#evening haze roof

[yourtamaki]

rip my ribcage open (devour what’s truly yours)

zoro x f!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: tummy-pusher zoro, squirting, oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, prone bone, chokehold, slight breath play, creampie, violent imagery, religious imagery, bit of aftercare.

zoro thinks you might be trying to say his name.

he’s knelt between your legs, sitting back on his haunches and rocking his hips just enough to fuck you with the fat tip of his cock. there’s a rhythm to the unsteady rise and fall of your chest. short inhale, long exhale, the same way you always sigh his name when he’s reduced you to this.

tears dotting your lashes, drool seeping from the corner of your mouth, hips bucking mindlessly trying to get him to slip in deeper.

fuck, you’re hungry for it.

zoro is not a man of many indulgences. he doesn’t allow himself to be. having too many vices can only lead to a weak mind and an even weaker will. he eats but he does not savour, he sleeps but he does not dream.

but he’d be a shit swordsman if he didn’t understand the balance in all things. denying himself all of life’s comforts would make for a rigid spirit, brittle and easily broken. so he’ll sip on some sake and enjoy its fire in his belly, he’ll nap on sunny’s deck so when he wakes, it’s to the sight of his crew set to the backdrop of the setting sun. and when the sun dips below the horizon, there’s nothing to stop him from finding you in the dark and pulling you into a hungry kiss.

that balance is what makes nights like these all the better. knowing that having you like this, spread open and vulnerable, is good for him. that you’re making him a better man, a stronger man, just by letting him take you apart and make a mess out of you. there’s no need to resist the temptation now of bending low to press his lips to your trembling ones in a slow, ravenous kiss.

you taste like need and the sweetest of sins and he licks at the roof of your mouth, knowing he’s damned himself long ago to crave you for as long as he lives.

"if you want something, you have to ask,” he says, pulling back and idly groping at your tits, pinching your nipple when you don’t answer. you throw your head back at the sudden sensation and a wild heat blooms in his chest at the sight, scorching his ribs. how easily you bare your neck for him. how thoughtlessly.

"please, zoro, please. want you deeper, i wanna feel you here,” you take his hands, sliding them down your body until they come to rest on your lower stomach. irritation, sharp and sudden, cuts through his haze.

“don’t fucking beg,” he says, low and even, “you don’t have to beg. ever.”

it’s so far beneath you to plead, he has to swallow down the growl building in the back of his throat. zoro would topple empires for you, would cut the very moon in half if you asked, and you think you have to beg him for anything?

he doesn’t wait for you to nod before he starts pushing in. it doesn’t matter if you understand yet or not, he’ll fuck it into you until you do.

there’s a moment after he’s bottomed out inside you where neither of you move a muscle. he grits his teeth from the effort of holding on to the frayed rope that is his restraint and letting you get used to the wide stretch of him. ages pass before you reach up, slowly as if to not startle the beast above you, and cup his face in your soft palm. you stroke your thumb across his cheek, just on the edge of his scar. your touch is warm and gentle and cracks something inside him wide open.

the rope slip from his fingers. he lets it.

there’s no warning, no build-up before he’s pressing both palms down on your stomach and fucking into you. you reach up to hold on to any part of him, settling around his neck, a balm on his flushed skin even as your nails dig and bite into him.

“you feel that? hmm?” his smile feels jagged and sharp, more demon than man but you only moan at the sight of it, “you feel me in there?”

it’s a strange sensation, feeling himself carve a space inside you, the push and pull. it’s filthy and more intimate than it has any right to be and he fucking loves it.

“fuck, feel you i feel—” a rough thrust cuts you off and when you catch your breath, you’re still rambling, “—so good, you’re so good.”

zoro’s been called many things in his life but good isn’t one of them. it’s never bothered him before. good men don’t claw their way up in the world and leave a trail of slaughter in their wake. good men don’t scream at the heavens and demand to be heard.

zoro is not a good man. but he can be good. to you. for you.

“breathe, baby,” he says, “don’t forget to breathe.”

he presses down a bit harder and your reaction is instantaneous, legs kicking out, the tears that have been threatening to spill over since he stuffed a pillow under your hips finally sliding down your cheeks. you take him so beautifully and something barbed wraps around his heart and squeezes at the sight, shredding him to bloody pieces.

he knows you’re close before your eyes start to flutter, can feel it building like a storm inside you and chases your pleasure with reckless abandon.

“zoro.”

short inhale, long exhale. his name a sigh on your parted lips as you clench tight around him and cum. he doesn’t stop moving for a second, doesn’t let up the pressure even as he feels you gush all over him, soaking his cock, his thighs, his stomach. his strokes stay sure and steady as he fucks you through your high.

you shudder beneath him before relaxing back into the bed and he slows to a stop to let you catch your breath. it hurts to look at you, all divine and fucked out. it’s a sight too holy for a hellbound man like him to behold but he drinks it in anyway, burns it into his mind. 

what’s one more sin to a demon?

zoro slips out of you with a hiss through gritted teeth, taking a moment to admire the creamy ring around his base, your arousal and cum still dripping off him. you’ve marked him as yours and yours alone without even trying and his cock twitches at the thought.

“no why?” you whine as he pulls back further, “give it back.”

“turn over,” even as he speaks, he’s manhandling you until you’re laid out on your stomach, hips propped up with the pillow he takes care to push under you. zoro kisses down your spine before settling between your spread legs and greeting your cunt with a broad stroke of his tongue, “i ever tell you that you taste good like this?”

“like- mmm fuck,” you say, all breathy as he circles around your swollen clit, “like what?”

“stretched out,” he murmurs, “open.” 

you’re past the point of words as he grabs two handfuls of your ass, spreads your sticky lips open with his thumbs and buries his tongue inside you. he savours the sweet little gasps you let you like the finest sake, groaning into your pussy as you start to rock your hips and grind your clit against him. he can’t catch a full breath, thinks he might be suffocating, and moans a bit louder.

a swarm of words bubble up hot and fast in his lungs, taking up space where breath once lived. half-formed thoughts try and fail to take shape in his mouth, weighing down the tongue that makes you writhe in the sheets. 

he can’t bring himself to speak but if he could, he’d show you. zoro wants to crack his ribs open so you can see the bloody wreckage you’ve caused, let you crawl in and keep you safe next to the heart that’s always, always, been yours. he’d probably burst into flames with so much goodness inside him but that’s alright. at least he’d keep you warm.

the words stay trapped where they are though and all he can do is all he’s ever known how to. he goes to work. zoro is singleminded in his task, fingers digging into the fat of your ass to keep you still while he devours you whole and it doesn’t take long before he’s pushing you off the edge he never let you stray too far away from.

he laps at your folds until you start to squirm away, crawling up the bed and away from him. he lets you put a bit of distance between you, lulls his prey into thinking it’s escaped before he pounces. between one breath and the next, zoro’s on you, draped along your back, licking at the sweat that beads down the nape of your neck. you arch into him, pushing back against the hardness digging into your ass before he rests his weight down on you, forcing you flat on your front.

“where do you want me, baby?” he asks, kissing behind your ear, “tell me where you want me.”

in this moment and in all others, zoro would do anything you told him to. you could make him hump you like an animal until he cums and lick your skin clean or stand across the room and jack off by himself with nothing but the lingering taste of your pussy to help him get off. he’d do it and he’d do it without an ounce of shame.

“want you inside,” you slur, “wanna be full.”

his entire being in the palm of your hands and you choose to be merciful.

“you sure?” he lifts up off you just enough to get a hand around his base and nudge his tip against your clit, “not too sensitive?”

“yeah, pl- i can take it.”

his grin is all teeth when he hears you correct yourself, “that’s my fucking girl. stay still, baby. let me take care of you.”

you’re soft and slick from his spit and two orgasms and when he bottoms out all at once, it’s with a low groan in your ear that echoes behind your breathy moan. sinking back inside you feels like rapture, like something he’s done nothing to deserve but basks in anyway with an endless greed.

he wraps his arms around you, one across your front groping at your chest while the other hooks around to put you in a headlock, keeping you pressed flush to him as he starts to rock into you. zoro is quiet in his worship, purposeful, and you’re nearly as quiet in receiving it, the room filled only by your soaked cunt and ragged breathing. though you don’t say anything, he can hear you loud and clear.

short inhale, long exhale.

a holy call he’s helpless to answer.

zoro fucks you to the rhythm of his name, short, devastating thrusts with his whole weight thrown behind him. he wants to live in this moment, could spend the rest of his days with his cock dragging along your walls slow and sure, relishing the way you tighten like a vice around him every time he flexes and cuts your air off mid-gasp.

but he swore an oath at your altar and zoro has always been a man of his words.

he cums with a sigh of your name, spilling inside you for what feels like ages before he collapses over you boneless and spent, his softening cock keeping you plugged nice and full just like you asked so sweetly for.

“you okay?” he asks, pulling out as gently as he can and helping you roll over when your trembling arms make it clear you can’t do it on your own.

“mhmm,” you pull yourself up until you’re nose to nose with him. zoro holds still as you scatter kisses across his face like stardust. his temple, his scar, the corner of his mouth. there’s no order, no pattern he can discern to the affection you bestow but he accepts it the way all blessings should be received. with silent gratitude.

“nothing hurts?” 

“no. but you’re carrying me to the bath.”

“okay.”

you tuck yourself into his side, reaching up to idly roll his earrings between your fingers, “and washing my hair.”

“okay.”

“and i’m gonna wash your hair.”

“okay.”

“say something else.”

he thinks for a moment, thinks of all he could never put to words and lets them stay as thoughts. instead, he meets your eyes and settles on a simple truth, “you’re beautiful.”

a smile, radiant and bright, breaks across your face. what happens, he wonders, when a demon is the cause of something as divine as your smile? it’s a question he doesn’t mind spending his life searching the answer to. 

dedicated to: mah wife @katslutski and the loml @saotoru

[charliemwrites]

Part 1

Finally finished this! I think I put way too much pressure on myself to get this just right and it gave me some major writer's block. Anyway, please enjoy!

Content: Wet dreams, Somnophilia (sort of), Identity Porn, Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy (through dreams), Uncomfortable Situation, Pushy/Predatory behavior (brief)

“Bad dreams again?”

Drowsy and sluggish, you blink at your aunt. She’s as sleek and coiffed as always, pressed business attire and shiny hair. Shoulders back, spine straight. A woman people respect and heed without question.

Your mother’s voice whispers in your ear, that lovingly patronizing tone. See how professional she looks, dear? Isn’t that nice?

It’s not Aunt Katie’s fault though. She does look professional, and it is nice. It suits her.

You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “They’re not bad, really. Just… intense.”

She hums, elegant fingers tracing the edge of your borrowed desk. “They can’t be very good if they’re keeping you up.”

You’re tired enough that you almost correct her a second time. The problem is that the dreams are too good. You wake up panting, sweating, halfway to – well. You’re not about to discuss the finer points of a kinky wet dream with your CIA aunt. Besides, it’s silly to get so defensive of something that affects you seemingly negatively.

“Maybe,” you reply, rubbing at your heavy eyes. It feels like you’re trying to look through clear jelly.

“Why don’t you take a break?” Aunt Kate suggests.

You frown, a pang of guilt striking your empty tummy. “No… no, I’m okay. It’s not even lunch yet.”

She smiles at you. The same fond smile she’s always graced you with, on holidays and birthdays, whenever she could escape the secretive walls and red tape to be with family.

“You’re already ahead on paperwork. You’re not a bad employee for getting a little sun.”

Your eyes flick longingly to the door.

Apparently, the government doesn’t believe in things like windows or sunlight. Your little desk is at the very end of a long, half-empty hallway in the middle of a concrete cube and drowning in awful blue fluorescence. You can’t even bring yourself to drag a plant to this crappy little island because you’d feel too guilty putting it through this.

“Okay… maybe just for a few minutes,” you allow.

Her smile widens as she nods for you to follow. “C’mon, I’ll walk you out. I think the dogs will be free for some enrichment.”

Well, that certainly gets you out of your squeaky office chair.

Honey sunlight drizzles over your neck and shoulders, dripping syrupy-slow down your spine. It diffuses through your chest, chasing away the artificial chill of the office. The sleepy haze retreats like frost melting from glass.

You sigh into the fresh air, ignoring the tang of gunpowder lingering on the breeze, and turn your face to the sun. Summer is coming to an end, the heat broken into mellower warmth. There won’t be many days like this left before autumn bites down and shakes the leaves from the trees. A shame you’ll likely waste most of them in your administrative prison. 

The dogs stretch out in the grass around you, tongues lolling and eyes bright, keeping you company. A furry bouquet of black and tan in the manicured grass, their ears and tails like stalks to strange plants.

You bury your fingers in Zeus’s coat and get a fuzzy white tummy for your efforts. He’s a young and handsome thing, the newest addition to the K-9 unit, still a bit fluffy around the ears. You try not to think of how that will fade and harden, just like the older dogs in the unit, just like his human counterparts. Just scratch at that itchy spot by his ribs and smile when his hindleg kicks.

Friga stands and stretches on your right side, leaning her shoulder into yours. Then picks her way around the others to sniff at Zeus. Offended by her interruption, he flails onto his stomach and nips at her, one big forepaw thumping the ground.

She goads him into playtime, and you watch with the older pack members as they begin to romp. They tumble and grumble around you, heedless of bumping into any of the others. You laugh, bright and loud—

The back of your neck tingles.

You glance around, not even sure why. Until you see a figure across the field. He’s standing by the track where about two dozen men are jogging. Recruits, you guess. But he’s not observing them or barking orders. No, he’s clearly turned to face you. It’s too far to make out any features, apart from what seems to be an unusual haircut.

You quickly glance away, surreptitiously trying to determine if the man’s attention was on something else that happened to be in your direction. But there’s little else but you and the dogs in this field, the kennels noticeably off to the left.

Then again, someone sitting in the grass with half the K-9 unit is a bit unusual. He’s probably trying to decide if it’s something that needs investigation. You hope it’s not.

Still, you can’t shake the discomfiting sense that he’s looking at you.

You ignore him until it’s time for the dogs to go back - but that prickly feeling of being watched never subsides.

That night, in the guest room of your aunts’ house, the dreams take on new life.

It starts as it always does. A dark room. A lush bed. Silky sheets. Moonlight seeping through blinds like smoke. And him.

He’s behind you. A broad body so solid you’d think he was a wall if not for the heat. It’s so intense this time, like a wildfire raging out of control, crawling from his skin beneath yours. You sense more than feel the big hand around your jaw. Rough fingers clutch at the plush of your thigh. Hot breath fans across the back of your neck, rippling shivers down your spine.

There’s a voice in your ear. No words you can discern, just a thunder-deep rumble with smoky edges. Stubble scrapes the delicate skin of your neck and catches in your hair.

A thick, heavy cock is buried deep inside you, kissing the entrance to your womb. Your pussy twinges a sweet-sharp ache with each deliberate grind of his hips. He’s spreading you open to get as deep as he can, throbbing balls pressed up tight to your sopping entrance.

Your own hands are all but useless. One twists desperately in the sheets, the other clutches at the meaty swell of his ass. Pleasure upends anything like sense or thought, even hazy dream logic. There is just this man fucking you like he owns you, two of his fingers in your drooling mouth, petting your tongue. A ring clicks against your teeth.

“Found you,” he whispers.

You jolt, eyes flying open. The powder blue ceiling of your borrowed room greets you. You’ve kicked the cotton sheets into a tangled mess around your ankles, tiny shirt ridden up your chest. Your panties are soaked.

The taste of metal lingers behind your incisors.

It’s a busy day. For once, you’re free from the confines of your sad little nook. Aunt Kate must have taken pity on your sorry state the day before and has procured busy work. Files that need hand delivery, or physical reports for you to gather. You don’t care if it’s just something to get you out of the office, you relish the stolen moments outside between buildings.

If there’s a downside, it’s the glances you attract. Everything about you projects civilian, despite the access card prominently pinned to the lapel of your blazer. It draws curious once-overs at best and suspicious scans at worst – or speculative appreciation at the very worst. Every time a fresh-faced recruit or overly decorated middle-aged man lingers as you pass, you hear your mother’s voice again.

Don’t you know what those military men are like? Practically animals. I couldn’t possibly let you be exposed to them.

It’s long ingrained to keep your eyes forward, head level, and try to keep your hips from swaying as much as possible. You’re grateful for whatever bit of paperwork you can clutch to your chest, just to hide your figure and have something to do with your hands.

You’re picking up some personnel files from the infirmary, smile brightly at the receptionist as she passes them over. Mallory is only a couple years older than you, and she’s been working here a year already.

“Lunch in the mess today?” she asks, spinning a pen between her fingers.

“As if you even need to ask,” you tease. “Noon?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

She blows you a kiss as you leave, counting the number of files to be sure you have them all. Your eyes skim over one of the names, a white label on the folder fin. “MacTavish, J.” in blocky typewriter font. You shuffle them back into a neat stack and pivot for Aunt Kate’s office.

You’re not in the moonlit bedroom this time. A half-moon grins down from a starry sky, wearing smoky nebulas for lipstick. Beneath you lays cool grass and soft earth, rich and loamy in your heaving lungs. Petals blooming in the dark kiss your overheated skin, little relief for the burn in your veins.

The change in scenery is almost as dizzying as the man between your thighs. Almost.

But it’s not the dew-saturated breeze that muddles your bewildered thoughts. It’s the hot, wet, clever tongue lavishing your drenched pussy. He licks in broad stripes from your aching hole to your throbbing clit, only ever pausing to indulge a slow suck to the bundle of nerves, before resuming that hypnotic circuit.

One thigh is hooked over a wide shoulder, your heel dug into the flexing muscles of a broad back. The other is spread by a big, calloused hand, giving him unfettered access to the softest, neediest parts of you.

You mewl desperately, hand darting down to his bobbing head. Your nails scrape shorn stubble, eliciting a gravelly groan that sends electricity up your tingling spine. It’s nothing compared to the growl you earn when your fingers twist into the longer, soft strands at the top.

For the first time, you’re able to voice more than helpless moans and wanton whimpers.

“Please,” you sob softly, “please.”

You feel him smirking, a wicked curl against your fluttering cunt. Then he focuses the tip of that awful, dexterous tongue on your clit, flicking in purposeful little strokes.

M-A-

“S-so close,” you whine, hips twitching. He pins you flat, pace never faltering.

V-I-

You shudder as your pussy clenches and spasms, finally, finally—

You wake with a sharp sound, head spinning. Your orgasm washes away like the tide, leaving disappointment and exhaustion behind. You nearly scream into your pillow as you press your thighs together. Still half asleep, it even feels like you have beard-burn.

You’re in line at the mess with Mallory, listening to her complain about some rude colonel that just had to share his opinion about her acrylics. She does the best impressions, and you’re grinning and laughing as the two of you shuffle through the options. You’re reaching for a scoop of rice when the conversation behind you catches your attention.

“—came in a couple days ago.”

“The whole squad?”

“With Braveheart himself.”

A snort. “You better not let MacTavish hear you say that. He’ll—”

“Helloooo?” You blink at Mallory, who arches her brows and waves a bagel at you. “Want one?”

“Oh, uh… sure, why not,” you answer.

“Atta girl!” she cheers, tossing it in the toaster. “Carbs for days.”

You giggle but can’t help glancing behind you. The two men have already moved on though. Not that it was any of your business – or anything interesting. You’re not sure why that caught your attention. Men are just loud, you suppose, snatching a couple to-go packets of cream cheese.

As you’re leaving the mess, you happen to glance over your shoulder. A pair of sharp blue eyes catch yours from one of the tables. A group of men, just about to sit. Mallory tugs your shirt to keep you from clipping the doorjamb and you hurry after her.

There’s heat at your back. Not from a body this time, but a fire burning low and hot in a hearth. No, the body is in front of you this time, filling up your watery field of vision. Peachy skin and coarse dark hair, an old scar slashing across a sharp hip, miles of lean muscle.

Not that you have much opportunity to ogle with tears blurring your sight. The fat cock bullying the back of your throat makes it hard to do anything but choke. You dig your nails into a thick thigh and pull back, writhing your tongue along a puffy vein as you go. The leaking head rests on your drenched tongue as you catch your breath. Smoke and leather and musk saturate your lungs, cloud your empty head.

He smells so good; you don’t even like cigars.

A rough thumb caresses your cheek, a silent request for you to continue. You can practically feel the lust-drunk moans vibrating in his chest – so deep, they’re barely audible over the crackling fire.

You hiccup as deep a breath as you can manage and swallow him down again. He’s silky on your tongue, you sigh softly through your nose as the blunt head flirts with your gag reflex. You slacken your jaw despite the ache already crawling into the joint. Even then, your teeth scrape the base a bit, but that only makes him twitch against your soft palate.

“Look here, love.”

Your lashes flutter as you try to focus your gaze, scrolling your eyes up his body. Most of the details are lost either in the haze of desire or the vagary of dreams, but the blue eyes that greet you are sharper than real life.

You jolt back to consciousness with a dry cough, the scent of him still haunting your senses. You stumble to the restroom for water. Don’t even realize that you’re glancing in the mirror over your shoulder, expecting someone to be there, until you realize you’re alone.

Oddly bereft, you trudge back to bed and try to focus on the clean soap smell of your aunts’ detergent.

In moments like this, it’s hard not to blame yourself.

Not because you’ve done anything wrong, or even feel like you have. It’s because the situation is so frustratingly out of your control that it’s almost easier to tell yourself that one decision or another would have avoided this outcome. A sharper response, a frown instead of a smile, a different walking route.

(There’s also your mother’s voice, always. Saying to be smart, to pay attention, to not “put yourself” in a vulnerable position. You silence that voice viciously this time.)

Still, the fact of the matter is, there’s no personal choice you could have made to keep Corporal Callahan from cornering you in this supply closet. You just wanted a box of tissues.

“Look, I know you’re Agent Laswell’s niece, but I don’t see why we can’t go out because of it,” he reasons. As if that’s the reason you’ve been trying to gently dissuade his attempts.

“It’s not that—” you begin, shifting. He’s standing too close, but you refuse to back yourself any deeper into this tiny space. The doorway is right there, he’s just taking up all of it.

“Then just say yes,” he chuckles. His tone is all smooth and easy, meant to be charming maybe? “Just one date, that’s all I’m asking.”

Except you’re not asking, you think with helpless frustration. The sharp words get trapped behind your teeth, cutting up the roof of your mouth. Your heart is beating so hard and loud you can barely hear his “romantic” overtures.

“I’m not really…” You’re not even sure what to say this time; you’ve already told him you’re not looking to date. He’d said some vaguely predatory line about changing your mind.

In the absence of a finished statement, Callahan takes the opportunity to continue cajoling.

“C’mon,” he sing-songs, “I’m not letting you out of there until you say yes.”

You pry your jaw open, about to agree to it just for the sake of getting free. Deal with the fallout later.

There’s a rush of air and suddenly the doorway is empty. You briefly see Callahan against the opposite wall, face blank in unpleasant surprise. Then a big body blocks your view of him. Broad, bunched shoulders and thick thighs. A shock of brunet hair shaved close at the sides and long at the top. Your entire body locks up.

“You come near her again, they won’ stop findin’ pieces of ya, aye?” A growl, low and rough, Scottish accent thick. You shiver.

Callahan stutters something, a few garbled syllables through a strained and winded voice. You think you might hear “captain” in there somewhere. The bigger man shifts, you hear a muffled thump – Callahan hitting the wall again, you think. Then, with seemingly no effort, your savior tosses Callahan to the side like trash. He stumbles, catches himself.

“Away ‘n bile yer heid.”

Callahan flicks one last frightened glance your way then hurries off, proverbial tail tucked between his scrawny legs. You don’t even watch him go, eyes glued to the stranger’s muscular back. He rolls his wide shoulders, cracks his neck, and finally turns.

Familiar blue eyes pin you in place as he steps closer. The scent of cigar smoke and leather teases your nose.

A voice you’ve known for months rumbles in his chest. “Found you.”

Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You're a stupid drunk and James Potter is very very bad at dealing with his romantic feelings.

Genre: Angst (happy ending), fluff, hurt and comfort (a little bit of everything honestly)

Warnings: jealous!james, stupid!james, swearing, screaming, arguments, crying, injuries, punching, blood, protective!James, protective!marauders, platonic!best friends!marauders, confessions, dangerous activities (reader puts herself in danger), mentions of dying

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

You look towards the ground and your ankle bends a little in your winter boots as you try to control your movements. The cherry liquor you had drank earlier lingers in your mouth and in your drunken haze, the tower you're currently balancing on feels secure as you move forwards and the onlookers below continue to cheer. 

"Please don't stay out too late," Remus warned you.

You blush, shaking some snow from your hair as you outstretch your arms for better balance, biting your lip. You look up at the sky, the stars prominent this evening.

"And don't drink too much," James reminded you with small smile. 

"We'll see you there," Sirius promised.

What the hell did they know? You pout, now staring down at the snow on the ground. They hadn't even shown up!

You hear someone call your name and you look down to see Arthur Brown, a Ravenclaw boy you'd been talking with at a party. He's handsome with a charming smile and as you wave to him, you almost fall over. 

Arthur just chuckles and encourages you to continue whatever nonsense and liquid courage inspired you to walk on the castle roof in the snow this late at night. 

"Y/n?" you hear Remus's strained shout and when you turn your head, you're surprised to see Remus, James, and Sirius rushing over. They aren't dressed for the cold weather and they look extremely shaken and confused. "Come down from there," Remus shouts. You wonder how they'd known.

Sirius looks pale and James is frantically looking around to find some way to help you down safely. He looks more distraught than the others and Sirius has to calm him.

Your eyebrows knit together. You're afraid James might make a scene. Only, why would he? You know he'd let Remus, Sirius, or Peter do this in a heart beat, and he'd find it funny.

Bloody hell, James would probably do it himself so why does he look so worried when it's you?

"Bugger off, she's fine," Arthur interrupts as you take another step. Your boots slip on the snow again but you laugh as you move your arms out further to catch yourself. "See, she's fine. So, stop being her little guard dogs for one second and let her live a little," he says with unnecessary venom. 

"What did you just say?" Sirius barks, grabbing Arthur's collar. He looks furious now. 

"Y/n, come down, please, honey," Remus calls, occasionally telling Sirius to drop it and to concentrate on you.

You frown as Arthur's teasing riles up your friends and the crowd underneath you. Wind swirls around you and you gasp, feeling suddenly even more unbalanced and you start to realize maybe this wasn't the smartest plan.

"You fuckin' prick, don't talk about her like that, you hear me?" James suddenly swears loudly. Because you hadn't been paying attention to the boys under you, when you hear James and look down at him, you see that he'd pushed Arthur into the snow and was pinning him down.

Alarmed by their shouts, you accidentally slip as you turn around to make sure James's is okay.  

You let out a shriek and all the students suddenly look up, seeming to remember your presence. Momentarily distracted by your scream, Arthur slams his elbow into James's cheekbone and sends him falling off him. Chaos ensues as everyone rushes to crowd around both you and James separately. 

Remus kneels next to you, his hand coming behind your head to support you up. You're clutching at your ankle as you wail uncontrollably from the way you had fallen onto the snow. With nimble fingers, Remus cuffs your jeans and sees how swollen your ankle looks. "Oh, honey, that looks like it hurts," he whispers and caresses your cheek with his knuckles. 

From next to you, Sirius and other students are standing around James; James, who has scrambled up from the ground. His nose is bleeding and the crimson liquid stains the snow as he curses at Arthur. Sirius is holding James up by his shoulders and he uses his hand to pinch James's nose as his best friend winces in pain. Arthur, who has a prominent bruise under his eye, is pulled away by his friends. 

"What happened here?" The low drone of the Headmaster, accompanied by an anxious looking Professor McGonagall, is heard and you all turn your heads around.

* * *

Around an hour later, as Madam Pomfrey takes the time to heal your ankle, a disheveled looking James sits on the bed opposite of yours. He's holding a handkerchief to his nose and Madam Pomfrey hasn't tended to his injury yet. To her defense, James still looks extremely pissed and you wouldn't want to approach him either. You won't have that same luxury as the moment Madam Pomfrey is gone, James is staring.  

"What were you thinking?" he whispers, his tone quipped. Still a little fuzzy from how drunk you'd been, you blink at him and shift uncomfortably. 

"What was I thinking? What were you thinking?" you counter, defensively.

"What?" James drops the handkerchief and glares. 

"Why would you jump Arthur like that?"

"Why the fuck do you care?" James hisses, his eyes narrowing. He's your best friend, he knows you hate it when he swears but that doesn't stop him now. "You're fucking reckless, you know? How could you have been so fucking stupid?"

You stare at James as your eyes water painfully. No coherent words form in your head. You're grateful for an escape when Remus and Sirius pile into the room. 

Sirius rushes to your side. "Aw, poor sweetness, does it hurt terribly?" his sentence dies when he sees your tears and he wraps an arm around you so you can hug him. "Y/n, what's wrong?" 

Remus, always more intuitive than Sirius, looks at James and sees James's furious expression. He frowns and quickly walks over to his best friend and holds onto his arm. James pushes him away and you see Remus whisper something in his ear. 

However, Sirius pulls your attention away from them as he wipes your tears with his thumb. 

"I am not!" Your attention is pulled again and you hear James shout as Remus shushes him.

You sniff, and look at Sirius. "James hates me," you say and Sirius's expression falls. He looks behind and sees Remus and James's shushed argument. He turns to you and holds your chin in his hand as his gaze softens. 

"James couldn't hate you even if he'd been cursed to," he says so simply.

You shake your head and bite your lip. "No, he's really mad…like really mad, Pads."

Sirius chuckles and sighs, "Oh sweetie, James isn't really mad at you. He's mad at himself. Merlin, you should have seen him when he first saw you on that roof, the poor bloke looked about ready to faint." 

Sirius continues and turns to Remus and James only to see they've moved further away from you and Sirius, and James looks like he could burst into tears at any moment, "Jamie is madly in love with you, Y/n. Just the possibility of you and another guy makes him go absolutely bonkers. And listen, if he hadn't hit Arthur like he did, I don't know if you would have fallen, doll. James knows that too and he's simply mad with guilt."

You try to concentrate on Sirius's entire story but your mind stays stuck at the words; "James? In love with me?" 

Sirius's lips curl in amusement but he doesn't have the time to answer because he hears Remus shout an exasperated; "Prongs!" as James, his nose still very much broken and bloody, storms out of the Hospital Wing without a second word. Your chest tightens as you watch him and if you could, you'd run after him.

* * *

James has been avoiding you. Or more accurately, he's been avoiding everyone for the last three days. He's never in the common room anymore and he has evening detentions with Professor McGonagall so you don't see him at all outside of classes. Remus, Sirius, and Peter all tell you he's been quiet in their dorm too and that they don't know what's happened with him either. 

Remus won't tell anyone what he spoke to James about that night in the Hospital Wing.

By the fourth day of complete silence, you've had enough. You manage to catch James on his way to detention. You speed walk over to him and cut his path, spinning around to look at him. You gasp when you see him. His face is bruised and his lip is split. "James!" you gasp and stop him. James's brown eyes narrow and he looks angry. 

"Get out of my way, Y/n," he hisses as his fists clench. 

"What happened?" you insist. His burises look horrible, and you think that he hadn't got his broken nose healed properly since he'd stormed out of the Hospital Wing. Why handn't the boys told you James looked like this?

"Are you a bloody insane? What he fuck happened?" your voice comes out stern and James pauses at your curse word, his frustrated expression faltering for a moment. 

"What?"

You hold onto his sleeve and push him into the nearest girls lavatory. James almost trips as you make him lean against the sink. His eyes widen when you pull out your wand and firmly grasp his chin in your hands. You ignore his whinning as you point your wand at his wounds. "Episky—shush be still," you mutter sternly as you heal all of his wounds. "What is wrong with you, James Potter? Tell me who you've been tousling with this instant!"

James scrunches his nose and touches where his wounds had been. He leans away from you. "Nobody," he says, his voice high so you know he's lying. 

"James," you warn. You move away and shove your wand in your cloak. "Please, tell me."

James has never been able to deny you a thing, even at times like this. "Fine, just don't lose your head over it, bird," you scowl at the nickname with an eye roll. "Brown keeps pushing my buttons, is all," he says. 

"Arthur? The same boy who broke your nose?"

"Yeah, that little fucker, I'm pretty sure he's in love with you—or he has some weird obsession because he can't keep your name out of his fucking mouth," James suddenly pinches his nose and shuts his eyes, "Shi-sorry I keep curing, I know you don't like it when we curse." 

Almost like he's sulking, James leans against the sink and stares at you. He doesn't speak. 

"You're such a wanker," you mumble and look at him more closely, "Why are you acting like such a prick since that night?"

"Oh, since the night you almost fucking died?" James raises his eyebrows, his tone sarcastic and you ignore the curse word again. 

"Horrible exaggeration considering all I did was break my ankle."

"Could have been your neck," James deadpans. 

"Well, it wasn't my neck and that's certainly no excuse to be a such a prat," you say seriously. James considers your words and sighs. He runs a hand through his shaggy hair and looks away. 

"What do you want me to say?" he asks. 

You stare at him like he's absolutely mental. "That you're sorry?"

James laughs and you swear you've never met a boy as stubborn as he is. "Why would I be sorry?"

"Are you serious, James?" you whisper and press your finger accusingly on his chest, "Listen to me, I know I shouldn't have been on that roof, that's my mistake, but you know damn well I wouldn't have been on that roof if you'd all come with me to the party like you'd promised!" your voice comes out rushed, "And I wouldn't have fallen if you didn't have to knock down Arthur Brown and make me worried for you!"

James's cheeks are flaming. "You think I, out of everyone, don't know that?" he says, straightening up and moving closer to you, his voice harsh, "do you think I don't lay awake at night, going absolutely insane over every possible scenario that prevents you from falling?" James's voice cracks and he steps forwards again. 

You look up at him, slightly breathless. For someone so angry, James looks undeniably handsome. "I know we should have gone to the party with you, but Merlin, I couldn't bear another one! Another party I would have had to spend watching other boys fawn all over you! Fuck, Y/n, how could I have known you would decide take a drunken nightly stroll on a roof because we hadn't shown up!"

You listen to him, eyes wide, "You don't like it when boys fawn over me?" you whisper. 

James frowns. He bites his lip and squeezes his eyes closed. "Of course I don't," he says, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 

"Why?" 

"Because you should be mine," James's voice is smaller now, less authoritative, less angry. 

You stare at him and take in his expression with an inhale of breath. "But, James, I am yours."

James shakes his head quickly and tugs at his curls. "No, no. You aren't mine. You're ours. Sirius, Remus, Peter—you're our best friend. And I was okay with that, until I wasn't anymore and now everytime Arthur Brown says he wants to kiss your lips all I want is to punch something." James's fists clench and he looks away from you. 

"You're scaring me," you look at him, whispering honestly but you don't move away from him.

James looks down and this time he looks really remorseful, "I'm sorry, Y/n, I don't meant to scare you. I—"

"So, Sirius was right," you inquire, taking his sudden remorse as a widow for a civilized conversation. 

"Sirius was right about what?" 

"You're in love with me," you don't say it as a question, more like a statement and James's eyes round so wide you're almost afraid they'll pop out of his skull.

James tries to escape but as he backs away, he bumps into the sink and his heart sinks. His eyes are moving so rapidly around the room and his cheeks have turned a less aggressive crimson and into a more lovesick pink. 

"Why does everyone keep telling me that?" he mumbles to himself, feeling warmth on his cheek. 

"What?"

James rubs at his nape and looks less angry and more nervous. You smile. You had been right to strike this conversation now. "Moony, in the Hospital Wing. He said I loved you—which was why I was acting like a prick and I don't," he backtracks immediately, "I mean, I love you as a friend and n-nothing more."  

You expected to feel pain at the rejection but instead, you laugh. You stare at James and laugh harder. So hard, you clutch your sides and James's eyebrows crease with worry as you hyperventilate in front of him. 

"Because you should be mine," you repeat his words through your laughter, "That's what you said and now you want me to believe you aren't in love with me?!"

"What?!" James's crimson cheeks have returned and he sounds annoyed now, "I- listen, sorry to disappoint but I-I am not in love with you!"

"You aren't?" you look at him, your eyes flickering to his lips. 

"No!"

"Then why do you want me to be yours? What does that mean, hmm, James?"

You walk a little closer and your arms rest on the sink behind him. You ignore the way your heart is pounding your chest and screaming at you as you stand so close to him. James is staring down as you look up at him through your lashes. You expect another protest, maybe another incoherent defense, but instead he mumbles, "Fuck it," under his breath and takes your cheeks in his hands as he kisses you. 

Without a second thought, you kiss him back. Your hand tangles in his hair as you press your lips to his. It's almost animalistic the way James is kissing you and it only lasts a few seconds before he's disconnecting your lips and resting his forehead onto yours. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he pants, shaking his head, "I shouldn't have kissed you without asking you—"

     "Oh, shut up," you grumble and kiss him again. He accepts the kiss and spins you around. He uses his arm to hoist you onto the sink and deepen the kiss. You hold onto him and wince when your hip accidentally hits the faucet. James pulls away and looks at you like he can't believe what just happened. 

"Okay, so maybe I am in love with you," he finally admits and his chest is heaving from all the emotions. 

You crack a smile, "I'm in love with you too, James," you admit and touch his cheek. "Only, you can't act like a prick to me when you can't deal with your emotions. You should have told me all these feelings instead of sulking like a child." 

James nods and squeezes his eyes shut, "I was just so angry at myself," he whispers.

"I know, Sirius said that was the reason."

James chuckles with a roll of his eyes, "How does Sirius suddenly know my emotions better than I do? He's usually the emotional wreck!" 

You adjust his glasses a little, "He's just observant," you say, "and you're stubborn."

James pulls you in, holding you close to him as he dips and kisses your neck. He hums against your skin and whispers, "I'm such a fool, can you forgive me?" he asks, basically pleads, "I'm just, I was jealous."

You laugh, "Oh, I know. But, James, you know you have no reason to be jealous of anyone."

James whines and looks at you with his famous doe eyes; "I have every reason to be jealous. I'm jealous of the way Peter laughs at your jokes, or how Remus bonds over books with you. I'm jealous of Sirius and how he makes you laugh, and I'm jealous of every boy that looks your way. And worst of all, I'm jealous of the sun because it shines on you every day and I can't," he sounds like a lovesick idiot. He's barely making sense. 

You look at him seriously, "James. You are the sun. You're my sun." 

James looks into your eyes and bats his eyelashes innocently. He says, "So, you forgive me for being a wanker?" It's obvious he wants to make you laugh and he succeeds as you chuckle and playfully and lightly swat his cheek. 

"I'll forgive you," you say, "for now."

James pouts but he also lifts you and spins you around. He drops you on the ground, his hands at your hips and kisses your forehead. "I'll take it, love. Now, let's tell our friends we aren't mad at each other anymore."

"I was never really mad with you," you point out with a snort as James takes your hand. 

James squints, and looks behind his shoulder at you. "Yeah, you were," he says but when you shake your head he decides not to argue with you and just smiles, "Okay, fine, then let's go tell our friends I'm not being a baby anymore."

"Much better," you beam with a giggle and James realizes with a hopeless smile that he wants to be the only reason you ever giggle like that again. 

Merlin, he really is madly in love with you.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

45 / 1.9k / soap soulmate au, part 11

...

Mercenaries can be paid off for just about anything.

So when Price rings your cell phone to propose a trade—Laswell had your number, naturally—Horangi has no qualms with fishing it out of your pocket. You glare at him, but he doesn’t bother giving you anything more than a dry look before he answers it.

You hear Price’s voice from the speaker in Horangi’s ear. "Was wondering what was taking you lot so long."

Horangi sighs. It never ends, apparently. "What do you want?" he asks.

"Just to talk," Price replies. "What's your rate?"

"Come again?" Horangi asks.

"We're all soldiers here. Unfortunate that our mission came at the cost of yours, but we can all walk away happy, hm? I want to make sure you don’t go uncompensated. That’d be a shame."

Horangi scowls, but one of your squadmates in the back seat grips your shoulder and shifts his weight toward the phone in obvious interest.

"What do you have in mind?” Horangi asks.

"First, your rate."

"Too rich for your blood."

"Try me."

Horangi narrows his eyes. Then he shrugs and throws out a number. It's far more money than KorTac’s real fee, but before you can decide whether to say something, Price speaks again.

"We'll double that."

"Will you now?"

"I will. Even pay you all directly if you like. No need to involve the company. Just keep your handler’s cut for yourselves. I won’t say a word," Price says. "That should be good enough, shouldn't it?"

Horangi leans back, tapping the steering wheel in thought, but you can tell he's interested now. "What's the job?"

"Not a job, really. Just a favor. Let us have custody of your songbird, and the money's yours. Make up some story about how she got away or got shot if you need a scapegoat. We’ll turn a blind eye if you prefer. Keep the record nice and clean."

Horangi glances at you. “Songbird’s worth a lot to the company.”

“You’re not the company, now are you? You already did the damn job. You should get paid. You and your team.”

He likes the sound of that. Price's offer turns both of your situations into something everybody can be pleased with. Get the mercs paid for what they lost. They get the girl. Fine by him. He hums in thought. “Cash in hand.”

There’s a beat of silence on Price’s end. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Cash in hand,” Horangi says again. “Or no deal.”

“Are you sure about that? Wired funds spend just as well as cash.”

“I can afford to be picky, my friend.”

Another long pause. “Is that so?”

“Apologies. I’d be happy to consider your deal if I hadn’t already made a better one with someone else. He’s willing to pay cash.”

“Who?”

Horangi scoffs and ends the call. He tosses your phone into the backseat floorboards and ignores your stare burning into the side of his head. “Don’t worry, rookie,” he tells you. “You know it’s a better deal than you’d get back at base. You’ll thank me one day.”

…

But you don’t make it back to base.

It’s an ambush. A trap—Horangi doesn’t see the charges on either side of the road until it’s too late, and the truck transporting you flips forward onto its roof. One minute, you’re feeling the melted snow in your boots; the next, you’re looking down at the road through the windshield. Then you’re coming to in a haze of gunfire and hoarse voices barking call-and-response orders all around you.

It’s not until your teammates have evacuated the wrecked truck that you attempt to move yourself and do the same. Maybe they plan to come back for you; maybe they think you’re dead. Maybe you are dead. You really fucking hope not. Whatever death has in store for you, it had better not force you to contend with the agonizing pain of a dislocated shoulder and broken glass buried in every second nerve ending.

You push against the seatbelt holding you to the seat, having to twist out of your coat just to slump to the pavement. You’re still ziptied, but you have to move. If whoever laid this ambush finds you, you're done for.

Somehow, all you can think about is Johnny. If he could see you now, he’d never let you hear the end of it. He’d lecture you like a goddamn recruit. You hate how much you want to see his stupid face get angry at you again.

There’s a long lull in the gunfire. Then the sound of approaching footsteps. Someone curses and orders the others to “spread out,” searching for your scattered teammates—for survivors.

Your teammates aren’t coming. You’re on your own.

Then you remember Price’s call and Horangi swiping your phone from your pocket.

Desperately, you shoulder your way back into the wreckage. Somehow, you find it. The screen is cracked, but it still lights up when you wrestle your bound wrists under your feet and touch the screen. Thank Christ. You redial Price's number from the call log.

He picks up on the first ring. "Go for Price."

"I need to talk to Johnny."

There's a moment of crackling silence through the line. Then: "Soap's tied up at the moment. What's going on?"

"I don't know. Ambush. The car flipped." You wince, feeling broken glass cut into your shoulder. The slushy pavement under you is turning ruddy. Oh, that’s your blood. "It's bad."

Price swears under his breath. "Where are you?"

"Near the base of the mountain. In the side. There's a... a lot of trees. Twenty hostiles. I think. I can't see."

"Stay put. We'll find you. Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime."

"I want to talk to Johnny."

"For God’s sake. You can talk to him in person when we find you. Just sit tight."

"Let me talk to my goddamn soulmate," you hiss. You put as much venom into your voice as you can, but even you hear how weak you sound.

Price says something away from the speaker you can't quite make out. There's shuffling and then another familiar voice picks up, low and gruff, and tinged with a Scottish burr.

"Hen?"

The wave of relief that sweeps through you renders you mute for a second.

That makes the worry in his tone swell. “You okay? They hurt you?"

The concern in his voice has your throat tightening. Dammit.

Before you can reply, there's another burst of gunfire and a hostile voice much too close by for comfort. You grab the phone and edge your way further into the tenuous safety of the wreckage. You clutch the phone in your hands, barely clocking the glass screen digging into your palm.

The sound of your voice cutting out over the line triggers Soap’s anxiety all over again. He curses up a storm on the other end, his voice rising with every word and the urgency in his tone growing as he calls you by name.

You hear more footfalls, but whoever it is, they don't seem to notice you. You've not been gunned down yet, at least. You need to find somewhere safer.

Peering around the wreckage, you look for somewhere else you can hide. The tree line is close. You don't know how long you'll last in the snow no matter what, especially without your coat—but cold cover is safer than none. Staying under a leaking, gasoline-filled truck carcass isn’t a good long-term plan.

Soap’s voice rises over the line. "Dammit, say somethin'!"

Finally you do. "Johnny?"

"Jesus." Soap closes his eyes, hoping like hell he's not about to hear you get shot, or captured, or worse. He can already tell by the rough sound of your voice that he's not going to like what you say next. "I'm here," he says quickly, trying to keep the worry from his own voice. "Where are ya?"

"I’m an idiot. I'm sorry for everything I put you through. I shouldn’t have been so stubborn about..." You let out a harsh sigh. "You. Just wanted to tell you that."

It suddenly feels like there's a block of ice lodged in Soap’s chest. "That a goodbye, darlin'?" he says.

"I'm doing my goddamn best. Alright?"

"That’s a sorry fuckin’ excuse. You’re aways doing your best," Soap snaps. An ugly, hard thread of bitterness creeps into his tone. "Trouble is you always choose the worst way of goin’ about it. I’m not lettin' you go like this.”

"I know it's my fault," you retort. "Okay? I should've listened to you. Are you happy to hear me fucking say it?"

"Does it look like that's gonna fix things?" Soap’s voice rises with every word now. His temper is frayed at the edges. "No, I'm not bloody happy. I don't want apologies. I don't want some grand realization. I just want you to survive. You're damn right you fucked up. And you've got a lot of work to do to make it up to me, so you'd best stay alive. You hear me?"

You swallow, clutching the phone tighter in your hands.

"Answer me."

"I'll try."

"No. You'll do," Soap says in a voice that brooks no argument. His voice drops low again, but the anger is still there. "You will make it back to me. You'll do whatever it takes. You don't get to leave me alone after all the trouble you gave me. I'll not hear one more sorry excuse."

God. You want him so bad it hurts. You close your eyes, concentrating on the pain of the glass in your skin and your dislocated shoulder to sharpen your focus. "Fine."

"That's my girl." The words come out rough, heated, and tinged with something like pride. "You just stay put," he says. "We'll find you."

You tense as another set of voices raise in aggravation nearby. The longer you stay here, the greater the chance you'll be seen. "I have to go," you say lowly into the phone. "Need better cover."

"Stay on the line," he says quickly. "Do not hang up. Hen!"

You bring your ziptied wrists down hard on the edge of your boot—and again, and again, pain radiating up your arm—until it finally snaps.

With your hands free, you pull yourself out from under the wreckage and away, leaving Soap on the line to hear nothing but shouting and gunshots.

Soap listens through the phone, biting down hard on the curse that threatens to tear free. He can't lose you. He's going crazy imagining the worst right now. His mind is all too happy to cycle through a parade of gory images. No. No, you can't go, not like this.

He'd give anything to be a knife on your belt right now. A bullet in your gun. Anything but this—this utter fucking helplessness. He can’t do anything but sit on the other end of a line and listen. It's torture.

Even with Price at the wheel, racing all of them toward the bottom of the mountain.

"We'll make it, Soap," is all Price says.

Soap nods, but he barely hears it. All he can listen to is the sound of gunfire through the phone and the cold, visceral rage in the pit of his stomach. He'll claw his way to you with his bare hands if he has to. It doesn’t matter how much blood and sweat it costs him to get you back. You’d better keep your word and stay alive to make it up to him.

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / [part 11] / part 12

more Soap / masterlist

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hello this is my first time doing an ask. Would you be able to write Trey, Ruggie, and Jamil. (Maybe Azul if you can) Reacting to there darling cooking dinner and having obviously less food than them.

I'm sorry if this makes no sense. Also I love your writing. 🐙💜 Octo heart <3.

A Giving Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Money is tight for an otherworlder and it’s a beautiful chance that you get a roof over your head at the very least. Maybe a small but oh so generous allowance is enough for one student at Night Raven. But you weren’t a student on your own–you were only one half of the puzzle. And you’re allowance doesn’t exactly understand that Grim’s lack of control doesn’t stop past the doorway of Ramshackle. It’s not all Grim but expenses pile up and sometimes you’ll make the ultimate decision to maintain the reserves you do have. And just because you’re struggling doesn’t mean the friends you cherish should suffer…it’s just that some sacrifices are meant to be:

Trey Clover

“Hey Trey I just wanted to thank you for all the sweets you give me, so here’s a lunch I made!”

“Wow thank you (Y/n)! That’s so nice of you. Guess that’s why you told me not bring lunch today…(Y/n)?”

“Yes?”

“Where’s your lunch?”

“Oh don’t worry about me! I’ll be fine!”

“I’m buying you lunch…and dinner.”

He’s annoyed 

Because you didn’t rely on him in the first place

He was sure that by giving all the sweets he did it would convince you he was perfect to share all your problems with

But it seems your selflessness knows no bounds

And luckily neither does his love

He’s happy the science club will finally be of use to him

He just needs something that will compel you to tell him all that’s going on

Sure he can talk to Grim but then that might get the monster to start talking with others

“But I don’t need–”

“Yes you do. I have to make sure your eating! How else are you going to live long enough to be my spouse.”

Ruggie Bucchi

“Thanks for helping me roll our jerseys, (Y/n).”

“No problem! Hey I also made you dinner I left it on the table for you!”

“T-t-thanks..”

“Yay! Dinner!”

“(Y/n)...aren’t you eating too?”

“I’m actually going to keep at it! So enjoy dinner.”

“...”

He knows exactly what your doing

He’s seen his grandmother do that same thing 

He hates that you do that

He hates how much you remind him of himself

And he knows you’re too much of a goody two shoes to do whatever it takes to survive

Good thing he isn’t 

Guess he better fill up your cabinets more often 

And have Leona pay for more of your meals

Until then he’s got no problem hazing and stealing from whoever to make sure you’re eating

“I’m not going to let you go hungry. Laugh with me!”

Jamil Viper

“You really didn’t have to cook for me, (Y/n).”

“Seriously Jamil don’t worry about it, it’s the least I could do. You’re always cooking for us when we go to Scarabia.”

“...(Y/n) is that really all you want to eat?”

he refuses to let such a thing go 

He almost finds it insulting that you serve him without feeding yourself properly

Especially since he knows just how much you can eat

He pays attention

He’s peeved because he has access to all sorts of resources as Al Asim’s servant 

And he knows Kalim would shower you if he even caught wind of it

He knows just how little you want to share

You’re so gullible and naive he almost feels bad that he has to take control from you

Not really

“Tell me what you’d really like (Y/n)? And I want you to believe that only I can give it to you.”

[strawberrystepmom]

umemiya x f!reader. reader is wearing a bathing suit. established relationship, very suggestive, mentions of marriage. | divider thanks to cafekitsune like always, wc 1k even.

The haze of summer has settled thickly over all of Makochi, the air almost heavy enough to wrap around you and wear it. A subtle sheen of humidity settles over your shoulders and face; cicadas sing their song in the distance and wind chimes tinkle when a breeze mercifully blows by to cool your heated skin. The heat can’t prevent you from being outside, though. You lie on your belly beneath the blazing sun in your stringiest bikini, legs stretched out behind you while Hajime cares for his personal garden - the one meant just for the two of you - atop his apartment building. He hums a little tune, occasionally throwing in a whistle for good measure to make you giggle at him while your cheek rests against your folded arms, watching his every move.

It didn’t feel so hot about fifteen minutes ago but now that you’re watching sweat dampen the back of his white t-shirt and cling to his body, you sigh dramatically and he’s at your side in an instant, ever in tune with whatever you need.

“What’s wrong?”

You glance up at him and smile, unfolding your arms and stretching them above your head, flipping from your belly onto your back to give him a view of the front of you, gentle grooves in your skin when you shift from how tightly your bathing suit is secured around you. He doesn’t hide his ogling, raking steel blue eyes from your throat to your belly button and to your thighs, wiping his hairline with his forearm.

“Wanna use those broad shoulders to block the sun for me for a few minutes?”

Hajime smiles and nods wordlessly at your request, taking a few big steps to the left to block the sun from getting in your eyes, casting a tall and cool shadow over your upper body. He wipes his hands together to free them of any dirt or grime from the plants, twisting his body to point them in the opposite direction of where you lie across a large old sheet, your sandals pinning down opposite corners to keep the breeze from blowing it up. Removing one of his gloves, he pops it in his pocket and reaches down to press his palm against your skin, hissing through his teeth.

“Hot even for you.” He raises a brow, wrapping up his perpetual fussing over you in humor to prevent you from insisting that he does too much. “You really do need shade, huh? Poor thing.”

“My hero.” You nod, putting a smile on his face. 

Umemiya sinks down, kneeling beside you and changing his shadow so that it covers even more of you, your thighs now cooled by the shade provided by his size. He drags his palm from your waist upward toward the triangles of your top, slipping a finger beneath the tiny string stretched across your sternum.

“Do you want to go inside?”

Glancing up at him, you bite back a smile and shake your head, his finger still gently toying with your top. You reach out to toy with him now, gently tugging at the damp collar of his shirt, dragging your palm down his chest.

“No, I wanna be out here with you. You’re hot too, we can suffer together.”

Neither of you are suffering very badly if the way each of you is glancing at the other is any indication of what's really happening here, eyes half lidded, fingers itching to explore sweat slicked skin. Hajime wants to spring into action and plan a way to grow an entire canopy over the roof to ensure you are never uncomfortable but he’s a little distracted at the moment, your hand sliding further down his torso and beneath the hemline of his shirt to rest against his warm skin and hardened muscle.

“What are you up to?” He asks with a smile. He drops from his squat position to sitting next to you, legs spread while he leans down to kiss your lips gently, as sweet as the breeze that ruffles the ends of his hair. “Besides making sure I get nothing done today.”

Giggling, you kiss him back. One set of fingers thread through his hair, brushing it back from his face in the style he prefers and the other drags down his torso toward the waistband of his shorts, playfully tickling him along the way.

“You just make the best umbrella.” You crane your neck to kiss him again, hand settling around the back of his neck to keep him close to you. “Maybe that should be your new name, Hajime Umbrella.” He chuckles and moves closer to you, lowering himself until his arms cage either side of you, his body twisted to hover slightly above yours.

“Then you’d just be Mrs. Umbrella someday but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

You wiggle beneath him at the insinuation that you’ll be carrying his last name, something even warmer than today’s temperature pooling beneath your skin. Umemiya laughs and leans in to kiss you again, foregoing any sense of decorum to slowly slide his body over the top of yours. His thighs join his arms in caging you in, pinned to the sheet beneath your back, the sound of distant wind chimes carrying across the cloudless sky to mingle with your giggles.

“Come on Mrs. Umbrella,” he jokes again, sliding his hand up your side. “Let’s work out here a little longer and then we can go inside, alright?”

Your back arches in response to his touch. He takes advantage of the position, reaching into the small space between your back and the sheet to untie your top. He doesn’t immediately move it to expose you, allowing you to make that decision for yourself. 

“Sounds like a deal to me.”

You grin up at him until he envelops you in a sultry kiss, one that truly matches this summer heat, helping him remove his sweaty shirt an arm at a time and tossing it aside. 

[ervotica]

𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing; azriel x fem!reader

summary; and so i cry the light is white and i see you

when your wings are taken from you in a brutal act of torture, you see no way to ease your grief. your mate is there to guide you back when you need him most.

warnings; hurt/comfort, ANGST, suicidal ideation, sorta suicide attempt, in depth descriptions of injury

The wind stings at your flushed cheeks where you stand at the edge of the rooftop. It's dark, iridescent balls of light expanding at every edge of your vision as you take a step towards the lip of the roof that overhangs from the house. Wetness clings to your eyes, threatening to spill over your itching waterline when you gaze down to the sea of lights below.

You long to feel the whip of the breeze against your face as you rise and dive into the night sky, to scream and yell at the top of your lungs as your wings flap behind you in tandem with your family.

You'll never feel that again.

You've been a shell of yourself since the day your wings were taken. Had them brutally cut from your body, hacksawed until all that remained were jagged stumps in place of gorgeous, thick corded planes of muscle. Naked. Half the person you once were. Your back is a myriad of scars, still healing and bruised, ripples of broken flesh marring your once untouched skin.

You are broken and ugly and miserable.

It took weeks to even walk again, weeks of rehabilitation, physical therapy with Madja. Weeks of sobbing in your mate's arms as he held you upright, of wanting to claw your way out of your own skin and scream and rage until something snaps you out of this living nightmare. Weeks of Azriel having to force you to eat and drink, to get outside in favour of withering away in your bed.

You're teetering on the edge of the building now, swaying in time with the gusts of air that threaten to send you toppling onto the street below.

"My love, what are you doing?" Azriel's voice breaks you out of your haze, but you don't move; you don't make any effort to step away from the edge. One wrong move from either of you and you're dead.

"I miss flying," you croak.

"I know you do." His voice oozes with pity and it sends rage hurting through your veins like the white-hot lick of a flame. You stumble, swatting Azriel's hands away when he surges forward to wrench you back. Your pulse roars in your ears and you lose focus of his speech, each pleading word blending into one another until you don't bother to decipher the words at all.

"Come back to me," he shouts over the ringing in your ears. "Come back to me, mate."

The name seizes your muscles, pours into your soul like molten lava and solidifies, heavy and unforgiving.

"Why?" you whirl around, heels hanging over thin air, nothing to break your impact were you to fall - or throw yourself - from this great height. Azriel's unnaturally still, not moving, not breathing- calculating how long it would take him to dive after you if you were to slip. "Why do you call me that? Why don't you run from me, leave me here now I'm not of use anymore."

He takes one step, and then another. Sweat beads on your brow despite the frigid chill of the night- his scarred fingers outstretched, waiting for you to take them. The golden thread inside your chest pulls taut like a bowstring. He's calling you home.

"You are my mate." he says. "I need you. Come back to me, my love."

"I'm ruined, Az." The words stick in your throat like syrup. "I'm no good to anyone, anymore. All I'll do is burden you." A sob rips through you. "You won't be happy with what I am now. I just want you to be happy."

The confession almost brings him to his knees.

Something snaps inside of him; eery calm replaces terror as he surveys you with narrowed eyes and a tilt of his head.

This is not your Azriel.

This is the feared shadowsinger- who wears a mask of cool wrath, who bows to no one. A calculated facade of composure.

"You are not ruined," he growls. The glacial fury in his voice has your breath catching in your throat, your insides freezing as if his words have wrapped icy fingers around your throat. "You are my mate, and you will step down and come to me. Now."

You find yourself complying without question, moving away on wobbling legs until your limbs give out and you're tripping over your own feet, hurtling towards the ground. As fast as the mask appears, it slips away, pure, unrelenting relief cascading down the bond.

Azriel's already there, hooking his arms beneath your own to shoulder your weight, a hand atop your head to anchor your body to his own even as you shudder and scream and soak his leathers with angry tears.

"I know, my love. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he murmurs, the words a whisper into your hair as you claw at him, legs buckled and utterly useless. You're settled against thick muscle, tucked under Azriel's chin where he's lowered you both to the ground.

"I'm nothing," you gasp against his chest. "I have no place here anymore. I'm useless."

His hand is an anchor against the back of your neck, grounding when he squeezes the malleable flesh to draw your gaze to his own.

"You are everything."

The welcome pressure on your neck lulls you into drawing a long breath. Azriel deflates, hazel eyes trained on the rise and fall of your heaving chest.

"I am nothing without you," he continues on. "You are my life and my heart. Were you to die, I'd go by your side with a smile. I can't bear the thought of living in a world where you do not exist."

His wings twitch where they're tucked behind him. Your trembling fingers splay against the sharp angle of his jaw.

"I'm sorry," you croak. "I never want to leave you." His knuckles drag across your cheekbones, brushing away the tears that stain your balmy face. "I don't know how to live like this."

His lips press to your temple, brow nestled against the wisps of windswept hair at the crown of your head. He smears a kiss there and ventures lower. One against your jaw, your chin, in the crease of your brows.

And then he slants his lips over your own. Your muscles go soft, ragged breaths evening as he parts your lips with a swipe of his tongue, a hand splayed against the base of your spine as you sag. He brushes your nose with the tip of a scarred finger.

"Come on," he murmurs, urging you to stand. When you do, he tucks you into his chest, arms slung over your shoulders in a crushing embrace. "I will do anything to make this easier for you, my heart. I know it will be difficult, and I know it's scary. But stay with me."

Your arms tighten around his middle.

"Always."

[jammysworks]

hihihi, could i request conrad and reader fucking in missionary? like i just can’t get out of my mind how much he’d love this position getting to watch your eyes rollback and circle on your clit at the same time? oh my godddddd

i tried to proofread this as much as possible. my cat kept crawling on my laptop while i was writing 😭

smut below the cut

18+ MDNI

warnings: smut, punishment, light teasing is mentioned, making out/steamy grinding, dry humping, p in v, penetration, missionary position, clitoral stimulation, dacryphilia, squirting, overstimulation, language usage, pet names (baby, con, connie, etc.), manhandling, mating press, slight bondage, college mentioned once or twice, vaginal fingering, masturbation, phone sex, daddy kink (two times), light pain kink, unprotected sex (don't be stupid please), creampie, proofread, conrad being a meanie

word count: 0.6k

it started with you and conrad making out on his bedroom floor, both sitting atop his gray and white carpet, slowly grinding against one another. you pushed yourself higher up his thigh until you rested against his clothed cock. in a teasing matter, you began lightly humping his growing hard-on. the friction being just enough to feel but not enough to release; this setting a ticking time bomb off inside of him. his hands immediately gripping onto your hips and pushing his own in an upward position and forcing yours down. the action causing a whine to emit from the smaller individual above him.

you knew his sexual frustration was through the roof due to college, and you missed him so much. after a while, stuffing yourself full of your fingers and favorite dildo began to become a reminder that your baby isn't home. no matter how many times you would cum while on the phone with conrad, it never felt as good as it does when he fucks you dumb on his cock. it was the same with him. he would wrap his hand tightly around his cock pushing at any attempt he can to make it feel like your pretty pussy squeezing him. "missed you s' much con!" you'd babble out right before cumming another time, coating your dildo in slick and cream. "i know, baby, i know"

...

his hips pistoned into yours, causing loud sobs and whines to release from your red and swollen lips. every thrust punctuating your punishment as conrad inched the pads of his fingers closer to your clit, rubbing light circles into the bud pushing you closer to your second orgasm. “wait con-waittt..ple—ahh!—please daddy!” you yelped, pushing your hand back against his abdomen attempting to slow his thrusts with every fiber of your strength. “hmm?” he groaned as his hips began to speed up their process. “connie it-ooh! feels weird..” the sentence babbling out as fluent as you possibly could, your body pulling away from his torture. your acrylics slightly digging into the skin of his abdomen trying to get him to let off your poor overstimulated pussy :(.

"move your hand. you can take it cmon' don't run from it baby." he grunted aloud, his own hand gripping onto yours and pressing it firmly beside your head, eyes rolling back as your body went limp. liquid squirting onto conrad's abs and dripping down your thighs. the stickiness causing a sloppy noise to echo throughout the room.

his cock pulsing against your walls as your face became a slight red tint from embarrassment, the feelings becoming short-lived as his thrusts continued, his hands trailing down and reaching the back of your knees, lifting your ankles onto his shoulders.

...

you were practically being folded in half with the way your thighs were pressed against your chest, the pain from your stretching muscles only doubling the pleasure. "s' too much-- oh my..hah.. daddy!..no more.." the sentence babbling out of your mouth while he continued to fuck you dumb on his cock. you can't even remember how many times conrad has made you cream and squirt on him, the pleasure-induced haze you spiraled into turned your brain into mush. the only thing you can think about is the in and out motion against your walls as well as the burning sensation the rough pad of his thumb left behind every time he would rub your clit to aid you in cumming.

conrad's own release came closer as he slowed yet deepened his thrusts. his head rolling back as spurts of warm, sticky liquid dripped down your pussy lips and rolled onto the sheets below. his pointer and middle finger drifted across the purple and red tinted marks dancing on your skin. "did so good for me baby." he said, punctuating his sentence with a kiss.

[madam-kumo]

Hold Me Again

Sagau Dainslief x Female Creator Reader

"What... Stop!" Aether screamed and kicked at the ice holding him away as Lumine handed the final gnosis to the Cryo Archon, the final key to unlocking Celestia. Aether felt betrayed, like his sister stabbed him in the heart herself, but the ice shackles on his arms and ankles kept him from moving. "Please, she'll-" Aether was interrupted by his sister staring at him with pity or was it sympathy? "Trust me. Just this once." Lumine stated, but it sounded more like a beg than a command, her voice cracking and her expression saddened.

"I did not want to awaken Celestia this way with you, Aether, but it must be done." The tsaritsa said, standing from her throne and descending down the stairs, the line of the fatui harbingers lined along the long carpet that spanned across the room. The Tsaritsa, all seven gnosis's in hand, let them all float in her palm, all of them forming a circle of elemental symbols around her feet.

Every element in teyvat, even the long forgotten ones, created gliffs around her before expanding into pillars, each glowing their signature color. Aether knew he had to trust his sister with the look in her eyes alone, but he didn't want to. Gods, all that work for nothing. Every fatui and abyssal he fought- was all for nothing.

The pillars around the Tsaritsa then let out beams of light through the transparent roof of the palace, illuminating the heavens. Soon, as if an image dispersed, the once old- no, the true- Teyvat began to slowly mend and combine with the world around them. Kheanri'ahn symbols began to appear on the palace as the spirits of Kheanri'ah's forgotten people began appearing with bright smiles on their faces, some on their knees in prayer around the palace. They smiled as their home began molding to the new Teyvat around them. Mixes of both world combined into a beautiful display.

Books and letters in Kheanri'ahn lined the walls of the Cryo palace, like a mystical library. Astrology tools and stars glimmered even in the snowing skies of Snezhnaya. The harbingers too looked around in awe, even the stoic Arlecchino couldn't keep the wonder and amazement off her face.

The Tsaritsa's magic finally let go of Aether as her concentrations was focused on the place that was once her throne. A large, crystal structure was placed in the center of it all. The light blue casted a translucent haze over the figure of a woman inside. The Tsaritsa, as if touching glass, wiped the frost off the glass, revealing the face she had seen in her dreams so many times, begging the archon to release her from her slumber. Aether was seated on the floor looking around the place he thought was going to be his final battle; now turned into the place he once called a home. Lumine hugged him with tears of joy in her eyes, thanking him between laughs for trusting her again. Aether was speechless; what could he say?

His thoughts were interrupted when the doors to the palace and library slammed open, revealing a disheveled and beaten Dainslief. Lumine looked at the man in pity, but he didn't even look at them. The Tsaritsa, surprisingly so, moved aside from the crystal structure, allowing the Kheanri'ahn man to approach with wide eyes and his mouth agape. The diamond shaped jewel on his suit, one akin to a vision, for the first time in centuries, pulsed with a deep blue glow. Dainslief, without missing a beat, placed his hand on the crystal, right above the figure's heart. His palm began to glow and the crystal began to fade away. The woman's finger twitched as it was revealed to everyone in the room. Even the Kheanri'ahn spirits looked on in awe as the crystal slowly recede.

Simultaneously, the twins' eyes widened as the face of the woman was revealed. They rushed over, hand in hand, to help Dainslief hold the collapsing woman and guide her onto the cold floor. A quick snap of the Tsaritsa and Tartaglia was already rushing to grab a pillow and some blankets while Columbina grabbed food and water.

The woman's eyes slowly opened to be greeted by two golden pairs and another pair of blue, all of them with blonde hair. Her mind was in a daze, her vision still hazy. she was propped up on Dainslief lap as his tears began dripping onto her face. As if by instinct, her shaky, cold hands reached up to wipe the tears from his face. "Why... are you crying, my love?" She asked, her voice hoarse from centuries of not using it.

"Do not fret my dear, my goddess, my light, the air I breathe... how am I not to cry when I have missed you so?" Dainslief wept, before biting his lip and holding the hand on his face, he knew she would weep for centuries over the loss of her beloved city, but he needed her touch right now. That's all it took for the twins to join in, Lumine on one side of her while Aether cried into the other. "Do not cry... This is a time to celebrate... Not to drown in tears..." she murmured to them, retracting her hand from Dainslief to run her nails through the twins' hair. Lumine wept into her chest, her shoulders shaking, while Aether shook his head while covering his face in her stomach. "You were gone for so long... How could be not be to the point of tears?" Dainslief said, taking the words right out of Aether's mouth.

She laughed hoarsely, resting the back of her head against Dainslief's chest. "Yes... But if you are to weep, please... Let me hold you all, even if I run out of arms to do so..."

[httpsghostie]

Under one Roof pt 1

pt 2

OK finally IT'S HERE

smh I'm down bad for roommate ghost I am sobbing

my hand is literally burning I wrote this aT COLLEGE

and YES my love language is food pls dont come for me

Summary: you never knew you needed a military roommate until you've got one.

Word Count: 1k (sorry it's short

Warnings: roommate!ghost x female!reader, slightly suggestive (if you squint), mentions of trauma, fluff/comfort, no use of y/n

masterlist

Ghost was an old friend of a friend of yours, and he happened to be needing a place to stay for a while, that ended up being a few more months, and now it's currently been a year since he moved in. He doesn't plan on leaving, you know it, you know that despite the independent man that he is, he likes having someone to come home to.

He was cold at first, so cold. And for many nights you cursed yourself for letting that rock of a heart get into your sweet home. He wouldn't talk much when he was there, you'd almost forget he was around if it wasn't for random coughs or sneezes.

That man smoked like a chimney in the first days he's spent around, he was anxious and that wasn't very cute, he was always smelling like cigarettes, but thankfully he didn't smoke inside.

He appreciated your effort on cooking for the two of you, but you couldn't help it. How could he survive when he wasn't eating properly? Yes, frozen pizza is cool… until it's the third day in a row that you're eating frozen and instant food and you can barely stand.

He also had a fucked up sleeping schedule that you just went along with it, you once got scared when you walked in the kitchen and found him just laying on the wall, eyes closed and snoring slightly. That day you scolded him to go back to his room and made him lay down on the bed.

"You're gonna lay down on this bed and you're gonna have some nice hours of sleep, alright? I'm gonna leave the door open, if I see you awake I'm punching you." You sounded like a mother, almost, and he was so tired he couldn't fight back.

And the days went by, he'd go away, he'd come back as tired as he left. But at least he was slowly opening up to be a really cool guy. You two started to bond, and the more he talked, the more you wanted to spend time with him.

Oh and don't even get started on dad jokes, he's cracking them up whenever he's helping with house chores, or when you two are eating peacefully.

He became a friend, a very good friend, one that wouldn't mind you venting out to, plus he was a good listener. He'd just sit there listening to whatever haze your brain was going through, and slowly he learned that he shouldn't be giving you reasonable ways to solve your problems, he should just tell you it would be ok.

And you found yourself slowly falling for him. Of course destiny had to put you together. Only if it wasn't for the way he handled things around the house.

"Oh, the living room lamp broke? Let me fix it."

"Those boxes are heavy, hand them to me."

"Go find a movie for us to watch, I'll do the dishes. Find a good one, though."

"Goddamnit, I told you not to be climbing on that fucking balcony, you're not a cat, you're gonna hurt yourself one day." Said as he picked you up when you were trying to reach the top of the cabinet. "Just ask me, I can reach it without putting myself in danger."

Or maybe if it wasn't for the fact that he'd purposefully get out of the shower with that pretty little towel wrapped around his body, that made you clench your fists. The way he was still a bit wet, a few drops running down his abs. He was surprisingly cool with his scars around you, maybe because you didn't make a big deal out of it.

That's because it wasn't. You expected that when Gaz, your friend, told you that the friend he was sending to you was his 'work buddy'. And he phrased it exactly like that. 

"Don't mind him, he's big and scary, but he'll be a good roommate, I promise, he's my work buddy." You chuckled when you read the text.

And yet Ghost didn't mind the stare of admiration coming from your burning gaze across the living room, when you thought the most ungodly things a brain has seen.

He started to become more and more warm, he found safe with you, like you could actually be his home. One night, he found a deep conection with you when you were casually drinking together, sat by the coffee table, playing video games. 

She should know the truth about me.

He thought. And that was the night he dropped his heavy armor. He told you the bare surface of his past, even though most of it had been blocked from his memory, like a dark spot he couldn't remember, and would die without trying to take a peak at it.

You cried, and he couldn't understand why you were crying until you said it wasn't his fault.

"It's not your fault, you didn't deserve any of this." You sobbed, hugging him close.

He broke down. Like he needed someone to reassure him that he wasn't the villain from his past. He realized what you meant to him, and he swore to God he would try his best to come home to you when he had to work.

Some days were strange after that, like he regretted telling you about his story. He had that feeling in his gut that you weren't looking at him the same way, like you were pity. He didn't want your pity, he hated that look on your face.

But that changed.

He had come home one day, texting you while he was at the airport waiting for a ride. You ran to get groceries and make him a good meal, but the only thing that came to your mind was the old recipe of lasagna you kept from your grannie.

That old lady, always saving your life.

[puckarchives]

strawberry wine: l. hughes

blurb: in which luke is teased for how he treats you, but he doesn’t mind. Not if all of it’s for you / word count: 1.3k / pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

You hadn’t meant to fall in love with him at first. When you first met Luke— right in the middle of your freshman year at UMich, where you were trying to balance the precarious work-social life balance— it wasn’t love at first sight. No, you were way too pessimistic for that. Instead, the love you had garnered for the curly haired boy was gratuitous— it was a simmering feeling you felt every time he turned his gaze on you, everytime he checked in with you via text or phone call when he was away, and the feeling of his heartbeat as he laid on your chest— the reminder that, above all, he had put you first.

Falling in love with Luke wasn’t an automatic fairy-godmother thing, but it was magic all the same — it was the feeling of coming up for air after being submerged underwater, the feeling of being in the sun after being inside for too long. It was a feeling you wanted to be embraced with all the time, really. 

Now, though, you were hearing the extent at which Luke loved you — in your sleep induced haze while your head laid on Luke’s chest, and your legs extended over his lap. The two of you had made your way to the Hughes Family lake house for the first few weeks of the summer, where you were joined by Quinn and Jack, as well as some of your and Luke’s mutual friends from UMich; all the people you cared about, all under one roof. 

As the summer grew, and the first week turned into the second, you could only feel how much your love had grown for the boy with the curls— the boy who had somehow made falling in love with an all-consuming feeling that you never wanted to let go of. 

Now, though, as you listened to the conversation around you, your almost-sleep was interrupted when you heard Jack call to Luke— saying something along the lines of something “being clear,” and picking up on some changes in Luke’s behavior. 

Now almost fully awake, you didn’t want to make yourself entirely known— not just yet. Luke and you had spoken about what to expect on the trip— the teasing and remarks that were sure to come from his brothers, the jokes that were sure to come out of Trevor or Duker at one point, and even the overprotectiveness for the only other woman in the house from Ellen. Now, through, you could tell the conversation was fully about you— and Luke. 

“I’m just saying, man,” you could hear Jack start. “We’ve never seen you this whipped before! It’s liek you’re an entirely new man, Moose,” he finished, to where you heard the rest of the boys add in their own agreements. You felt Luke pull you even closer when he said that, and could feel the hand on your calve resume its soft movements— mishappen shapes and letters that didn’t really mean anything, but that Luke had gotten into the habit of doing whenever you were around.

“Name one time where that’s happened,” Luke said. “I might be in love, but I haven’t changed,” he said, and oh god— he was in love with you! Even if you were still supposed to be asleep the sole notioon that he’d say it in front of the people whose opinions he cared about so deeply made your heart melt even more. The truth was, you were in love with Luke as much as he was in lovr with you — he was your rock, your safe place, and above all else, the person you looked for in anything; the one who had captured your heart and kept it as close as he could to his own. 

“C’mon, dude, you literally put your hand on the table corner when she dropped her cup the other day, just so she wouldn’t hit her head,” Quinn said from the opposite chair. “And, not to mention, you literally called Mom right after your first date with her, just to ask her how you did, and to see if she could help you see whatever signs Y/N was givign you” the boys laughed. While you had picked up on the things Luke did for you— including making sure you were always safe, that second thing wasn’t something you were aware of. Sure, you were both nervous wrecks on your first date, but you found him charming— especially when he had shown up at your dorm smartly dressed, and had brought flowers not only for you, but for your roommate too. 

“Plus, remember that time Coach made you do extra liners because you showed up to practice with a hickey on your neck?” Duker said. “Wasn’t that after your sixth-month anniversary, or something? When you rented that hotel room to, and I quote, “treat her how she deserves to be treated?” C’mon Hughes, you’re a sap!” he finished. 

Duke was right; you remembered that date almost vividly. Luke had spent so much on a grand hotel room, had taken you out to dinner at a nice restaurant, and, in the privacy of your own room, had danced with you for the entire night— had spun you around and around until the two of you ended up tangled in the white sheets, kisses being shared like secrets, and leaving them like brands on the entire expanse of his chest, his neck, and his mouth. The two of you had drank a third of a bottle of strawberry wine before you ended up on your tiptoes, Luke spinning you and leading you around the expanse of the entire room, before ultimately taking it further. 

That night, you had become his, and he had become yours in a way that you had never imagined possible; regardless of either of your past experiences, you had felt love strum between the two of you in, as cliche as it sounds — magical way. 

“So what, I care about her! Look at her, and tell me you wouldn’t give it all up” Luke said, but you could tell he wasn’t mad in the slightest. Sure, he was getting chirped at, but it was all in good fun, and he understood that; it must have been a strange thing, for both of his older brothers to see him so in love, and so ready to be tied down to you, that he didn’t even mind the teasing. 

Luke, for all his faults, loved you, and that much was entirely apparent every time he opened his mouth to talk about you— something he would do any chance he got, always finding a way to bring you up in his conversations. 

“We know, dude, you’ve just become such a sap,” Jack added. “‘S making the rest of us wanna settle down too,” he said, laughing. It was true, in a way. Seeing their little brother so in love — so much so that he had almost put his hockey career on pause just to be able to graduate with you, and looked like Cupid had whacked him in the ass with an arrow every time he looked at you — they could clearly see the adoration he had for you; the bone deep understanding that you were his, and he was yours. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said, waving them away. Feeling like this was your cue to get up, however, now that the conversation had died down, you opened your eyes, and picked your head up slowly from his chest. Luke looked down at you immediately, his hand that was previously on your leg coming up to cup your chin. 

“You okay there, honey?” he asked. You could only try to shake away the remaining sleep from your head, and smile up at him. Here was your boy — the one who had taken your heart and ran with it, who held you close, and who planned to never let go; the man you wanted to spend the rest of your days with, and who was willing to endure every single comment about your relationship just to keep you. You couldn’t have asked for anyone better —— you couldn’t have asked for anyone other than your Luke.

“Never better, baby. Never better.”

[salsakiyoomi]

“so this is it? you’re just going to leave?” 

suna’s voice slightly breaks as he asks that question, he doesn’t know where he went wrong — when he went wrong for you to suddenly break up with him, like, for god’s sake, you've been dating for three years, what happened?

it hurts when you don’t answer, it hurts even more that you won’t meet his gaze with your face turned away from him, “come on, y/n, look at me.” he says pleadingly.

you don’t look at him, you’re not sure if it’s because you don’t want to see the desperate look in his eyes, or if it’s to hide the tears in your own, “i’m sorry, rin.” you say quietly, “this is just — it’s not working out, okay?”

“not working out?” he repeats back, his voice breaks again, “what do you mean? we’ve - we’ve been together for three years, we were happy, you were happy. what changed?”

the chilly december breeze blows against the two of you — you hug yourself as if seeking warmth, it was cold atop the rooftop of suna’s penthouse and you were starting to doubt if it was even a good idea to bring him up here for this.

you inhale in a shaky breath, “look, i just think we need a break, okay?” you don’t tell him it’s because you think he’s spending too much time at practice, or that it’s because he’s not giving you the attention you need, no more clinging to you on friday nights watching horror movies or that it’s because of the one too many nights out drinking with his friends and coming home with the overwhelming scent of a woman’s perfume completely engulfing him — you know suna would never cheat on you but the implication that he might’ve in the haze of the alcohol and the zero recollection in his hangover the next day leaves you doubting.

“a break? and then what? we’re just gonna get back together after you’re done cooling off?” the last part comes out a little harsher than he meant — he’s hurt, he doesn’t get it, you’re just going to leave with no reason whatsoever. 

he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “sorry, i…didn’t mean it like that.”

you still won’t look at him, and it hurts more than he would admit, “i just, i don’t get it.” he mumbles, almost like he’s talking to himself, “at least tell me why you’re leaving.” it comes out in a whisper, he doesn’t want to believe this is actually happening.

“i told you, rin, this just isn’t working out.” you say quietly, looking down on the city lights below, hugging your jacket — his jacket closer to yourself to keep your body warm as another harsh gust of wind blows.

he groans, “this isn’t a reason — come on, baby, we’re happy — ” he says but you cut him off “we were happy, rin. but this,” you finally turn around to look at him and gesture with your hand between the two of you — and suna doesn’t miss the tears brimming the corners of your eyes, “whatever this is now between us, this isn’t how we used to be — i just, i can’t do it anymore.” you say, your voice finally breaks, your cold resolve shattering.

“why?” he asks quietly, attempting to hold your gaze but you turn away from him, “i think you know why.” you murmur.

he doesn’t, he really doesn’t but he doesn’t think that there is a way to get you to back down from this anymore.

silence falls around the two of you like a heavy blanket that only makes the december night colder — he lets out a huff of air, turning around to look at the roof — the couch by the pool that the two of you used to sit by all the time, soft lips pressed against each other and sweet nothings whispered to one another, talking about a future the two of you would share as you got drunk on each other’s love.

he doesn’t think he can come back up here without thinking of you again.

“fine.” he finally says, breaking the silence, “if this is what you want then fine.”

he doesn’t mean that, he doesn’t want that — he wants to hold you in his arms and kiss you and tell you that he can fix this and that everything will be okay, he doesn’t want to let you go but he knows that he has to.

you nod your head, and you turn around to face him and he wonders if you’re hurt about this the same way he is.

“this is yours,” you mumble quietly as you begin to take off your jacket and he raises a hand to stop you, “keep it.” he says, “i don’t want it.” it’ll only remind him of you, as if everything else wouldn’t.

now it’s his turn to look away from you, he can’t bear it, the sight of you, your face or your hair or the blush that taints your cheeks from the cold or how pretty your lips look, knowing damn well that he won’t see you again.

you gulp and nod, “i’m sorry, suna.” he tries to ignore how much his heart aches when you use his last name, tries to ignore how his chest tightens when you actually walk past him and he catches a whiff of your perfume — the one you love so much, the one he loves so much.

the december cold is chilling when another gust of wind blows and you’re gone with his jacket and suna is left with an empty feeling in his chest.

he’s never getting the jacket back, or you for that matter.

a/n : can be read as the prequel to this and is inspired by this drabble by @augustinewrites

[lila-lou]

✨ His second exception - Pt. 1/? ✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! NO Smut but BIG TRIGGER WARNING, Language, Ben being hurt, Reader being hurt, soft Ben, sad Ben - it´s STILL a fucking mess

Word Count: 5620

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 1 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Ben’s chest began to glow, the swirling energy a manifestation of the intense emotions he could barely contain. The rage, the sorrow, and the helplessness threatened to consume him. He clenched his fists, struggling to keep his powers in check.

“Ben, you have to calm down”, Annie said softly, stepping closer. “You’re going to hurt yourself—and her—if you don’t”.

But Ben couldn’t hear her over the roar of his own anguish. He slammed his fist into the wall beside your bed, the impact reverberating through the room. “I failed them!”, he shouted, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t fucking protect them!”.

“You did everything you could”, Butcher said, his tone steady. “Right now, she needs you here, not losing control”.

Annie nodded in agreement, her eyes pleading. “Ben, please. For her sake, you have to stay calm”.

But Ben was too deeply lost in his emotions, his chest still glowing with a dangerous intensity. He was trembling with the effort of holding himself together, and it was clear he was on the verge of losing control.

Annie’s voice grew more urgent, her worry evident. “Butcher, get him out of here! Now!”.

Butcher tightened his grip on Ben’s shoulder, his own expression a mix of concern and determination. “Come on, mate. Let’s step outside”, he urged, trying to guide Ben towards the door.

But Ben was in his own world, unable to resist or calm down completely. His chest glowed brighter with each passing second, the raw power within him threatening to erupt. Butcher, sensing the urgency, made a split-second decision.

With a grunt of effort, Butcher sped Ben outside to the roof terrace. The night air did little to cool the fiery glow emanating from Ben’s chest. Desperation etched on his face, Butcher tried to reason with him one last time. “Ben, you’ve got to get a grip”.

But Ben’s eyes were wild, unfocused, lost in the torrent of his own emotions. Butcher clenched his jaw, knowing he had to do something drastic. With all his strength, he swung a punch, connecting squarely with Ben’s jaw. The force of the blow sent Ben staggering back.

For a moment, everything was still. Ben blinked, the shock of the hit bringing a momentary clarity. His chest still glowed, but the intensity had lessened. He looked at Butcher, confusion and pain evident in his eyes.

“Snap out of it, Soldier Boy!”, Butcher barked, his voice echoing in the night air. “She needs you to be strong, not falling apart!”.

Ben shook his head, trying to shake off the lingering haze. The punch had grounded him, bringing him back to reality.

Three single Tears rolled down Ben’s cheeks, streaking through the grime and blood. It was the first time Butcher had ever seen Ben cry. The sight was both jarring and heartbreaking. For a moment, Butcher struggled to find the right words, his own feelings of helplessness threatening to overwhelm him.

“She… I… Homelander killed my child! We lost our baby”, Ben whispered, his voice raw with anguish.

Butcher took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He placed a firm hand on Ben’s shoulder, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I know, mate. And I know it hurts like hell”, Butcher said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “But she’s still alive. She needs you now more than ever”.

Even though Butcher and Ben didn’t get along very well, in this moment, Butcher told Ben exactly what he needed to hear. The raw honesty in Butcher’s words cut through Ben’s grief, anchoring him to the reality of the situation. Ben needed to get himself together for you, even though the pain he felt was beyond anything he’d ever experienced.

“I know it feels like you’re drowning”, Butcher continued, his voice steady. “But you’re stronger than this. She needs you to be strong, to be there for her”.

Ben nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to push down the overwhelming grief and anger. He wiped at his face, smearing the tears and blood even more. “I can’t lose her”, he whispered, his voice cracking.

“You won’t”, Butcher said firmly. “Not if you stay focused. One step at a time, Soldier Boy. You’ve faced worse and come out the other side. You can do this”.

Ben rubbed his face hard, the pressure intense enough that it would have broken bones if he had been merely human. With a deep breath, he gave Butcher a simple, determined nod before turning and heading back inside.

Inside the room, the harsh lights illuminated your pale, unconscious form. The beeping of the machines monitoring your vitals created a steady rhythm, a reminder of the fragile thread that held you to life. Ben’s heart ached at the sight, but he steeled himself. He needed to be strong for you, for both of you.

Annie looked up as Ben re-entered, her eyes filled with concern. She didn’t say anything, sensing that Ben needed a moment alone with you. She quietly stepped out, leaving the two of you together.

Ben approached your bedside, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of movement. He gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m here, Baby”, he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere”.

The room was silent except for the steady beeping of the machines and the faint hum of the hospital. Ben sat down beside you, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to center himself, drawing strength from the depth of his love for you.

After a few moments, he opened his eyes and looked at you, his expression filled with determination. “We’re going to get through this”, he said softly. “I promise you. No matter what it takes, we’re going to be okay”.

The weight of his promise settled over him, but he embraced it. He would be there for you, no matter the cost. As he sat by your side, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. You needed him, and he would not let you down.

Hours passed, and the night gave way to the first light of dawn. Ben remained by your side, his eyes never leaving your face. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, but he refused to let himself rest. He had to be there when you woke up.

Butcher and Annie checked in periodically, offering support and reassurance. But for the most part, they gave Ben the space he needed.

Ben's hand softly rested over your still swollen belly, but there was no heartbeat anymore. His jaw clenched, a wave of anguish washing over him, but he fought to keep his emotions in check. With a trembling breath, he whispered towards your belly, his voice choked with sorrow.

"I'm so sorry", he murmured. "I failed you. I failed to protect you, to keep you safe". Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill over, but he blinked them back.

"I promised to keep you both safe", he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I couldn't. I'm so sorry".

The weight of his guilt hung heavy in the air, but he couldn't bring himself to move away from you. He stayed by your side, his hand resting over your belly, a silent vow to never forget the life that had been lost.

Ben's heart shattered at the thought of the loss of his baby. The pain was unbearable, gnawing at him with relentless intensity. He couldn't even begin to imagine how you would react when you woke up and learned the devastating news. The mere thought of your grief tore at his soul, threatening to consume him with its ferocity.

As he sat by your side, his hand still resting over your belly, his heart ached with a profound sense of loss. The weight of his failure weighed heavily on him, the guilt and sorrow threatening to drown him in their depths.

48 hours passed in a haze of grief and exhaustion for Ben. He hadn’t slept, barely eaten, consumed by the weight of his sorrow and the desperate hope that you would wake up. Butcher had to practically drag him out of your room to shower and change, reminding him that you wouldn’t appreciate the smell of blood and dirt when you finally regained consciousness.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ben felt a faint movement beneath his hand. His heart leaped with hope as he looked down at you, his eyes wide with anticipation. Your fingers twitched ever so slightly, a sign of life returning to your body.

For a moment, Ben couldn’t breathe, the rush of emotion overwhelming him. He leaned closer, his eyes fixed on your face as he waited with bated breath for any further sign of awakening. Time seemed to stand still as he held his breath, willing you to open your eyes and return to him.

As your eyelids fluttered open, revealing the depths of your gaze, Ben's heart swelled with relief.

"Hey, sweetheart", he whispered. "Welcome back".

Your voice, barely above a whisper, trembled as you asked him what had happened. Ben's heart clenched at the sound of your voice, filled with pain and confusion. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before responding.

"Hey, it's okay", he said softly, his voice soothing. "You were… you were hurt pretty bad. But you're here now, and that's all that matters".

As you tried to sit up, pain shot through your body, causing you to wince and sink back against the pillows. Ben's heart clenched at the sight of your discomfort, and he reached out to gently support you.

"Easy, easy", he murmured, his voice filled with concern. "You've been through a lot. Just take it slow".

He adjusted the pillows behind you, trying to make you more comfortable. His hands were gentle as he hovered nearby, his eyes never leaving your face, silently urging you to take care of yourself.

Your breathing was still uneven as Ben handed you something to drink, his movements careful and attentive.

"I'll go get the doctor", he murmured, already moving to stand up, but you stopped him with a trembling question.

"What about the baby?". Your voice wavered with emotion, your memories of the harrowing encounter with Homelander flooding back.

Ben's jaw clenched, his hands starting to shake slightly as he struggled to find the words. The pain in his eyes was evident as he met your already tear-filled gaze, but he couldn't bring himself to speak.

"Ben… please… don't", you choked on your own voice, the fear and anguish palpable in the air. Tears welled in your eyes, mirroring the ones that filled Ben's.

The tears in Ben's eyes spoke volumes, confirming your worst fears before he even said a word. Your heart shattered into a million pieces as you realized what had happened.

"No", you whispered, the word barely audible as a wave of anguish washed over you. Everything felt numb, the pain so raw it was almost unbearable.

Ben stood there, feeling utterly helpless as he watched you break down before him. Seeing you crying like that, consumed by grief and pain, tore at his heart in a way he couldn't even put into words. He knew he had to pull himself together, be there for you in your time of need.

With deliberate slowness, he sank down beside you, his movements cautious as he pulled you into his arms. You collapsed against him, your tears soaking through his shirt as you cried like you never had before.

He held you close, his arms a shelter against the storm of emotions raging within you. His own tears mingled with yours as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

As you cried against his chest, your sobs echoing in the sterile hospital room, Ben felt a pain unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was a raw, visceral ache that seemed to consume him from the inside out. Every tear that fell from your eyes felt like a dagger in his own heart, each sob tearing at his soul.

The sound of your crying was like a symphony of anguish, a haunting melody that echoed through the empty room. Each choked breath, each muffled sob, was a reminder of the loss you had both endured. It was a sound that Ben would never forget, etched into his memory like a scar.

But even as the pain threatened to overwhelm him, Ben held you tighter, refusing to let go. He knew that he couldn't take away your pain, couldn't undo what had been done. But he could be there for you, hold you close and offer whatever comfort he could in the face of such devastating loss.

As the doctor stepped into the room, followed closely by Butcher and Annie, they quickly assessed the situation and recognized the need for privacy. Sensing the raw emotion between you and Ben, they exchanged somber glances before silently retreating, leaving the two of you alone to grieve in peace.

The doctor's departure went unnoticed by both of you, lost in your own world of pain and sorrow.

In the stillness that followed, there were no words, no gestures—only the quiet rhythm of your breathing and the steady beat of Ben's heart against your own.

Ben gently stroked your back as you continued to sob against his chest. He tried to be strong for you, but when you saw his tears, it was a stark reminder of the depth of his pain. You knew he was hurting just as much as you were, and the thought only made your own grief feel heavier.

You clung to him desperately, seeking solace in his embrace, but the words eluded you. What could you say in the face of such profound loss? Instead, you buried your face against his chest, letting his presence anchor you in the midst of the turmoil.

An hour passed in heavy silence, the weight of grief hanging thick in the air. You and Ben remained locked in each other's embrace, still unable to find the words to express the depth of your pain. Numbness settled over you like a heavy blanket, leaving you feeling hollow and empty.

Finally, the doctor emerged into the room again, accompanied by a nurse. Their presence shattered the stillness, pulling you both back to the present moment. The doctor approached with gentle caution, his expression sympathetic as he spoke.

"I'm sorry to interrupt", he began softly, his voice carrying a note of compassion, "but I really need to check on your vitals now".

You and Ben exchanged a weary glance, both understanding the necessity of the doctor's request yet feeling reluctant to let go of each other, even for a moment. With a heavy sigh, Ben slowly released his hold on you, his touch lingering for a moment longer before reluctantly pulling away.

As the doctor began his examination, you felt a wave of exhaustion wash over you. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, the only sound that seemed to cut through the fog of your grief.

Ben hovered nearby, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the turmoil. You could sense his silent support, his unwavering strength a source of solace in the midst of your pain.

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor finished his examination, his expression grave as he studied the results.

The doctor's voice broke through the haze of your thoughts, his words registering dimly in your mind. "Your vitals are stable", he said, his tone gentle yet serious. "But we still need to perform a scraping procedure, as the pregnancy tissue didn't fully pass".

But you were too lost in your own grief to fully comprehend his words. Your mind felt foggy, disconnected from reality as you struggled to process the magnitude of your loss.

Beside you, Ben's stomach churned with a mix of anger and frustration. He clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides as he listened to the doctor's explanation. The injustice of it all weighed heavily on him, fueling the fire of his emotions.

But as he looked at you, lost in your own pain, he knew that his anger could wait. Right now, you needed him more than ever, and he would do whatever it took to support you through this ordeal.

"I'll give you both a moment to process everything", the doctor said softly, before quietly leaving the room.

Tears welled up in your eyes once again. Choking back a sob, you struggled to find your voice amidst the overwhelming flood of emotions.

"I can't do this", you whispered hoarsely, your hand trembling as it found its way to your belly, the physical reminder of the life that had been taken from you far too soon.

Ben bit back his own tears, forcing himself to stay strong for you. He knew he had to be the one you could lean on. Gently, he took your trembling hand in his, his grip firm but tender.

"Hey", he began softly, his voice steady despite the pain in his eyes. "You are the strongest person I know. That's one of the reasons I fell in love with you. I know this hurts like hell, and it feels impossible, but you can do this. You have to. And I’ll be by your side every minute, I promise".

He squeezed your hand, his gaze never leaving your face. "We'll get through this together. I won't let you go through it alone".

You kept crying and sobbing, each breath a painful reminder of the immense loss you felt. Everything had happened so fast, and it still felt like you were trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up. The reality of the situation was almost too much to bear.

Ben held you close, his arms wrapped securely around you. He whispered soothing words, his voice a steady presence in the midst of your turmoil. "It's okay to cry", he said softly. "It's okay to feel everything you're feeling. I'm here with you, and I'm not going anywhere".

Your sobs eventually began to quiet, the exhaustion of your grief taking its toll. You leaned into Ben, your head resting against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

The doctor and nurse waited patiently outside, giving you the time you needed.

Ben wouldn't leave your side, standing by you with unwavering support. He held your hand tightly, his grip a lifeline in the midst of the pain. As the doctor began the procedure, Ben's super hearing allowed him to hear every tiny movement, every scrape and shift inside your body. The sounds were almost too much to bear, each one feeling like a fresh wound being inflicted on his heart.

His eyes pressed shut, his jaw clenched, trying to keep his own emotions in check. He felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest, the sheer agony of your shared loss almost unbearable.

You felt the same anguish, tears rolling down your cheeks: The physical pain of the procedure was nothing compared to the emotional torment you were enduring. Every scrape felt like a reminder of the life you had lost, of the future that had been cruelly snatched away from you.

The procedure felt like it lasted an eternity, but eventually, the doctor finished, his movements careful and precise. He glanced up, his expression one of deep sympathy. "It's over", he said gently. "You did very well".

Ben squeezed your hand, his eyes filled with both relief and sorrow. "You did it", he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "It's over now".

After everything was done, Ben sat on your hospital bed, holding you close. Your upper body was curled on his lap, and you kept crying, the overwhelming grief consuming you. Losing your baby was the worst thing that had ever happened to you, but knowing it was Ben’s baby made it hurt even more.

You remembered the moment you told him you were going to keep the baby. You had never seen him so happy. The light in his eyes, the pure joy on his face—it was a dream he had never dared to dream, a wish he had never thought possible.

As Ben continued to stroke your back, his gaze fixed on the emptiness before him, a heavy silence settled over the room. The weight of your shared grief hung between you.

There was nothing Ben could say that would ease your pain, nothing he could do to erase the ache in his own heart. All he could do was hold you close.

For you, the grief was overwhelming, swallowing you whole until you felt like you were drowning in a sea of tears and sorrow.

In the following 24 hours, you were monitored closely by the medical staff to ensure you were fully healed from the procedure. Throughout it all, Ben never left your side. But despite the hours spent together, the two of you didn't exchange a single word.

The silence between you felt heavy, weighted down by the weight of your shared sorrow. Every glance, every touch carried with it the weight of unspoken words, the ache of loss palpable in the air.

Butcher and Annie sat in the meeting room, discussing plans with the construction team to rebuild the lobby and repair the damage of the tower.

The meeting was tense, the air heavy with the weight of recent events. Butcher and Annie conferred with the construction team, discussing timelines, budgets, and logistics for the rebuilding efforts. It was a daunting task, but one they were determined to see through to completion.

As the meeting drew to a close, Butcher and Annie exchanged a weary glance. With a nod of agreement, they rose from the table.

Annie leaned against the wall of Butcher's office, her arms crossed tightly. She glanced at Butcher, a furrow forming between her brows. "What do you think will happen now?", she asked, her voice low with concern. "Do you think Soldier Boy will be able to handle his emotions? Will he come back to lead?".

Butcher sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. "Bloody hell, Annie, I don't know", he admitted gruffly. "The lad's been through a lot. Losing a kid… it's enough to drive anyone mad".

Annie nodded in agreement, her expression somber. "Yeah, I know. And as much as we may not be his biggest fans, we have to admit he's changed a bit for the better", she conceded. "And no one deserves to go through what he's going through right now".

Butcher grunted in reluctant agreement, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. "Aye, you're right", he muttered. "We'll just have to wait and see what happens. In the meantime, we've got our own mess to clean up".

Butcher rubbed his beard thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in concern. "Poor lass", he mumbled, his voice low with empathy. "She's probably a wreck right now".

Annie nodded, her expression mirroring Butcher's concern. "Yeah", she agreed softly. "I can't even imagine what she's going through".

Annie furrowed her brows, a hint of worry crossing her features. "Butcher, no one can know about the pregnancy", she reminded him firmly.

Butcher rolled his eyes, a grumble escaping him as he leaned back in his chair. "I'm not about to go broadcasting it to the bloody world". He paused for a moment. "Besides, I've known since the first time (Y/N) went pale in that meeting", he admitted. "Heard that little second heartbeat. Still didn't tell anyone".

Annie raised an eyebrow, surprised by Butcher's revelation. "You did?", she asked, a mixture of curiosity and disbelief in her voice.

Butcher nodded, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Aye", he confirmed. "Couldn't bring myself to ruin their moment".

"Butcher, why didn't you say something?", Annie asked, her tone a mix of concern and curiosity.

Butcher shrugged. "Thought maybe having a kid, starting a family, would finally get Soldier Boy to step back and settle down", he explained, his voice tinged with resignation. "Thought maybe then, I could take the lead".

Annie nodded, understanding dawning on her face. "And now?", she asked softly, her gaze searching Butcher's face for answers.

"Now", Butcher replied with a sigh, "we wait and see what Soldier Boy decides to do next".

Back home, Ben walked slowly behind you, his every step mirroring your hesitation. He watched you closely, waiting for any signal of where you wanted to go or what you needed. The house felt emptier than ever, the silence almost unbearable.

You looked around a little lost, your eyes darting from room to room. The weight of recent events hung heavily in the air, making even the simplest decisions seem monumental. Eventually, you gravitated toward the kitchen.

Ben followed, his heart aching as he watched your movements. He didn't say anything, unsure of what words could possibly provide comfort. Instead, he stayed close, ready to support you in any way you needed.

Once in the kitchen, you hesitated by the counter, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for a glass. Ben stepped forward, gently taking it from you and filling it with water. He handed it to you with a look of quiet concern.

"Take your time", he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm here".

Ben’s words buzzed through you, each syllable a reminder of the pain you were trying to process. You didn’t even know why, but you didn’t want to hear his voice, didn’t want to hear anything. With a heavy sigh, you set the glass of water aside and reached for one of his whiskeys from the cabinet.

Ben watched silently as you grabbed the bottle, his heart aching at the sight. He knew you were struggling, but seeing you turn to alcohol for solace made the situation feel even more desperate. You took a big sip straight from the bottle, the burn of the whiskey a stark contrast to the numbness you felt inside.

For a moment, Ben considered saying something, but he held back. He knew you needed time to process everything, to find your own way through the grief. Instead, he stepped back, giving you space while still staying close enough to support you if you needed him.

You took another sip, the warmth of the whiskey spreading through your chest, momentarily dulling the ache. The silence in the kitchen was heavy, filled with unspoken words and shared sorrow. Ben leaned against the counter, his eyes never leaving you, silently offering his presence as a lifeline in your sea of pain.

Ben crossed his arms over his chest, watching as you took one sip after another. His heart broke with each gulp, but he remained silent, knowing that pushing you might only drive you further away.

He wanted to reach out, to pull you into his arms and reassure you that you weren’t alone in this, but he didn’t know how. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, the words caught in his throat. Instead, he watched, hoping that his presence was enough for now.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ben took a tentative step forward. “You don’t have to go through this alone”, he said softly. “I’m here. Always”.

You paused, the bottle halfway to your lips, and glanced at him. For a moment, you saw the depth of his pain mirrored in his eyes, and it resonated with your own. The whiskey had dulled the edge of your grief, but it couldn’t erase it.

“Ben, I…”, you started, your voice cracking.

He uncrossed his arms and took another step closer. “C’mere”, he mumbled.

You set the bottle down, your hands trembling slightly. The moment you let go of the bottle, Ben stepped closer and pulled you into a tight hug. As soon as his arms wrapped around you, the floodgates opened, and you began to cry again, the sobs wracking your body.

Ben held you tightly, his own eyes welling up as he felt your pain wash over him. He stroked your back gently, trying to offer some semblance of comfort amidst the storm of emotions. "I'm here", he whispered, his voice thick with his own grief. "I'm right here".

You buried your face in his chest, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded. Each tear felt like a release, but also a reminder of the immense loss you both were enduring.

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours—time seemed to blur in the intensity of your sorrow. Finally, your sobs began to quiet, and your breathing evened out, though the ache in your heart remained.

Feeling weak and exhausted from all the crying, you allowed Ben to carry you upstairs. He gently set you down on the edge of the bed, your limbs feeling as heavy as your heart, and you couldn't muster the energy to move. Ben knelt down in front of you, carefully pulling off your shoes.

His touch was gentle, and despite the exhaustion, you found comfort in the small act of care. Ben's hands lingered on your feet for a moment before he looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and determination.

"Let's get you more comfortable", he said softly, his voice soothing despite the gravity of the situation.

You nodded weakly, too drained to argue or protest. Ben stood up and helped you out of your clothes, replacing them with a soft, oversized shirt. Every movement felt like it took immense effort, and you leaned heavily on him for support.

Once you were changed, Ben guided you under the covers, tucking you in with a tenderness that belied his usual rough exterior. He then climbed into bed beside you, pulling you close once again.

"You don't have to do anything right now", Ben whispered, his lips close to your ear. "Just rest".

You nestled closer to him, your body pressed against his as you sought the comfort only he could provide. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the familiar scent of him, all worked to slowly lull you into a state of half-awareness.

Ben's hand continued to stroke your back, his touch a constant reminder of his presence.

Eventually, you fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, your body finally succumbing to the overwhelming fatigue. Ben, however, couldn’t find the same respite. His eyes remained open, staring at the ceiling as his mind churned with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Once he was certain you were deeply asleep, he carefully slipped out of the bed, doing his best not to disturb you. He changed into a comfortable hoodie and sweatpants. Quietly, he made his way downstairs.

In the kitchen, he reached for the whiskey bottle you had left on the counter earlier. The amber liquid sloshed inside as he poured himself a generous amount, his hands shaking slightly. He stared at the glass for a moment, the reflections of the dim kitchen light dancing on the surface.

With a deep sigh, Ben took a long, slow sip, the burn of the alcohol offering a momentary distraction from the pain gnawing at his insides. He leaned against the counter, the glass cradled in his hands as he tried to process everything that had happened.

The silence of the house felt oppressive, amplifying the loneliness and despair that clung to him. He took another sip, the whiskey doing little to numb the ache in his heart. Memories of the past few days flashed through his mind: the joy of expecting his child, the devastation of the loss, and the unbearable sight of you in such deep sorrow.

Ben set the glass down, his grip tightening around it as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. He was supposed to be the strong one, the protector, yet here he was, feeling completely helpless. The weight of his own grief, coupled with the need to be there for you, threatened to crush him.

He finished the whiskey in a few more gulps, the warmth spreading through his chest, though it did little to ease the cold emptiness inside. Ben poured himself another glass, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how to move forward. How could you both heal from such a loss? How could he be the support you needed when he felt so broken himself?

Taking one last sip, Ben set the glass aside and took a deep breath. He turned off the kitchen light and made his way back upstairs, the promise he had made to himself echoing in his mind. He slipped back into bed beside you, his arm wrapping around you protectively as he closed his eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace in the quiet of the night.

———————————

A/N: There it fucking is ._. Heartbreak included. I´m sooo sorry...but, please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Part 2

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Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings

[sageispunk]

are you ever gonna post the method man fics 😩

what's it gonna be? (18+)

pairing: Silas P. Silas x black!reader

↳ When two friends finally get a night alone...

wordcount: 2.5k+

warnings: this is all smut fr, fwb to lovers, daddy kink!!!, P in V sex, reader is referred to as "girl" "ma" "mama" "boo", squirting, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, dom! reader for a sec, light choking, hint at/mention of weed use, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, nipple play...lmk if i missed any!!

A/N: ask and you shall receive!! (sorry for the wait though, i've had this sitting unfinished for a min cause i didn't know if anyone actually wanted it LMAO) i hope u like it anon and anyone else, lmk how u feel in the comments!! pls like + reblog as well MWAH 🫶🏾

“Damn girl…” 

Silas groaned below you, with his big hands gripping your hips as you moved up and down his length. The two of you locked desperate eyes, communicating nothing but everything at the same time.

You needed this as much as he did, especially once that familiar green haze behind your eyes set in. You were on your feet, using the strength in your legs and knees to increase your pace on him. With each bounce you could feel him deep inside your belly, touching parts of you that you didn’t even know existed. 

You also couldn't figure out how his tall self managed to squeeze into your twin XL dorm bed, but you weren’t in any position to question it either. The room was dark, only illuminated by the dim screen of your television on the dresser, in addition to the red LED lights on the wall above you. Whichever tv show began when your movie went off went unnoticed, their conversations drowned out by the breathy pants escaping your lips. 

The lewd sounds filling up the room had you both in heaven. Beautiful brown bodies under that rouge coloring– moaning, grunting, smacking, and squishing. Like one of those early 2000s classic Ebony films–just nasty. You could only hope no one could hear from outside your door. 

You moved your hips up and down, taking him all the way down to the base each time, biting your lip with a debauched look on your face. You watched as Silas moaned, loud and needy and uncaring, his eyes rolling back into his head. Your confidence shot up through the roof, leading you to take a little more control. You held his jaw with your dominant hand, bringing your lips up to his earlobe and letting your mouth run off whatever popped into your head, not leaving a second to second guess yourself. 

“Does it feel good when I do it like that?”

With your soft, teasing voice in his ears, you squeezed your inner walls, slowing yourself a bit and ignoring that growing burn in your thighs. “You betta stop it, girl..” His voice came out grunted, rough. His fingers dug into your hips as he struggled to hold onto his nut, a deep moan vibrating through his chest. 

“What about when I do it like that? Hmm?”

You felt him nodding against your skin before his hips stuttered, kissing your spot perfectly for only  a split second. Your body jerked up, momentarily frozen around him as your vision went white. “Silas, FUCK, I’m–!!!”

“Yeahhh, let it out baby..” He murmured, a goofy, cocky grin spreading across his face. Even then, you could still tell that he was struggling to hold on, with your pussy pulsing,  nearly suffocating him like a goddamn boa constrictor. 

Silas kept his eyes on you, his focus wandering up and down, and back and forth, his mind too overwhelmed with pleasure to fixate on only one part of you. He loved your thighs–every time you’d wear this particular pair of biker shorts that defined each of your curves, he would have to mentally go elsewhere just to keep from bursting out his jeans.

Your breasts also held a special place in his heart, especially in those times where he’d seek you out for comfort, resting against the soft, cushiony headrest that your chest provided. Similarly, the softness of your tummy was something he could never turn down, he’d be touching on it every time you showed a little extra skin in a crop top or a backless dress.

As you slowed down to a stop on top of him, he let his hands wander. His left hand traveled up your side, slowly, taking in your beautiful map of scars and stretch marks on the way. Once his thick fingers reached your breasts, they traced around your mocha areolas before latching onto your hardened nipples. Silas rubbed and pinched lightly, alternating between teasing each as he watched the euphoric haze grow across your face. 

“Silas…” You still were sensitive from your sudden orgasm, slightly trembling from the aftershocks as he touched you. Nevertheless, that warmth and excitement began to flood your core once again, that hunger taking over your every thought. His hard dick throbbing eight inches deep inside your core didn't help either. But you needed more, you craved to see him, feel him come undone inside of you. 

You gasped as his right hand made its way to your throat, keeping your gaze steadily on his. The grip of his fingers on your skin had you feeling weak, and under his spell. And his voice, all deep and rough and dripping with desire.

“I gotchu mama, just tell me what you need..” Your eyes scanned over his face, taking in the glaze of sweat on his forehead, above his furrowed eyebrows, as well as the slight pout in his plump bottom lip. You wanted to bite it so bad. “Tell daddy what you need, baby, I gotta hear you.”

Silas repeating the nickname you accidentally gave him the first time you’d hooked up made your tummy flutter. You couldn’t believe it yourself when the word flew out your mouth, while you blurredly watched him take you from behind, standing upright in front of the mirror in some frat party bathroom. From then he never let you forget it. He always made sure to remind you of his special status, without fail making you cum harder than anyone else ever had, every single time. 

“Cum in me, Si...please.” 

The plea fell from your lips as you lazily swirled your hips in his lap, enjoying the way his curved length rubbed deliciously against all your inner spots. Like you were made to fit one another. Your hands held onto his right arm as he continued to choke you, only slightly tightening his grip around your throat. The growing lack of air made you tense around his dick, whining and moaning out as he spoke. “You know if I cum in this pussy, that means it's mine, right?” 

Hearing those words with that thick New York accent while he was so deep in your belly nearly made you cum again. Leaning in, you nodded your response with your gaze fixed directly on his brown eyes.

A look of understanding flashed across Silas’ face for a second, before he released your throat, hand settling on the nape of your neck to bring you in closer. Your plush lips met his own as he swallowed down your moans, exploring your mouth with his hungry tongue.

You opened up, letting him take control of the nastiest kissing you’ve ever participated in–tongues dancing, spit swapping, lip sucking until both of your mouths were glistening. Sinful. 

Silas’ free hand squeezed your hip, grounding you on top of him as he began to slowly grind up into you. Your mouths separated but your faces remained close as he held the back of your neck. Silas watched your face contort while he deepened his stroke inside you, letting you feel every single inch in your stomach.

The only thing you could focus on was his mouth, and how much you wanted that bottom lip back in your mouth. Fuzziness took over your brain, your eyes tearing up from the agonizingly slow but deep pace he was set on. 

The moment was intimate, much more than it had been previously, closer and slower than all those other times Silas had you broken you down. For the past few weeks, you resorted to quickies on the bathroom counter if you were at a party, in either of your cars parked somewhere dark, you’d even let him finger you under the table in the library while you were supposed to be “studying”. And now, with your roommate gone for the weekend, you were finally able to have a nice, passionate moment in a bed. 

In a way, the rushed, adrenaline-filled aspect of all your previous entanglements in those less intimate settings kept you from taking a deeper look at your relationship with Silas. You were friends, albeit much, much closer than “normal” friends should be. You met in a shared biology lecture, after Silas showed up late–and high as hell–and the only seat left open was to your right. You eventually agreed to become study partners, and you didn’t mind when some of those late night study sessions in Silas’ dorm turned into heated smoke sessions, which further turned into nasty intoxicated confessions from you both. 

Silas propped his feet up, lifting his hips before flipping you both over. He placed his hands on the backs of your knees, pushing back and kneeling down to lick a slow, wide stripe up your glossy cunt. You cried out from the new stimulation, squirming in his grasp.

“You taste so mothafuckin’ good, girl..” He moaned against your pussy in appreciation, slurping up your juices and rhythmically sucking on your clit with those pretty ass lips of his. You were entranced, eyes stuck on the scene in front of you, wondering what good you had done in this world to deserve all the bliss flowing through your system.

You watched as he pulled back from your pussy, chin glistening in your essence. He spread your sticky lips apart with two big fingers, hungrily watching you clench and pulse around nothing. The ravenous look in his eyes as he stared at your pussy turned you on like no other. They met yours again, and he licked and bit on his lip, letting you know that he was craving more, just as you were.

Your eyes and mouth fell wide open when Silas let a string of warm spit fall directly onto your clit, both the sensation and the view filling you with an immense amount of pleasure. You could feel the electricity flowing from your pussy to your toes, and back up through your spine, a complete shock to your system.

He let your legs fall to the side, big, warm hands on your face as he leaned in, kissing you once more. The sounds of you both groaning into each other's mouths as you tasted yourself on his lips echoed throughout the room. Your hips grinded up against his, needing to feel his length on and in you again. He pulled away first, one of his hands coming down to pin your knee out to the side, setting you still in place. “You want me to cum in this pussy?” 

You nodded, almost too eagerly. There was nothing else on your mind but the vision of him leaking out of you, vanilla cream dripping down your lips, the perfect match for your coffee complexion.

“Use ya words, boo.” 

You reached up, manicured hands pulling his face to just a couple inches from your own. He watched, expectantly, eyes moving from your eyes to your lips and back up again. You could feel him now, twitching and leaking against your inner thigh, so close to where you needed him most. “Cum in your pussy, Daddy.” 

With a curse under his breath, he sheathed himself inside of you in a quick movement, pausing once he filled you to the base. His eyebrows were furrowed as he stared into your eyes, mouth hung open like he’d never felt the warm, tight hug of your cunt around him before. His breath faltered, warm breath against your lips and vulnerability written across his face.

Your own breath was caught in your chest when he slid back, and then forced out when he pushed inside, gliding through your slick walls with ease. A wail escaped your lips as he punished your pussy, or at least that’s what it felt like he was doing. Reminding you of who he was. And reminding you of who you were. 

Your eyes clamped shut, toes curling and spine arching up off the bed more and more each time he touched your precious g-spot. Another orgasm began to build within your core, your body tightening up underneath him as you fiercely dug your teeth into your bottom lip.

Curses flew from your lips, broken and jumbled together, barely making any sense. You released his face, blindly allowing your hands to find his shoulders for support. Silas leaned down, moaning and groaning in your ear, filling you up with his dick before taking it all away, over and over and over again. 

“Daddyyy…fuck!!!” 

“Tell me it’s mine, baby, c’mon ma, I’m so fuckin’ close…” 

Your bodies were sticky with sweat and all your juices, creating the nastiest smacking sound each time he plunged inside. “It’s yours, I swear to god, it’s all yours baby, ohmyfuckinggoddd…”  You rambled off, barely even able to hear your own words. Your brain was much more focused on the ecstacy spreading through your entire body, making you tingle from your head to your toes. “I’m gonna cum, daddy, please don’t stop!!” 

“Give it to me, baby, c’mon, gimme that shit!” He kept the pace strong, not letting up until you fell apart on his dick one final time, this time with your juices spraying and splashing between your bodies. Your tightness mixed with the sudden wetness of your squirt sent him over the edge, causing him to yell out as he finally released deep inside you. 

“Fuuuck!!” His hips twitched and stuttered as he emptied himself out, not daring to pull out while you were still grasping onto him from underneath.

You whimpered, your body trembling, shaking like a leaf as your nails dug into his shoulders, deep enough to leave a few red crescent-shaped marks. The feeling of his nut filling you gave you the warmest feeling in your tummy, satisfaction spreading through your mind, body, and soul.

The two of you rested for a moment, the sounds of your heavy breathing became your only focus. The audience laughter from the television was more noticeable now, but neither of you could care less. Silas let more of his weight fall on you, cradling you from above while you calmed down your breathing. You turned your face, tucking yourself into his neck and leaving a few soft kisses on the damp skin in appreciation. 

Silas softly chuckled when you teased him with your tongue against his collarbone, knowing you both were too tuckered out for another round just yet. He pulled out of you, slowly, hissing at the overstimulation on his sensitive length. Sitting back on his knees in between your legs, he watched in admiration as seed spilled from your swollen lips, giving him a perfect view of the most beautiful painting he’s ever laid his eyes on–better than anything he’s seen in the MET. 

Observing his mark on you–in you–was gratifying, a surge of endearment and devotion growing within his own core. “C’mere..” 

You obeyed, lazily allowing him to reposition you on top of his chest, your faces just centimeters apart. 

“Tell me somethin’ real quick...you meant it?” 

That vulnerable look was back, although he did try to hide it by avoiding eye contact, instead focusing on your slightly puffy lips, swollen from all the kissing and biting and sucking. You knew what he was talking about, and you knew it was more than just dirty sex talk–something had been growing between the two of you and it was undeniable at this point. 

“Every word.”

i do not give permission for anyone to copy, translate, or repost any of my works. 18+ ONLY -- i am not responsible for the content you consume.

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

07 — DISTANT MEMORY I USED TO KNOW

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

Quickly switching to the main channel once more, you go to report the status of your target, when black consumes your vision.

Pain sparks in the back of your head, your head unnaturally twisting to the side as you fall to your knees, forehead colliding with the harsh concrete as all of the oxygen within your lungs leaves you in one thick swoop.

“Sweetheart?! Sweetheart, what’s your status?!” You can hear Price barking out through the comms, but all you can see, hear, feel, is the sparks in the darkness behind your eyes, the cool, rocky surface of the ground on which you lay. That, and the all-consuming ache your body’s become.

Your hand claws at the floor, an attempt to right yourself, but the very new feeling of a boot’s sole presses against your skull, crushing your cheek between it and the rocks.

“Now it’s clear why you got Colonel,” a nasty, nasally voice spits out from above you. Above? Beneath? You can’t tell, not with the world spinning, not with everything within you falling apart at the seams. “Thanks for confirming what we all knew.”

Even with your centre of gravity out of whack, your words never seem to fail you. “That your,” you suppress the urge to vomit everywhere from the onslaught of nausea, “Commander’s a bad lay?”

The man’s – a Shadow’s – boot presses further against your skull, and you can’t stop the pained groan that falls from your bloodied lips. When you cough, you can hear the red liquid splatter across the floor. He laughs, coldly, unamused.

“No. That you’re a filthy whore who slept her way to the top,” he seethes, and your chest heaves with every intake of breath.

“Real. Fucking. Original,” you manage to grit out, through every flash of pain in your head. Your stubbornness was going to get you killed. Right now, even, maybe.

…Hopefully not.

Struggling to open one eye, you manage to allow yourself a small sliver of vision. You know where your small, hand-held pistol sits, hidden beneath your vest. If you can distract him well enough, all you’d need is one shot.

He grinds the heel of his boot into the nape of your neck, and you find yourself hacking up even more blood. Not a good sign.

“How does a combat medic even make it to Colonel?” He continues, sneering, ignoring your grunts of pain and frequent squirming. “Was your pussy that good?”

“Jealous, Corporal? Wanted his small prick up your ass instead?” You goad, every word a struggle to get out, but worth it nonetheless. He doubles down, looking up to the roof to calm himself down with shaky breaths.

The short, two second window allows for you to slip a trembling hand into your vest, grab a hold of the small pistol, raise it, and pull the trigger.

Your eyes flutter shut once more as the revolting feeling of a corpse on top of you has you freezing up. You can’t even check for more threats, not with every nerve ending in your body feeling as though they’ve been frayed, the truest form of torture you’ve ever experienced.

It’s then that you fall into a state of limbo. A grey area, an unknown, a state of something that can only be described as a loss of self. The crash you’d been anticipating. A pain-induced one, maybe?

“Love! Love, shit, fuck, hey, hold on!” 

In the floaty, intangible abyss you find yourself floating in, you’re unsure if the words are even spoken in reality. If they’re just a figment of your imagination, a taunt, a way for the gods to mock you before you fall into their clutches. 

Graves escaped, the thought comes to you through your haze, as what feels like phantom hands clutch the nape of your neck and your hip, an alarm bell ringing through the blankness of it all. He’s free. He survived. 

You will never belong again.

“Ghost Team, I have Sweetheart, she’s in pretty bad shape,” the words are more certain, this time, your consciousness slowly coming to. You think someone’s carrying you against their chest, a potent smell of cinnamon and gunpowder surrounding you that has you instinctively curling in closer to the source. “We need exfil, now!”

You think you let out a small whimper from the confusion, the agony of it all, because the person holding you shushes you with a soft sound and tightens their grip around the back of your head, squeezing your outer thigh. A princess carry, then.

Attempting to open your eyes, the instant light that floods them has you burying your head into a chest, the fabric blocking your vision. It, too, has that distinct, comforting smell.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart, I got ya.”

…Gaz.

Gaz is the one holding you, the one carrying you to exfil, the one who, embarrassingly, saved you. Out of the four of them, you suppose you were grateful it was him that had seen you passed out. A body on top of you.

Oh. God.

“What,” you croak, your voice broken and throat sore, “What. I – are we safe?”

“You’re safe with me, love. Won’t let anything bad happen to ya. You probably have a concussion so imma need you to stay awake for me, yeah?”

But sleep. It sounded so nice. You haven't slept since. Since you met them all. Since everything, since your life got ruined.

Whatever he says next goes unheard. Whatever pleas are made.

You let slumber take you in its icy grip.

*

“It’s a myth, ya knob. Only gotta wake ‘em up every few hours.”

“Brushed up on ya first aid knowledge to impress her? Real smooth, Soap.”

“The two of you – quit it. She’s wakin’ up.”

“Great.”

“You shut your mouth too, Simon.”

With a small groan, you try your best to gauge your surroundings. You’re moving, that much you’re sure of – by the thrum of the engine in your core and the distant whirring, you’re in a helicopter.

You think your head’s resting in someone’s lap – a hand in your hair, stroking against your scalp, soft and sweet.

Eyes fluttering open, you quickly adjust to the neon lights of the roof, finding yourself face to face with Gaz. So, you figure, you’re in his lap, his hand in your hair. He’s good, you think distantly, a proper damn masseuse.

His brows are furrowed, bottom lip forming a small pout as he glares at who you gather is Soap to your left. 

When he looks down, however, a grin quickly replaces the expression and the hand in your hair starts rubbing smooth circles into the base of your skull. If this is what Heaven is, you suddenly understand man’s desire to reach it.

“There we are,” he smiles, voice lower and smoother. “Sleepy head.”

You shoot him the world’s weakest glare. He, dutifully, doesn’t comment on its lacklustre effect. “I promise. I don’t usually have to get saved,” you petulantly point out, but the edge is dulled as Gaz continues to play with your hair. And that intoxicating cinnamon seems to have you on a leash.

“Didn’t think you did,” he reassures, and you accept the confirmation with a steady breath.

You try and pull yourself up, using your hands to do so, when a soaring pain through your left shoulder has your breath hitching and your head falling back into Gaz’s lap. It’s only then that you realise that someone’s got your bent legs in theirs, too, and when you try and get a look, you see it’s Price.

“Try not to use that arm,” Price jerks his chin to your aching arm. “You got grazed.”

It hits you, all at once, what has just transpired. What you failed to do. 

“He escaped,” you croak, looking up to the ceiling even when it starts spinning. “I tried to take him down. I did. But. He escaped, I’m…” you swallow, a heavy thing, “Sorry.”

“Hey, no, lass,” Soap chimes in, and with a secure hand at your non-wounded shoulder, Gaz helps you sit up, head resting against his shoulder, “Dinnae ken why yer sorry. It was one against ten.”

Your head pounds, a relentless rhythm, and when you look down, it’s to find Price’s hand fall onto your thigh and give a comforting pat. When you turn to him, he gives you a small smile. “You did good. We have to finish up another loose end, but we’ll take you to the nurse on base –”

“I want to go,” you interrupt, sitting up straighter with a small wince. It’s a small helicopter, obviously meant just for the 141, with bolted metal as far as the eye can see. “I can’t. I have to be useful.”

“No.”

The final member, the worst one, the man seemingly out to get you.

Ghost.

“What do you mean, no?” You quip, shooting daggers at the man who sits beside Soap on the other side of the chopper. 

“Did the concussion give you hearing loss?” He asks, cold, and you feel as though you’re buzzing with energy, “Or do you just hate hearing the word no? We don’t need you on this mission.”

“Didn’t realise you were taking over the duties as Captain,” you grit, your headache increasing tenfold, even with Gaz’s hand at the base of your nape a soothing presence, “How does Price feel about his Lieutenant’s new role?”

Both you, and Ghost, shoot a look to Price. He unknowingly tightens his grip around your thigh.

“We can discuss this on base,” he commands, allowing no room for argument. “We head for Chicago in two hours.”

Your brows furrow. “Chicago? Why?”

Soap’s smirk is dirty, excited as he simply says, “We talked to a… friend. She gave us the information we needed.”

“Information for what?” You ask, narrowing your eyes, leaning further against Gaz as more pain shoots through your body. He doesn’t say a word about it.

“Graves didn’t tell you…?” Gaz asks, looking down to you with barely concealed shock. 

You look around at the four men. “What? What’s going on?”

“The last missile,” Price folds his hands together, leaning forward to meet your eyes with serious blue. “We’re heading to Chicago to dismantle the last missile.”

*

“There we go, doll. Right as rain.”

The woman gives you a kind smile, securing the bandage around your arm, the disinfectant and tape underneath it along with the shot of morphine she’d given you easing the pain. She pulls off her latex gloves, a ring adorning her wedding finger.

“Thank you…” You trail off, not seeing a name badge on the nurse.

She places her hand on your good shoulder and gives you a soft squeeze, her smile warming. “Sarah. My name’s Sarah. I’d say that I’ll see you around, but… I hope not.”

You let out a laugh, and she lets out her own chuckle.

Sarah’s gorgeous, with dark features, black hair cut short to her head, graceful in her movements. A gold necklace rests on her collarbone, the pendant in the shape of a K.

The 141’s base is, well, almost exactly how you’d imagined it. Busy, well-stocked, off the grid.

Gaz and Soap had been lenient to leave you in the Med Bay by yourself, but Price and Ghost had made them haul ass to the conference room. You were all running on a very tight ship, time seeming to fall through your grasps with every breath you took.

“Thank you, again, Sar–”

“Colonel?” Turning where you sit on the white, hospital-issued bed, your confusion doubles when you see a woman you don’t recall having met before. She seems kind, motherly, almost, but steely in a way that only came with being in Special Ops.

“Hello to you too,” Sarah rolls her eyes, and you watch as the stranger looks to the nurse, her expression immediately easing into something loving.

“Hey, love,” the blonde woman says, pressing her lips to Sarah’s cheek, before pulling back and watching you.

“Who are you…?” You ask, feeling bad for ruining what seems to be the couple’s greeting. But also. You just got here, and couldn’t be expected to understand everyone and everything on base.

Inclining her head in a small apology, the woman extends her hand to you, which you take with a firm grip.

“Kate Laswell, Station Chief,” she greets, and recognition sparks in the back of your mind. This was the woman that had found out about Shepherd and Graves’ off the books treason. It feels as though a rock has gotten stuck in your throat as you pull away, not breaking eye contact. “You want to come on this mission? You’ll be with me.”

You immediately look to Sarah, expecting her to object, as a normal nurse probably would.

Instead, she just gives you a cryptic, knowing look. “I know how you soldiers work. If I tell you to rest, it’ll just give you more of an incentive to get yourself shot again.”

Your smile is the brightest it’s been in years.

“What’s our role?” You ask, standing up from the bed with the smallest of winces. Morphine has its limits, you suppose. Sarah starts cleaning up the supplies, and when Laswell encourages you to walk beside her with a hand at the dip of your back, you do just as much.

“We’ll be locating the missile,” she explains, low as the two of you walk through the crowded hallway. Her hand doesn’t leave its position on your back, and you’re grateful. “And you’ll be telling me everything you can about Graves and the Shadows.”

You fall into pace beside her, embarrassed by the difficulty of the task. Sarah had said you’d suffered a minor concussion, and a pretty hefty cut on your temple which she’d patched up as best she could. Being a combat medic, you knew most of your diagnoses anyway, but it was nice having it cemented by the kind woman. The bullet graze was at risk of infection, and a general pain in the ass, but it was durable with the tending in Med Bay.

“I’m surprised the boys aren’t the ones interrogating me,” you jest, more of a seeking for reason than anything. Why would they have Laswell do the talking, when they seemed so… interested?

She shoots you a look – a mystery for you to uncover. “Price told me that you mentioned a… questionable difference in authority and age. Gaz said just as much, and while they may be brutes,” she smiles to herself, telling of her history with the team, “They’re good men. Think they’re looking out for you.”

The only person, in hindsight, who had ever looked out for you was your mother.

You blink away the burning in your eyes, swallowing, before adjusting your smile once more. “I think they’re… wary of me, more like it.”

Her brows shoot to her hairline. “You don’t think that Gaz finding you unconscious with a dead Shadow atop of you cemented your allegiance? The two Sergeants haven’t shut up about you since they arrived. Only stopped talking when Price threatened them.”

“He threatened them?” you choke on a shocked laugh, getting lost in how… nice it is, talking to another woman. How safe, how it feels like you have someone to trust. The 141, you think you can trust them, but there’s something so different in the camaraderie of women. The inherent safety you feel with one in a position such as herself, that niggling in the back of your mind gone.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she looks to you with a smug grin, pushing open the back exit of the compound with a nudge of her shoulder. The wind slashes against your face, a strand blowing into your mouth, making you wince and spit it out.

“Fucking hate that,” you mutter, Laswell immediately quipping, “The worst.”

You think you and Laswell are going to get along quite well.

“Fuck, Sweetheart, there ye are!” A now all too familiar Scottish lilt calls, stood with the rest of the 141 by two helicopters. You stand across the field, but you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face when both him and Gaz come bounding over, Gaz adorning what appears to be a wetsuit underneath his standard uniform. 

Bulky arms wrap around your waist, and you find yourself being lifted off of the ground, Soap pressing you against him with a strong hug. A surprised giggle leaves your lips, and you see Gaz stop just in front of you both, hands on his hips.

“She’s still injured, you dolt,” Gaz goads, and Soap responds by squeezing you harder.

“Aye, that she is,” Soap grunts, letting you down a touch gentler as you find your footing once more. He smirks. “But… She still owes me one for that dirty move back in Las Almas.”

You playfully punch at his shoulder. “Wasn’t patching you up enough? Not leaving you for dead?”

“I don’t seem to recall…” He trails off, his dimples deepening when you punch him again, harder this time.

“Good to see you up and ready to go.” The wind whistles through your ears, the near-dusk light brushing you all in sensual blues as you meet the Captain’s affirming grin.

Even when you try and flatten your mouth into an authoritative line, the smile seems unable to leave your face. You fold your arms. “I seem to remember you all wanting me dead or nowhere near you, just a day ago.”

Gaz raises his hands in defence, teeth on display as he swings his arm around your neck, pulling you in. “Don’t group me with ‘em. Trusted you the moment I saw you.”

“And who’s to say we still don’t want those things?”

Right. Ghost.

Laswell, standing behind you all, seeming to cast her calculative gaze over the five of you, narrows her eyes at the Lieutenant at the exact same time you do. “If you can’t play nice with the Colonel, Ghost, we can and will swap you out.”

That has you instantly ready to protect the woman’s six.

“Someone seems to recognise my rank,” You look to Laswell as Gaz unravels his arm from around your shoulders, and the woman simply shrugs, hands in her vest’s pockets.

“I just recognise another woman deserving of her power when I see one,” she says, and you might’ve proposed at that very moment if it weren’t for her wife just a few doors away.

“Sergeants, Lieutenant, go ahead and check over the supplies. I’ll catch up in a moment,” Price orders, and when both Gaz and Soap go to answer back, he raises a hand, raises his brow, too. “That wasn’t a request, boys. Go.”

They do just as much, both Gaz and Soap waving back at you as they jog back over to the helicopters.

Just you, Price and Laswell then.

“Kate, a minute.”

…Or, well, just you and Price.

Leading you with a hand on your elbow, Price pauses by a quiet section of the base’s wall, looking around you for any stragglers. Not seeing any, he moves both his hands to rest on your shoulders.

“The deal we made,” he begins, and it’s like a blow to your side. You lift your chin, straighten your posture, clench your jaw. “We – I would like it to extend until Graves is officially KIA. If we can plan a takedown properly, not rush it as much, we can do it. But it’s only right if you do it right alongside us.”

He subconsciously squeezes your flesh, but it’s a grounding motion, one you find necessary.

This feels like more than just that. This feels like an offering – a sense of stability for your foreseeable future. A way for you to find your feet, with a community, a support system to help you restart this path your life has diverted to.

“Yes,” you say, earnest, eyes not straying from Price’s for a single moment. “Yes – thank you.”

“I’d argue that we get the better end of the bargain,” Price mutters, and it’s so quiet and human that you think you might’ve imagined the words. You go to push, ask what exactly he means by that –

“Captain! Hassan has entered the building!” 

He breaks eye contact, finally, and your eyes catch on his profile in the night of dusk – the slope of his nose, the angles of his jaw.

He is, all things considered, a beautiful man.

Your heart thunders, and you pull away, his hands falling from your frame like weights. With a small, delicate smile, you raise your hand to your head in a faux-salute.

“Good luck, Cap.”

His responding smile is softened by the dreaminess of it all, the light, the nervous buzz in the air. He raises his own hand, then, a mocking of your movement.

“See you on the other side, Sweetheart.”

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author's note. i have TWO very specific. but huge. plot twists thatll happen WAY later in the fic. im very curious if anyone can guess em before hand! both of which HAVE been hinted at. a part of me hopes that you guys miss it!! :p