce yourself – to be an actual being a decent person to the man. 

But, then that’s when you hear it: Pop!

It’s that insufferable static and the pain it brings that causes you to pause and turn heel. It’s that horrible shift of emotions and other shit in the center of your core that makes you stop, as you end up spending the rest of the night with either Sam or Steve. 

It’s like that for years, until one night…as the clock strikes twelve on New Year’s when Sam, in that danky little bar on the South-side that you all like to hangout in during the weekends, can’t help but comment. 

“Hey,” Sam remarks while pointing his drink subtly to the other side of the bar,"I think you caught someone’s attention tonight.” 

You feel the pop!pop! before even knowing who is looking in your direction. You frown and take a look to see blue eyes glancing your way before they quickly slip over the room, like it might seem he was intending to do that the entire time. 

Both you and Sam know better though.

You take a sip of your drink and go back to looking at the man at your side. Sam raises his eyebrows at you in the most exaggerated way, as you just end up shaking your head.

None of your friends really understood why you didn’t like Bucky, but they had been thinking that they could change it with the new decade just around the corner.

———–

The ball drops and you’re standing on the side, watching people yelling and kissing each other as another year comes around. It almost makes you seem like Lt. Dan from Forrest Gump the way you are nursing your drink in the back while watching 2020 flash on the screen. 

However, you don’t feel any of Gary Sinise’s bitterness, just the warmth of your drink and the sweetness that comes with your friends being happy as Natasha and Clint trade kisses and Steve and Sam start singing. 

All the happiness, food, and drink makes you so full that you almost don’t feel it, but it’s subtly there – that pop in the back of your mind. However, your current state of drunkenness causes your guard to fall just a bit because you don’t notice among the swaying bodies that dark-haired man is coming you way until he is right next to you. 

Dark button-up shirt, jeans, and a gray hoodie against the red-brick backdrop of the bar. You realize that this is the first time you had really looked at Bucky since that frat party, since seeing him shirtless back in college. 

The baby fat had disappeared and his hair was longer than before. He lets out a sigh, but you know that he isn’t that easily defeated. Though he is rose-cheeked, either from the cold or all the drinking you really didn’t know, but it made his blue eyes stand out more as he gave you a lopsided smile. 

You wonder how drunk he really is, as he leans on to the brink. 

“Hi,” he states breathlessly. His eyes meet yours and you swear the middle of your head starts to ache. You get goosebumps running up and down your spine. You frown and rub your forehead in irritation. His face soon mirrors yours, but instead he looks more melancholic than anything. 

“‘M’sorry, doll,” he manages to state. You don’t acknowledge him, “I’m sorry it hurts all the time.”

You don’t say anything, just take another sip of your drink and stare at the space above his head as the pain and fullness of everything makes you uncomfortably numb. You won’t accept that Bucky Barnes might feel something in the same way you do – that he hurts just like you do.

Because at the end of the night, he smiles and leaves with someone else that isn’t you and that’s all you need to keep moving forward. 

———–

It isn’t like you don’t go on dates and try to make it work with someone else. There is a date peppered here and there, an almost proposal and that lost weekend with that you had with a former boss, after you had left the place where they worked. It’s not like you don’t try. 

It always ends with the small detail that you still struggle with after all these years. The one that Natasha makes painfully obvious after a failed double date with one of your friends from work. 

“They didn’t have it,” she pauses and looks at you with a light smile. You look up from your lunch.

“Didn’t have what?” you ask more cautiously than before. Natasha looks at you liked she knew something you didn’t, which could be accurate. You had never told anyone of the pain the back of your head. You weren’t sure if you could say the same for Barnes. 

“Killer blue eyes,” Natasha laughs at her own joke. You just keep staring at her before going back to eating.

It wasn’t like you could say anything could counter her point. In a way she was telling the truth. 

———– 

The limited interaction that you had with Bucky gave you enough reason to think that whatever you felt, he did too it some way. It hurt, but you weren’t going to run into his arms in some heartfelt declaration of your everlasting love. It wasn’t your style and from what you have heard from Sam, he was in a very disastrous relationship with a former beau. 

Winter turns to spring, as work leaves no time to do anything. It’s in late March when you finally have a weekend for yourself, as you set yourself up in a coffee shop near work – a nice drink and something soothing to make you forget the tiresome work week. 

The first hour is fine, until you feel it – that all too familiar irritation that comes before the pop. 

On pure instinct, you look up to see where the hell Barnes could be and just what exact escape plan you can come up with to leave the coffee shop. However, you were already too late in that aspect as well–-

“Hi,” there’s that same breathless voice again, as you look up to see familiar blue eyes.  You swallow as the drumming gets stronger and you just want to leave, but Bucky Barnes is looking at you like he wants to say something. 

“Hi,” you manage to mumble out, as he gives you a relieved smile. You move about in your seat for a moment, as he moves a hand over his hair. You just notice he had gotten a haircut since the New Year's. 

“I just hadn’t seen you in awhile. And you were here, so I thought–” he stops halfway as you grimace, “Maybe I should go.” 

You aren’t sure why, but for the first time since you’ve had this aliment, your heart squeezes and aches at the thought of him leaving. Your pain momentarily blinds you to everything else, as your mouth opens and leaves the careful rationality that you have placed in front of you. 

“No, it’s fine,” you breathe out at the sight of his cautious stare, “It’ll pass.” 

Barnes lets out a breathe that he has been holding before asking if he can sit down and though the rest of the day is a hazy blur, you think it might’ve ended all right if your “soulmate” finally took notice of you. 

———– 

You remember reading once: Those who consider themselves soulmates often experience shortness of breath, throbbing headaches, back and chest pain, and even nausea to the point of fainting. However, one partner will always have experience in one and not the others. Researchers have referred to as the head vs. heart syndrome. 

You knew which one you suffered from. 

“Hi,” the back of your head throbs for a good second before the voice gulps in a gasp of air, “Were you waiting long?” 

“No, I just ordered and sat down,” you state without sparing him a single glance from the book that you were currently reading. You weren’t sure how exactly you had gotten in this strange situation of meeting with Bucky Barnes every other weekend at this coffee shop, but when you were there he usually was as well. 

However, that didn’t mean you were going to give him your full attention. 

“Good,” he sighs out before giving you a brief smile, “I’ll go get something too.” 

He takes another gulp of air before leaving your table. You can’t help but wonder for a brief moment, forgetting the family drama of your book, if Bucky suffered from chest pains and shortness of breath when he was around you. 

You wondered if he was the heart and you were the head in this situation, as laughable as it was. 

———– 

“So, what do you do for a living?” 

“Bucky, I am sure you know what I do for a living.” 

“No, I hardly know anything about you.”

———–

It’s an easy thing to step into and an even easier thing to step out of. For a couple of hours every other weekend, you hang out with your potential, so called soulmate. You read and he is on the computer with warm drinks on the side. It’s somewhere between compassion and stubbornness, but it is to keep you safe above all else. 

But then you see Bucky walking around and chatting with other women on the way to the coffee shop. Each of them laugh and smile at him, like he’s the sun and you feel a silent fury bubble within you.    

Less than 5% of the world’s population ever find their soulmate. 

You take a deep breathe and end walking the other direction numerous times, as the weeks without seeing him pile on. However, that doesn’t matter because you have lived without your so-called soulmate for this long, and you can do so for even longer.

———–

Should a soulmate ever consider rejecting their “other half…”

“You know, Bucky has been asking about you.” 

“Please, don’t talk about certain people when I have a splitting headache, Sammy.” 

“Just sayin’”

“Just saying, my ass.” 

..their symptoms will begin to worsen.

———– 

However, there is only so much pussy-footing around that you can do, between work and the headaches, before you have to see Bucky Barnes again. The problem is that instead of all your close friends being close to the bar, like they had promised, it was just Bucky by himself. A single light on him in the dark room as he sipped his beer. 

For a brief moment, you wonder if you could actually experience shortness of breath due to the surprise that he was actually alone since Steve was late and Natasha and Clint were in the corner talking to themselves. You weren’t sure where Sam was. He sat there and none dares approach him, his usual smile was replaced by a sulk. 

It almost made you want to check what was going on with him, but the bubbly-like feeling bursting in the back of your head makes you hesitant as well. Bucky Barnes’s mere existence put you on the defensive, but the lingering emptiness and the idea that you might be missing him makes you want to walk over to his side. 

You stand there until the feeling settles itself in your stomach like a rock. You're stuck like glue to the entrance, until you hear it –

“James, is that you, honeybunny?” 

The bile starts to run upwards and you end up running towards the nearest bathroom. You heave everything you have and end up leaving the bar in cold sweats and pounding headache. If you end up not seeing Bucky or your friends for the rest of the week, well it doesn’t matter above your health. 

The rejection of said “soulmate” leads the occurrence of more and even worse symptoms. Sometimes for both recipients. 

———– 

“Hey Buck, you okay in there?” 

“Yeah, must be some stomach bug I caught at work is all.”

———–

“Hey, have you seen her recently?” 

“Nah,” Sam shakes his head at Steve’s question, “Says she’s been sick for awhile now.”

Bucky frowns, but doesn’t say anything as he feels a pain in his chest. They have been more frequent that longer he had gone without seeing her, but what could he do when his soulmate was avoiding him. He didn’t know where to start making up for everything that he might’ve done.

———– 

The final time that you see Bucky from afar is when he is standing at the end of your apartment building’s hallway. He’s standing there, like you had at the bar, with his hands in his pockets and a glare that you had never seen being thrown in your direction. To be honest, Bucky never really looked at you though. You were unsure even now if he was really standing there since you were all messed up with the symptoms you had been feeling for days now.  

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he glowers at you, as you try to ignore the feverish glee that runs up and down your spine at him finally talking to you, “Now you’ve gotta us both like this, doll.” 

You let out a cough, but you can’t answer him as blue eyes watch you like a hawk. You want to say so many things, deny the fact and the crazy notion that this is something that the both of you have, but looking at Bucky – really looking at Bucky with his pale face and and greasy hair…and you can tell. 

You can tell that this separation makes him feel just as bad as you are feeling right now, but he’ll never understand that added weight that drags your heart down. 

“You don’t want me, Bucky,” you manages to cough out as your heart squeezes over the next words that leave your mouth, “Soulmates aren’t real.” 

Bucky looks at you like you hit him in the gut. You lean into the front door of your apartment, as your insides tear each other apart over such a declaration, as you can’t help but wonder why denial hurts so much. 

“How can you say that?” 

Bucky must be rushing over to you, but you don’t see it through the blurriness that is covering your eyes now. Everything is fading, as your stomach tightens. 

“Cause it’s always been the truth,” you murmur deliriously, “Been like that since I’ve known you.” 

You feel a fire burning your cold cheeks, as something grabs them, but you are too far gone into the darkness to know what it is. 

———– 

“Nat, what do you mean Bucky is taking care of her?”

“Exactly as I said,” Natasha answers back. Steve looks at her confused as to how the two people in their friends’ circle that interacted the least where now in the same hospital healing over their colds, “Like he should’ve already been doing."

Steve is even more confused than before, as Natasha just smiles to herself – like she knows a secret that nobody else does.

———–

However, there is an oddity that is seen in less than 1% of those who consider themselves to be “soulmates”. 

“Mr. Barnes, if you would go back to your room. You need to recover as well.”

You don’t know how long it had been between you blacking out in the hallway and being in the hospital, but the nurse’s voice is clear with each passing day, as she states the same thing over and over again – reprimanding Bucky over being in your room when he should be in his. Even when she doesn’t, the familiar pop pop feeling bubbles in the back of you head, though softer than before. 

Though this time, you don’t meet with annoyance, but rather Bucky’s soft voice going on about whatever is going through his head that time of the day – from his work at the counseling office (where he helps young women and their children) to what your friends have been up to, but it always ends the same way. 

“Doll, I hope you get better soon,” his voice cracks in the middle as your chest collapses on itself, “You just gotta.” 

You wonder if any other woman had heard him with such longing and desperation in his voice. If he waited on them day and night, like he did with you from time to time or until the nurse caught him again. 

You wonder and dream of how it would be like to be with Bucky, to stop denying yourself such a basic need for yourself. You breathe out soundly for the first time in a very long time because regardless of who Bucky had been once and who he had been with, you were starting to think that you would like to get to know Bucky as he was now. 

———– 

It’s a month after your hospitalization and two weeks after Bucky’s release that he feels it. The familiar breathless feeling that he has always gotten around you takes the air from his lungs, as he feels a hand running through his hair. He realizes that he must have fallen asleep on top of the hospital bed after coming back from lunch.

His heart putters and stops at the sound of a groggy voice: “Good morning, Bucky.”

Bucky Barnes turns his head in your direction to see that you are looking directly at him for once. A soft smile curls your lips as the sun shines through the widow behind you. He wants to cry and reach out to you, but instead he watches as you rub the back of your head for a moment.

“Does it still hurt?” his voice stills the joy he had been feeling, stopping him from crossing the bridge and hugging you with all his might. He watches with bated breath as you shake your head.

“Just a pinch,” you laugh. Bucky swears his heart stops in that moment, “But, I’ll get used to it.”

It takes him a moment or two to process what you actual mean. Blue eyes widen as he lets out a watery laugh at the irony of it all, of finally finding the place where he is supposed to be after a museum gallery of lovers, though he knows he’ll have to fight tooth and nail for you to truly take him seriously.

He’s willing to do that and so much more, so that you can truly understand that you are soulmates – that you are going to be the one he’s always going to choose at the end of the day, every day for the rest of his life.

“That’s good to hear, doll.”

The initial rejection makes the “soulmates” bond even stronger than most.

[rosecorcoranwrites]

Villain Motivation and the Banality of Evil

Motivation in Fact and Fiction

As you know by now, I am a huge true crime fan. I've read books by FBI profilers and crime historians, am addicted to the Investigation Discovery channel, and have even attended a semester of my local police departments "citizens police academy". This is a professional as well as a personal interest, given that I am currently outlining a mystery WIP set in an alternate version of our world. Thus, I want to understand crime investigation, different types of evidence, and, of course, motive. It's this last one—the motivation behind a villain's acts—that many authors, not just those who write mystery—concern themselves with. And, after examining hundreds of real-life crimes, I'm here to tell you that it's not that important.

Ok, it's a little important, in that a villain needs a motive, but it's not important that it be extremely groundbreaking, or extremely relatable, or extremely anything. Motives tend to be common place, not extreme, no matter how shocking the other aspects of a crime.

For example, the excellent book The Father of Forensics: The Groundbreaking Cases of Sir Bernard Spilsbury and the Beginnings of Modern CSI, which I raved about previously, contains a number of sensational cases where the bodies were either hideously mutilated or, conversely, found without any scratch on them. To add intrigue to injury, the murders happened in the early days of forensics, when procedures for dealing with evidence were still being worked out and when more modern investigative tools like AFIS, DNA testing, and psychological profiling were still decades away. Every case was fascinating in its details and in its eventual solution. Almost every case had, as a motive, either money or getting out of an unwanted relationship. That was it. The oddities of the bodies were the killers' attempts at not being caught, but the reasons for there being bodies in the first place were as average as could be.

In fact, the three main motives, according to Lt. Joe Kenda, of ID channel fame, are money, revenge, and sex. The more headline-catching serial-killer crimes happen, it seems, due to a desire for power or a thrill. I would say these five motives sum up most murders, maybe even most crimes. Once you cut away the mystery and the gore, all you're left with are some pretty average human desires: money/stuff, vengeance/justice, sex, power/control, and thrill/excitement. When people talk about the banality of evil, this is what they mean.

Take the motive of "money". We're all familiar with the idea, in real and fictional crime, of robbing banks or killing someone for their life insurance. Writers seem to find this an acceptable plot point: villain wants a lot of money and thus does very bad things. Yet, if you watch enough crime TV, you will know that real murders happen for sums as low as $400 or even $40. There was an episode of Homicide Hunter: Lt. Joe Kenda where a man was shot and almost killed over an argument about 25 cents!

It also needn't be money, but material possessions. In one of the citizen's police academy classes, we learned about a local case where three teenagers broke into a man's house and stole, among other things, his corncob pipe. This pipe was the item he was most upset about, and often discussed in subsequent weeks. So the man lured one of the teenagers out to the woods and shot him execution-style. He was planning to do the same to the other two, and blame the whole crime on his teenaged lover. So that was one life ruined—and it would have been three others, had he not been caught—with the motive of revenge for a lost corncob pipe!

The Gap Between Good and Evil

I thus wonder why it is that we, as writers, tend to overlook such commonplace motivations. There's an unspoken assumption that the motivation of a villain must scale with their actions, so while sub-bosses or henchmen might get away with being in it for the money or the thrill, the Big Bad needs a more exciting or deep motivation. There's also a more recent idea being bandied about in internet circles that the villain should think he's the hero. I think both of these concepts are flawed, but let's take them one at a time.

Although I personally love "True Believer" villains that really do believe they are doing what is right, I don't think it's fair to say that all villains must be this way. After all, a great many real-life villains don't think they're doing something good; they just don't care. They want what they want and do what they can to get it without worrying about morality. I think the reason that this second sort of villain--the thrill-killer, the evil sorcerer, the bully--get a bad rap is that people (both readers and writers), don't understand evil. Yes, a villain who only desires evil is unrealistic, because, in fact, it's impossible to desire evil. But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself.

In the Catholic tradition, we hold that evil doesn't exist; it has no metaphysical reality. Evil is a privation, or absence, of good, similar to how a shadow doesn't exist, but is a privation, or absence, of light. Thus, a person cannot desire evil in and of itself, because they would be desiring nothing. Every evil act is done because someone is desiring something good, but disproportionately, or in a way that removes part of the good from that thing. Again, look at the five motives for murder. Each of those is a good, in and of themselves, but none justifies violating another person.

And thus we come to the other assumption about villains, that their actions must scale with their motives. I think, in fact, the opposite tends to make a more interesting villain. The motive can be something small--wanting revenge for some slight, or a peaceful life, or to be like everyone else. These might even be the same goods that the hero desires. What makes the villain villainous, and what can make them even more interesting, is what they are willing to do to fulfill these desires. Who or what are they willing to throw away? What rules are they willing to break? That distance, between what they want and how they get it is what separates them from the hero.

Types of Villains

This principle, that a villain must desire a good, but desire it disproportionately, can work for any type of villain.

Take the True Believer types: those that believe they are doing what's right. In this category, I would put people like Thanos (Avengers: Infinity War), as well as A.I.s like Agent Smith (The Matrix), VIKI (iRobot), and the Terminators (Terminator... obviously). Thanos is widely lauded as one of Marvel's best villains because he really does think he's doing the right thing. He is willing to throw away half of all sapient beings, plus the one person who he actually cares about, in order to save the other half. What he wants--peace and prosperity--is understandable, but while the gap between that and his genocidal actions is mathematically non-existent, it is morally huge. Similarly, the three A.I.s I mentioned are trying to save either robot-kind or human-kind, but are willing to murder thousands or even billions of humans in order to do it. Essentially, these villains are doing the classic Utilitarian trolley problem, but on a massive scale. They think they are the heroes, and truly do desire a good outcome, but the actions taken to bring that about are inexcusably evil.

Similar to the True Believers are a type of villain I will call the Desperate. These people are also trying to bring about good, but know that what they are doing is wrong. Mr. Freeze (Batman) is a classic example, as he commits crimes to get money and technology to save his wife. Actually, there are a whole slew of villains, mostly in anime and JRPGs, whose entire motivation is to save or resurrect a dead wife or girlfriend. They're trying to save someone they love, but they rarely brand themselves as saviors or heroes; Desperate types hold no such illusions. Sebastian, in my own series, is such a villain, in that he is willing to betray his friends and ally himself to bad people in order to save Chiaroscuro and make up for his past sins. He's willing to do evil that good may come of it, and actually uses the "I'm a bad person anyway" excuse as a justification for his actions.

On the flip side are those who don't care about whether or not they're doing good, which I will divide into three types: Dark Lords, Thrill Killers, and Egoists.

Dark Lords, obviously, include literal Dark Lords, such as Sauron and Voldemort, but I'm also going to throw in your average serial killer into this category. Why? Because they all want the same thing: power. The books I've read by FBI profilers chronicle the most gruesome crimes with motives ranging from rage to lust, but there is an ever present need of the killers to control, whether that's controlling their victims, the situation, or the police and firefighters (in the case of arsonists). Control is related to power, and power, in and of itself, is a good. This, in fact, is why it's wrong for these villains to take away the power or freedom of their victims. While a True Believer like Thanos sought balance, Dark Lords seek an imbalance, and want everything for themselves in an attempt to prove to themselves that they are more powerful, and thus better, than everyone else. These types of villains are, sadly, very realistic, but don't lend themselves to stories requiring a strong interpersonal conflict between hero and villain. They tend to act as a force of nature the hero must work against--whether in a fantasy against a Dark Lord or in a thriller against a serial murderer--and thus don't do much in the way of interpersonal conflict.

Better, in my opinion, are the Thrill Killer types, who see the world as a game, and are willing to do whatever it takes to have fun. Example of this are The Joker (Batman) and Mr. Sato (Ajin). Though The Joker is a bank-robbing thug, he's mostly in it for the laughs, and cares very deeply about whether or not things are funny. That doesn't make him any less abusive or violent, but the gap between his humor and his barbarity is what make him an interesting character. Mr. Sato, similarly, sees the world like one huge videogame, in which he has been given extra lives. Fun and games are a normal and natural good, but his villainy stems from what he is willing to do in this "game". Mr. Sato has absolutely no concern for human life, even his own, and kills hundreds of people (including himself, on multiple occasions!). The interest in this type of villain comes from watching their crazy schemes and then trying to figure out how the hero can possibly beat them. These villains are similar to Dark Lords in that they are something like a force of nature, but different in that the hero usually has to face off against them personally, outwit them, and deal with them as an individual person.

Finally, there are those who want something personally good, but have no regard for others. Technically, this could also describe Dark Lords and Thrill Killers, but here I mean really personal, as in specific to that person. Rather than something big like power or a crazy thrill, they tend to desire the utterly ordinary. Take the robot in Ex Machina. I'm not sure everyone would classify her as a villain, though she certainly did some evil things (it's up to interpretation whether she understands good and evil, though). What was her motivation? She wanted to go watch a crowd. She was, essentially, created to gather information, so that's what she went to go do. It makes sense that that's what she wants, but it doesn't justify what she did to the main character (even if he was kind of a doofus). Or Rezo the Red Priest (Slayers), who, in my opinion, has one of the best motivations of any villain ever. He was born blind and wanted to see. That's a totally understandable motivation. But he's willing to sacrifice the entire world to a demon lord in order to get that wish. Now that is a heckofa gap between a good desire and an evil action! And yet, is it really all that different from the sort of selfishness present in a man who would murder three teenagers over a corncob pipe? Real evil motivations are banal, and real evil actions are completely disproportionate to those motivations. Art, in the case of these last villains, is simply imitating life.

Asking What the Villains Want

Obviously, there are a million different ways of combining these villain type and motivations. Some villains want money so they can save a dying loved one. Some villains desire revenge because they truly believe they have been wronged. A Thrill Killer might find excitement in killing criminals. There is no one right way to write a villain, and there is no one motivation that is the only interesting kind. To anyone trying to write a villain, I suggest reading about or watching shows on real life criminals, from the Big Bads like Hitler, Stalin, and Mao to famous killers like Jack the Ripper and Ted Bundy to run of the mill criminals in your local newspaper. People don't become mass murderers or even petty thieves for no reason, but they also don't just do evil because it's the evil thing to do. Even the most gruesome atrocities were rooted in the desire for misplaced revenge, or disproportionate control, or a false belief in some so-called greater good. Then, I suggest reading and watching your favorite stories and asking what makes these villains tick. Is it the same as in real life? Is it different? What makes a great villain so great? You'll may just find that it's simply a matter of proportion.

[chibivesicle]

into the Ogata fray

Hello Golden Kamuy peeps on tumblr, I’m toeing into the fray in regards to the most talked about character (in my humble opinion) Ogata. Apologies this is a bit long but whatever.

As work is about to get a lot busier in about a week, I figured I gotta do this now or never so here goes nothing.  Also, I’d love to thank the peeps who have been having a great dialogue on this already I’m looking at #hundredogatas and #goldenkamuyhunting for some great analyses.

I already posted some of my comments over on Mangadex in regards to chapter 165, Flag Bearer, trying to wrap my head around Ogata’s motivations and his role in the series.

I’ve really taken to the idea that Ogata is a fundamentally hurt character who has been hurting for so long that he doesn’t even know it anymore.  He had normalized his “abnormal” feelings.  As a result of his normalization to this he became in a ways “dead” to a lot of things, I agree with many others that he does have feelings but he keeps them buried deep down for the most part and the occasionally bubble to the surface.

The first instance of his feelings/humanity bubbling up are quite early on.  Others have already highlighted he did not kill Huci or Osoma when going after Tanigaki.  He is quite clear that he does not believe in unnecessary violence or actions.  The second time this pops up is in the showdown in Barato.  He saves Shinpei the gangster son and even though he calls him a weakling he is the one who allows him to be free of his meddling parents and move off on his home.  Yes, he’s drawn as a tough character but you see no malice or meanness in his expression, just a straight up explanation that he doesn’t like people who lack action or volition.  I felt he was just making a very firm point.

Throughout the series, I’ve always read Ogata as an individual who views himself as a self made man.  He rose to his position as a Superior Private through skill and hard work and in part by not making too many waves.  He highly values individuals who take control of their lives and their actions and have some sort of purpose; the people he dislikes the most are those who rose by family/title/rank which is obviously due to his horrible childhood/father issues that left him realizing that the concept of noble blood is pointless, especially given the fact that his own father made terrible military decisions. 

I feel that Noda-sensei likes to have his humanity bubble up occasionally and Asirpa will be the character who pulls it back to the surface due to her parallels with his brother.

As he is an astute observer of his surroundings and what we know of Lt. Tsurumi’s ability to manipulate people for his best outcomes I hypothesize that he recognized the “deadness” in Ogata and wanted to groom him to be the elite dirty deeds man of his select group from the 7th.  Tsurumi just keep pushing him further, first trying to get at him through his brother and then to assassinate his father.  Tsurumi thought he had groomed the ultimate stealth man for his future jobs.  These two parts of pages from ch. 165 just really highlight how “checked out” he was as a sniper in the trenches.  You could almost hear Ogata’s internal dialogue as “another day, another kill, another paycheck”.

This entire scene is so sterile, he takes his sniping very seriously but he’s so distant that he’s in his no emotion zone.

When ch. 165 gives the flashback with him and his brother discussing their roles on the battlefield and how he can’t get his hands dirty for the sake of his honor and their own father’s crazy ideas, I still feel torn on the situation.  I agree that Ogata’s brother loved and valued him as a human being and as he observed his brother closely (in the revised ch. 103) he did see that his brother had qualities that he lacked.  But I’d be as pissed as I’m guessing Ogata was at how hypocritical this point was to him.  It was almost as though it was egging him on to “go ahead and shoot” just to beat his brother in a philosophical argument to get back at their father. 

While trying to put things in chronological order, I feel that Ogata reached his breaking point with Tsurumi’s manipulation of him after he killed his father.

Here we have him thinking maybe shooting my brother might be a bad idea but i’m still hesitating just sooooo slightly with that just slightly less dead look . . .

to his oh you smooth talking bastard fake smile.  Granted this is from the original ch. 103, but I think it really gets the point across that he knows he’s been played and he’s hyper aware of the power Tsurumi wields over others.

I take it from this point on his goals began to differ and lead to him deserting.  I think it took a long time for him to feel confident that he could leave.  It was clear he at one point did feel intimidated by the power Tsurumi had over him based on how awkward his body language with Tsurumi was in ch. 164.  He’s totally informal when he’s sitting 99.9% of the time, yet he sits in seiza and buttons up his uniform. 

Here is his more informal, I’m totally hogging the heater while observing everyone around me/listening to Tanigaki’s story.

After he leaves the hospital he is now in his “liberated” form which is shown by his longer hair.  According to Noda-sensei in questions from readers in Young Jump that were translated by the peeps over at Kamuy Central, Ogata grew his hair out as he had become liberated.  What he was liberated from was unclear but it was a physical sign that he had changed somehow.  It is clear that his character has a beef with the military hierarchy and how many men died to poor decisions - which we later learn were his father’s to an extent.  This is early on when he’s discussing the type 30 rifle while sniping Tanigaki and how he continues to disagree with the whole “noble blood” line repeated by Tsurumi and backed by Koito to an extent.  With his new hairstyle he definitely expresses himself more to the other characters while he maintains his distance.

His immediate interaction with Hijikata is both pay attention to me and praise me (shooting the watchtower bell/skin on his head) but also, I’m gonna push you and sass you with my confidence b/c I know things.  Plus, he immediately makes a cutting remark about “what happens to your subordinates?”  If he were totally dead on the inside or missing his humanity he wouldn’t ask about the little guys being lead by Hijikata.  Again, I think this hints at his dislike of unnecessary violence.

We know he has issues with crappy fathers/poor leaders of people.  The angry screentones not only when Hijikata cuts off Asirpa from speaking but how he’s like she was about to say my father . . .

As a keen observer of people, he’s looking out for leadership qualities either actively or maybe even passively.  I’d like to make a really big leap for a minute and point out the cover to ch. 71

This cover has a quote from Matthew and features Tsurumi as the false prophet with Tsukishima and Nikaido.  Note that in the “Last Supper” scene here (ch. 81)

Ogata is in the place of Matthew.  If we go with the Asirpa is Jesus hypothesis, saving men with dark pasts to redeem themselves than I don’t think Noda-sensei just picked a quote from Matthew at random. Keep in mind Kiro is Judas, Sugimoto is Peter and Shirashi is John. Also remember that Matthew was a tax collector and not trusted or accepted by others but Asirpa clearly cares about him through the series. This leaves Ogata as the only person to argue against Tsurumi based on his shootout with Tsukishima in the taxidermists place as shown here

He is clearly telling Tsukishima that Tsurumi used these sentimental things to get men to follow him and dedicate themselves to his cause.  We learn much later that there is no way his motivations are based on surpassing his father - that was always a line Tsurumi told others but he does admit the he never knew what Ogata was thinking.

Anyhoo that was my really far reach, but getting back to his idea to keep his distance from people but ultimately wants to be loved aspect.  I’d state that Ogata hides some of his feelings towards others through is constant jests or teasing, despite having a hard time accepting that Tanigaki didn’t kill his comrades (who he def cared about a lot, which seems out of character at first) he gave Tanigaki the nickname “bear cub” and it stuck with others calling him that.  He also snarked at Tanigaki that if he wanted his nose cut off so badly he could do it for him.  I don’t think he meant this but it is clear he hides behind is sassy/sarcastic remarks.  As Tanigaki is the most innocent (and most similar to his brother) i’d say this spills over into his first harsh sadistic attitude towards him “beg for my help!” to “the dog did more than you.” to the harsh but in some ways likely true/protective “go back home”.  He says one thing but his actions speak otherwise just like the gangster son back in Barato.

Despite bitching about Sugimoto slowing them down while fleeing the 7th, he lets Asirpa treat him here

He’s being a bit pissy and I love the arms crossed body posture but you can tell he’s just being pushy to make sure they don’t get caught.

My absolute fav scenes of how he keeps his distance are the beach ones here where everyone holds hands and jumps while he watches over them.

Which then highlights him in the background several panels later while Asirpa and Sugimoto talk about beach kamuy etc.

He frequently is shown with his back towards many other group members, which would imply trust to an extent, he expects them not to stab him in the back so to speak.  When he shoots the herd of reindeer he states that they are just like people with one on the lookout - in the groups that he has been a part of he’s the lookout.

He may be alone and isolated but he’s always playing an important protective role towards others.  I’m not sure to what extent he realizes that he does this but he’s almost always drawn looking back while others are looking forward or looking the opposite direction of the rest observing everything.  He def is a protector of others, especially those who cannot fully protect themselves.

Ever since the beginning of the series we’ve know most character’s motivations for the gold but his remains a complete mystery.  Another tumblr post mentioned it could be the geisha debt that his mom had that he inherited, which makes sense to me, but really we still don’t know why he even joined the military. Being a solider wasn’t going to be enough at the rank of a superior private to pay off that debt . . . . I want that question answered for me - yes, it was clear he was a sharpshooter from a young age but he clearly could have been a successful hunter instead of a solider.  I hope we get answers to this in the manga.

As others have stated, since he was the only character to really respect Asirpa from the get go other than Sugimoto and that they are clear foils of how different people deal with PTSD, our current story arc will hopefully work in how Asirpa will save him by treating him like a real human being and in return he will protect her from older men/the establishment from using her.  For most of the series Ogata and Kiro were separated and we know that he knows more about Kiro than Kiro likely realizes.  The benefit of being a quiet introvert means a lot of the characters don’t notice him or read him as well as they could.

These recent panels highlight how he actually gets Shirashi and Asirpa to realize something is off and it likely has to do with Kiro.  I love how he gets Asirpa to realize they were being targeted for a reason and that stressed out look on Kiro’s face is so perfect.

Ogata knew that both Tsurumi and Hijikata knew of the links to the partisans in the far east and that Wilk and Kiro were linked.  He just needed to clue in the nicer party members to this fact.  He had to betry Sugimoto to get close to Kiro for him to play his hand.  He’ll protect Asirpa b/c that’s what he does.

I could go onto some other points but I should stop here.  Phew.  I think I could leave those for later posts.  Like how he shows affection through teasing ALL the TIME.

[immortal-imagines]

The Lucky Boomerang - Part 8

Summary: It was widely known that Captain Boomerang didn’t work well with others; a true statement, until one particular accomplice caught his attention. His decision to spare her caused the pair to become deadly. They were nearly as famous as the Clown couple themselves. Renowned for her easy escapes and incredible stealth, Lady Luck was an appropriate partner for the Aussie bank robber. Their luck changes when a certain metahuman brings them both to Belle Reve Penitentiary and they are forced into joining Task Force X. (Side note: In this imagine, Boomerang is at Belle Reve)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

(Captain Boomerang x Reader)

Warnings: Mild swearing

Word Count: 1,256

A/N: I love this story so much, so thank you for the patience on chapters! It’s nearly the Christmas holidays, so in theory chapters should be coming more regularly. Hope you enjoy this one!

Flag disappeared behind the ominous white door.

“I’m done with this shit,” Deadshot grumbled, following Flag. No one moved to stop him. They were just as curious.

Moments later, the pair emerged with another figure.

“Holy shit,” (Y/N) and Harley murmured, in sync. Tension hung in the air, so heavy it was stifling. Waller remained blank and emotionless. “Let’s go home,” Flag said.

“Huh,” Boomerang scoffed, “Yeah, let’s go home.” He swung an arm around Lady’s shoulder. “That sounds good. You guys wanna go home?” Lady glanced up at him and met his glinting eyes with a manic smile. “I’m not going back to prison,” she chuckled.

“What I’m saying is we kill the pair of them now before they kill us.” Boomerang’s plan ignited a certain determination in the group. It was a feeling that Katana could see would cause trouble. She moved in front of Waller, drawing her sword, but Waller stopped her.

Waller held up the device, displaying the criminals faces, and waved it tauntingly. “Don’t ruin a good thing.” Her tone was flat, but enough to shut the Australian up.

The sky was pitch black when they reached the roof and the chopper was already waiting to take Amanda away. Lt Edwards desperately tried to communicate on his radio to the soldiers on the chopper, but with no response. Flag exchanged a look with Amanda. Something was wrong.

The chopper turned to face the squad and immediate gun fire began. The Joker’s insane laugh echoed on the roof.

Boomerang pulled Lady behind a vent and Harley and Deadshot joined them seconds later. “We can get you out too,” Harley said to (Y/N). “Both of you.”

The couple turned to each other. “This could be our break, doll.” Digger’s eyes were wide at the prospect of being free.

“If you’re coming, we need to move now.” Harley showed Lady her phone. The text read ‘NOW!’.

“Dig, I don’t wanna get caught again.” The disappointment was clear in the man’s eyes, but he understood. He’d do whatever it took to keep his Lady safe.

“Good luck, Harley,” (Y/N) grabbed the girl’s hand and squeezed it. Harley grinned, before making her way towards the helicopter. (Y/N) could see the look of delight and pure passion on Joker’s face when he saw his girl. With one graceful leap, Harley jumped at the rope and swung from it like a circus performer. She waved excitedly back at the group.

“KILL HER!” Amanda screamed over the gun fire.

“I can’t!” Flag yelled back. “Her nanite’s disarmed.”

The furious woman turned to Deadshot. “Shoot that woman right now! Do it for your freedom and your daughter.” Waller was playing to Deadshot’s weaknesses. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Lady held her breath as she watched Deadshot aim at the swinging girl. “Please don’t do it,” she whispered. Deadshot caught her eye for a second before pulling the trigger. Harley spiralled down for a few seconds before hanging limp. Boomerang brought (Y/N) close to his chest as her eyes brimmed with tears. An eager, childish cackle caught their attention and they looked up to see Harley grinning and waving. “I missed,” Deadshot glared at Amanda.

(Y/N) smiled a little to herself. Now that Harley was free and with her puddin’ it was only a matter of time before she and Digger could escape. And they could do it much more sneakily than the clown queen and king.

The brief moment of achievement for the criminals was cut short, when Waller spoke into her radio. “Our helicopter has been hijacked. Shoot it down.” That one moment the group had been happy was taken away, shot down in flames, literally. Lady had had enough.

“Are you kidding me? Harley’s not doing anything! She just wants to be with Joker! What’s your deal, Waller? Who hurt you as a child to make you so fucking cold?”

Digger grinned. He didn’t want to stop (Y/N) as every word she said was true. No one else moved to intervene either. They all agreed.

“We’re here to help you and all you’re doing is punishing us.”

“You’re all criminals. You’ve all done terrible things. And I have every right to kill you right now, with one push of a button.” Amanda raised the phone displaying the squad’s faces.

“Fine. Kill me. You’ll be one member down and you’ll have even less of a chance of winning against whatever the hell you’re up against.” Lady scoffed. “That’s another thing. Don’t you think it’s strange how we have no idea who or what we’re supposed to be fighting? Terror attack my ass! It’s all bullshit!”

(Y/N)’s rant was interrupted by a voice on the radio. “Target destroyed, ma’am.”

Amanda looked back at (Y/N). “The Joker and Harley Quinn are no more.”

Lady screamed, so loudly the building beneath their feet shook. She strode up to Waller, so close their noses were almost touching. “You bitch.” With those two words, Lady turned, flipping her hair so aggressively it hit Waller across the face.

Digger held his hand out for a high-five, but Lady ignored it. “We need to get out of here,” she murmured. He nodded in agreement. Finally, a plan he could get behind.

Flashback:

The shrill screeches of young children sounded on every side of (Y/N). She clamped her hands tightly on either side of her head. “(Y/N), don’t you want to play with the other children?” Miss Jacobs stared down and the teenager, with a bright, forced smile. (Y/N) shook her head. The older woman tutted and walked away muttering, “There’s just no helping some.”

(Y/N) wanted nothing more than to escape, but each time she tried she was caught. Her plans had been ratted out by the other orphans, or one of the adults had caught on. She needed a new tactic. When she lived with her no-good mother, she grew practised in the art of silence. This was something she aimed to maintain here. Although, it was so hard when all she wanted to do was scream.

At 16, (Y/N) was the eldest of all the children in the orphanage. She’d been passed from house to house, escaping so many times that no one would adopt her. She felt discarded and unwanted. She wasn’t cute or young like most of the children. (Y/N) knew what the reality was. She would never find a family. Sometimes she thought that was a good thing. She hadn’t had much good experience previously. Maybe it was better to be independent.

So, she planned her big break.

It was movie night, so all the residents and carers were together in one room. It was easy to sneak away on a night like that, as there were so many kids and so few staff.  (Y/N) could travel light because what few possessions she had owned were stolen or lost between moves. All she took with her was a diamond-shaped locket her grandmother had given her at birth. She never took it off, so nobody had a chance to take it.

As quiet as a mouse, she clambered through an upstairs window and scaled the wall below. Within seconds, she had landed on the street. (Y/N) skirted the building, avoiding security cameras. When she was out in the open, it hit her. She was free. After all the years of silent torture and abuse, she was finally free.

However, with no money or place to stay, (Y/N) had few opportunities.

That was when she noticed the bank across the street.

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