#how any of them are still sane is beyond me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

charliemwrites · 10 months ago

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Squeeze Me, I Squeak!

While your interactions with Lieutenant Riley started out cold and tense, he's been warming up to your secondary specialty. Apparently, you make for a great stress-toy. (In which Ghost is a brat with authority, but you don't mind. You're a bit of a brat too.)

Original AO3 Link (I posted this a million years ago to AO3 and it was my first ever COD fic, inspired by a Discord chat and Badjhur audios. I figured it's about time I added it to the Tumblr masterlist for ease.)

Content: Dom/Sub Dynamics, Fraternization (therefore power imbalance), Medical Care (non-descriptive), Body Piercings, Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy

It starts with one simple catalyst: your cheeks.

You’ve been with the 141 for over half a dozen missions now. Three bullet grazes, two concussions, four sprains, and one nasty cold into your assignment under Captain Price, and quite pleased to be there. He’s a good leader, trustworthy and steadfast, a bastion of experience and skill shielding your unconventional squad from red tape and repercussion.

Time is a little more fluid for you as the combat medic. You’re awake about twice as long as you’re ever asleep. Anxiety tugs you from fitful rest to check on your patients – your boys – if any of them are laid up with more than a dislocation. It makes the days long, nights longer, and you’ve lost track of how many calendar months since you’ve officially been with the task force.

Long enough, though, that you feel like you’ve got a handle on your squad and their personalities.

Captain Price is a grump about medical care. He understands the necessity, but resents the paperwork, time, materials, energy that goes into it. He’s gracious to let you fuss (within reason) and you’re gracious to ignore his old man grumbling. And the cigars.

Gaz is an absolute peach. Sits still, asks for painkillers when he needs them, follows care instructions. The worst he does is whine, but that’s only for the silly little injuries and the occasional flu shot. He’s respectful, sometimes a little bashful, and friendly. He makes you feel welcome, bought you your first drink with the squad after a mission, and generally is a sweetheart.

Soap is fun. A bit rambunctious and fidgety on your table, but he tries, at least. Not as careful as you’d like him to be. He’ll give you a sheepish smile whenever you fuss that he’s pulling his stitches or straining a healing joint. He whines like a banshee over everything except the serious wounds, but paradoxically has to be strong-armed into painkillers for anything. He reminds you a bit of a husky.

His brand of friendliness comes with jokes and teasing, flirtations that he’s careful to never take too far. You’ll indulge him in return sometimes, especially if he’s having a rough go of it, but it’s all in good fun. A lot of your downtime is spent in his and Gaz’s company, chatting about anything and everything, playing video games, or trying (the operative word here) to read. He’s also, unfortunately, the one who came up with your nickname.

Then there’s the lieutenant. You call him “the lieutenant” because you get the impression that he’d toss you out a window if you dared even utter his call sign.

The 141 isn’t your first assignment; you’ve been a combat medic for long enough that you’ve seen the full range of patients in the military. You’re no stranger to the puffed-up hyper-masculine men that practically resent your specialization.

“Like they think I’ll take their Man Card just for getting a plaster,” you’d once commiserated with a fellow medic.

The lieutenant goes a step beyond that. The best you can get out of him on a good day are one-word answers. A good day is if he’s hauling someone else to you. When it’s him that needs the care, well… you two often don’t meet eye to eye. And not just because he’s roughly the size (and build) of a tank.

On your third mission with him, he suffered a knife wound to the hip. You hadn’t been able to judge how deep it was between his gear and his evasiveness and you’d lost your temper.

“Lieutenant Riley, stand fucking still,” you snapped.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” he snarled.

And oh, you regretted every word you’d ever spoken in that moment. Had felt, with some certainty, that enemy combatants were not going to be what did you in. Cursed Price a little too, blaming him for this somehow.

But you were tired and a little pissed and had about a million other things to do that weren’t chase after your lieutenant.

“I said standing fucking still,” you dared repeat, raising your voice.

“I’ll have you booked with insubordination so fast, your fucking head will spin,” he growled.

“Medical treatment outranks everyone, sir,” you snapped back, just as fast. You were already snapping gloves on; he was finally still, after all, even if it was to yell at you. “So if anyone can be written up, it’s you.”

“Lass—” Soap tried, but you were already ducking down, eyes narrowed and gauze in hand.

You were relieved to see that it wasn’t too bad. Slathered it with antibiotic and pinched it closed with butterflies, then straightened. It was done in under a minute and you were even more annoyed than before.

“All that for fucking what,” you grumbled to yourself. Not quietly enough, apparently.

“That’ll do,” the lieutenant barked.

The unholy burning in his eyes informed you that you’d pushed your luck far, far enough.

You shut up and skittered off, had not been written up for insubordination, but received a well-meant ‘cool it’ from Price afterwards.

And Lieutenant Riley was… well, he was himself.

He doesn’t make you bitch at him anymore, though – and you would be lying if you weren’t a bit proud of that. By no means is he jumping to get treated, but he comes to you for the serious injuries and obliges if you manage to catch the non-fatal stuff.

It’s not that you hold it against him. Medics are a sore spot for a lot of people, and Lieutenant Riley is more private than the average soldier. He’s never actively rude, at least, apart from that one spat. Gruff and short maybe, but not mean. And you’re quite happy to have that, at least.

Besides, he watches out for you in the field, where it matters. Has literally hauled you to safety by your straps more than once. Ensures you get into exfil before him. You’ve even caught him giving you a quick, assessing check that all your gear was secure and ready.

You and he bicker at each other still, and you don’t always come out victorious. There have been plenty of instances that he’s just marched away from you, long legs carrying him to some dark corner when he won’t entertain your nagging. Still, there’s growing respect between you two, you sense. He’s a solid CO, if much different from Price, confident and competent without being arrogant. And, well, he can be a bit rude (“abrupt” you demur to Soap, who cackles) but not disrespectful.

On his end, you think things change when he gets injured. Again. You don’t know exactly what’s happened, only that he was a little too close to an explosion. The edges of his balaclava are burnt, one damning edge melted to the skin of his neck. The real issue is the deep laceration that’s sliced through the fabric. From what you can see, it starts behind his ear and slashes around his temple to take a sizable chip from the edge of his hard mask.

His bell has been rung enough that he’s silent when Soap drops him on your cot.

You do a concussion test – thank whatever higher powers there might be that he passes – and reassess the situation. He’s bleeding, he’s burnt, his mask is a hindrance. Most other medics would pry the thing off and treat him regardless of his feelings on the matter.

But you’re not any other medic, you’re the 141’s medic. You have candy for Gaz and fidget toys for Soap and carry nicotine patches or gum for Price. Lieutenant Riley hardly even pulls his mask up to drink in front of you still. He doesn’t trust easily (maybe not at all) but you’ve managed not to fuck up this far and you won’t start now.

“Need to take the skull off,” you inform him, “the balaclava can stay.”

His shoulders drop just the smallest micro-fraction. You’ve made the right choice.

He lets you pull the hard mask away, eyes flickering to yours when you set it within his reach. You blink at him, just once, trying to convey that for all your differences and squabbles before, you’re his squad-mate, his medic, and you’re on his side.

Then you turn to the bleeding.

“Going to cut a bigger hole,” you warn.

You don’t know if he’s listening, if he cares, if he’d prefer you to be quiet. You do this for Gaz and Soap, and you’ll do it for him until he tells you otherwise.

The surgical scissors make a perfect, neat line through the fabric. Blood stains dirty blond hair beneath your gloves, flattening the curls. It’s a nasty wound, deep enough that it’ll need stitches. You tell him as much as you clean it, efficient without being rough. You don’t coddle your boys; they don’t need it. The kindest thing you can do is always to just get it over with.

As you numb his skin and prep the sutures, you begin explaining the care instructions. It’ll cut down the amount of time he’ll have to hang around after you’ve finished treatment.

You fall quiet as you start stitching him up, bottom lip between your teeth to focus on speed and accuracy. On your little rolling stool, you’re trying not to loom over his prone form. Plenty of soldiers have bad reactions to being leaned over like this, and you’d expect it from any of the 141.

Your hand is starting to cramp by the time you get to the sharp cheekbone where the injury ends, but it’s done – possibly in record time. As you sit back to check your work, you catch his eye. His gaze is so heavy that you’re shocked you didn’t feel its weight this whole time. There’s an odd glint to it, the calmest you’ve ever seen from him. Especially on your medical cot.

“All good, sir?” you ask.

“Affirmative.”

“The burn now.”

You don’t touch him, just direct his head at a good angle to treat his neck. You have to numb that too, see more of the tension drain from him when it takes effect. Christ, you hadn’t even noticed. He’s like a statue sometimes, bearing wounds that would have most other people in shambles.

“Burns are the worst,” you agree. “I hate getting them, hate treating them.”

“There anything you like treating?” he grumbles.

You hum. “Common cold. All you big boys get sleepy and nasally and pathetic.”

There’s a little puff of air that you recognize from comm banter with Soap – he’s amused. You’ve managed to get something like a laugh out of him. Buoyed by this, you proceed with the delicate process of treating melted fabric.

“Pathetic, eh? Tell Johnny you said that.”

“I already told him when he got sick,” you gloat. “He pouted. Might have a picture of it somewhere.”

When you chance to look away from your work, you catch his eye again, peering at you from his peripheral. You flash a grin – a little goofy from the high of a positive reaction – and then turn back.

“That legal?” he asks. “Pictures of patients.”

You arch an eyebrow, knowing he’ll see it. “Are you going to lecture me about GDPR, Lieutenant Riley?”

“Not if it doesn’t become my problem.”

You chuckle a little – heartened by your progress and by his unusual talkativeness. “Hasn’t yet,” you point out.

More likely to be Price’s problem, anyway. Probably.

He lets you fall silent again to concentrate. Despite the severity, the affected area is smaller than you initially thought. It’ll be painful and scar like hell, but no skin grafts are necessary. You report this with obvious relief – good news all around as far as you’re concerned.

When you’re finally done, you scoot your chair back and turn to his (heavily redacted) chart, scribbling out the diagnosis and treatment. As you’re signing your initials, he calls for you by last name, tugging your gaze up.

“Was there something else, Lieutenant?” you ask, already scanning him for other injuries.

“Need one more thing from you.”

You hum in question, folding his chart over. His hand comes up, still gloved.

And then he takes your cheek between thumb and forefinger. And pinches.

Your brain spits static, eyes going wide in shock and confusion. It takes you a beat to respond, and then only because his fingers tighten to the point it starts to ache.

“Ow, Lieutenant—” you complain, still too surprised to really snap, one eye closing to express discomfort.

He releases you, staring at the spot he just grabbed. It’s probably already turning red.

“Anyone ever tell you,” he drawls, slow and measuring, “how round your cheeks are?”

Now you’re red for a different reason. You rub at the skin and scrunch your nose, unsuccessfully telling yourself that you’re not pouting like you joked Soap did.

“No,” you huff, “because most people aren’t dumb enough to say that to their medic.”

Your brain still isn’t working right because there’s no way you’d be implying that Lieutenant Riley is dumb if it was. The most personable you two have gotten before now was him buying you a drink after a mission, but he’d been buying everyone else a drink at the time.

“Not afraid of you, Squeaks.”

“I’m aware, Lieutenant.”

You’re hoping he’ll drop it, a little confused but also a little… flattered? It’s difficult to parse what you’re feeling when he’s still staring at you with those dark, glittering eyes. Not that you’re looking. No, definitely not. In fact, you are doing your damnedest not to look at his eyes. Or his face.

Which is why you notice him tugging his glove off. And then reaching for you – for your face – again.

“Hey—” you start, but he’s already squeezing, just before the point you’d fussed last time.

“Want me to stop?” he asks.

… No.

“Want to know what you’re doin’,” you deflect, brows furrowing.

Why are you letting him do this? You shouldn’t let him do this. It’s not that it hurts. It’s just… principle. Military isn’t an especially touchy-feely cuddly career field. Soap and Gaz are fairly tactile, true, but not… like this. But, well, maybe you’ve missed it. This. Touches like this. Haven’t seen friends you’re close to in a long time, don’t have this kind of relationship with your family. Haven’t had a partner in… a depressingly long time, and even then, it always took a while to get to this level of casual intimacy – if you got there at all.

“Thought that was obvious,” the lieutenant replies.

The other hand, still gloved, finds your opposite cheek and pinches that one too. Your eyes are forced narrow as the skin is manipulated, bunched up. You make a noise in the back of your throat, tilting your head to accommodate.

“’S not,” you mumble. “Who are you, my auntie?”

“’M scarier than your auntie.”

You snort, edges of your mouth tugging up despite how he’s pulling your cheeks.

“Never met my auntie, then,” you giggle.

Noticing your grin, he lets one go, only to gently crush both in his ungloved hand. And god, it’s so big that he could span your jaw from middle finger to thumb. Instead, he smooshes your face until your mouth puckers. You must look like a fish – a dumbstruck, awkward fish.

“Sir,” you slur out. He squeezes a little tighter, cutting off your ability to speak. Good thing, probably; you’re not sure what you would have said next.

“Like a little stress ball you are,” he muses, almost to himself.

That does prompt a laugh from you, the absurdity of the entire situation making you a little light- headed. Here is your huge, terrifying lieutenant, practically more legend than man, squishing your cheeks like a particularly long-suffering but beloved pet. You, the team medic, the person who pokes and prods at them more often than not. The one person in the 141 that you always thought he barely tolerated.

“Next time I’m on the edge of tearin’ my hair out, I’ll just come to you for a squeeze.”

He emphasizes this with one last, extra scrunch that makes you humph in mild discomfort. But when he finally lets you go, you grin and shake your head, somehow more amused than annoyed or offended. It seems like you finally might be growing on your lieutenant. That’s nothing to sneeze at.

“Try it and you’ll lose a finger, sir,” you tease.

“Like to see you try it, Squeaks.”

Your mistake was thinking that Simon “Ghost” Riley makes idle threats. (Not that you think that he was threatening you; if he was you know you’d know it.)

He’s been out training recruits by himself – Gaz and Price on a mission, Soap laid up with a twisted knee – a task that already tends to irritate him. Add to that, the weather is fucking miserable. Hot as hell but also a little rainy, meaning that it’s humid as a swamp. Probably has been making his stitches and burn itch beneath the mask.

When he storms into the common room at the end of the day, you and Soap exchange looks. A lot of assassin-soldier to be barreling into a small room – and making a beeline straight for you.

“Uh, sir?” you yelp. Consider a tactical retreat, but even that brief deliberation is too long. He crowds you against the counter you were making tea at and grabs your face.

He still has his gloves on, rough and uncomfortable on your skin. You wrinkle your nose, try to pull back, but his grip is too tight, so you just submit yourself to whatever is happening.

Apparently, “de-stress” is happening.

His smooshes your face just like he had in the infirmary, and some of the tension in his shoulders drops. You blink as his grip relaxes, then tenses. And then again. And again. Again, again, again. It dawns on you that he’s literally treating your cheeks like his own personal stress ball.

You should be insulted. Outraged. You’re not a toy.

“All good, LT?” Soap ventures. Sounds like he’s defusing a bomb.

“Fine, Johnny,” Ghost replies, almost absently. “Long day.”

“Recruits bein’ idjets, then?”

“Fuckin’ muppets,” he agrees, less heated than he’d normally be.

Huh, you think. Is this… actually working?

You make eye contact with Johnny. He looks more blindsided than you, a bit like he’s witnessing your murder instead of being accosted by your strained lieutenant.

“Couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag with a map.”

He squeezes a little tighter as he says it, prompting a noise of protest from you. It doesn’t hurt yet, but your teeth are rubbing against soft tissue. He eases up again and meets your eyes, half-lidded and a touch warmer than you’re used to. The skin around his eyes eases bit by bit, and the line of his jaw beneath the balaclava looks relaxed.

You settle then, resting your weight back against the counter. Nothing untoward is happening, just Ghost being… honestly, a little weird. It’s a nice thought actually, that your big scary LT is a weirdo. The kind of weirdo that would rather squish his medic than a stress ball.

Makes sense in a way, with how he’s always covered up and keeping a safe distance (physically and emotionally) between himself and others. Probably touch starved. Not sure why he’s picked you, but you’re happy that he did.

After a few minutes you pat his wrist, a gentle double tap. Like sparring. He lets you go.

“I’m making tea if you’d like a cup?” you offer.

“Yeah, Sergeant. Earl Grey, left side of the cabinet.”

“Yessir.”

You can feel Soap squinting.

“Since when are you two so chummy, eh?” he asks.

“Since always,” Ghost replies as if Soap is an idiot.

With your back turned, he can’t see the grin that would surely give you away. “Yeah, Soap, where’ve you been?”

“Och, now you’re taking the piss.”

You hand Ghost his tea and sit down to let Soap rant.

It has become a habit. Ghost gets annoyed at recruits, paperwork, bad intel – your cheeks get squished like it’s a family reunion. He starts removing his gloves at least. Warm, calloused hands are much more comfortable than textured gloves. You’re starting to look forward to it, even.

It’s not a long process. He’ll come find you, smoosh up your face until you wrinkle your nose, and then continues with his day, shoulders looser than when he appeared. You usually complain, whine that you’re in the middle of something, that he didn’t even warn you, that his grip is too tight. But you never push him away or pull back. And he always honors your little tap-taps if you need to be freed before he’s ready to let go.

By this point, everyone on the team has seen it. Soap no longer brings it up, but sometimes informs you when Ghost appears with that Look about him. Gaz floundered the first time he saw it, stuttering and stumbling until Ghost told him to spit it out or shut up. Once after that, he asked if he could squeeze you for stress relief. You had to make Ghost let go from how tight his hand went. Gaz didn’t ask again.

Price, shockingly enough, takes in the situation, then settles you with a nonjudgmental look.

“Solid, Sergeant?”

“Yessir,” you manage around your pressed cheeks, adding a thumbs up.

“As you were, then.”

And that was that.

Of course, with jobs like yours, some days are more stressful than others. Some days are hell on Earth. This mission wasn’t quite that, but it did go to shit in a handbasket, and you’re ragged by the end of it. Gaz dislocated a shoulder, Soap is concussed. Price has a nasty road rash across one arm that he was a bit of an ass about tending – not that you’d say as much.

Even you are scuffed up. A hostile split your lip with a nasty jab that caught you off guard. (Ghost, right behind you at the time, stabbed the guy with vicious prejudice. You’re trying not to be flattered and trying not to think about what it means that you’re failing.) Besides that, you’re exhausted, dehydrated, and you’re pretty sure you hurt your back trying to stabilize Soap at some point.

Ghost is the only one that made it out unscathed as far as you can tell. You also know that that’s more likely to put him in a mood than if he’d suffered alongside you all. Cold and detached as he might seem, he doesn’t like seeing anyone in the 141 hurt on his watch.

You’re beside Soap, making sure he doesn’t fall asleep on the transport back to base, but you can feel Ghost’s eyes on you. You make eye contact across the aisle. His shoulders are tight, arms crossed, hands clenching and unclenching. He’s too disciplined to tap his foot or bounce his leg, but you know he would be if he was anyone else.

When you land, you send Soap to the infirmary for observation. Price decides on debrief after breakfast the next morning and slinks off to his office. Gaz follows after Soap to get painkillers and a sling. You shoot Ghost a long, tired look.

“Can’t be a stress ball today,” you tell him, “my mouth hurts.”

“I know.”

But still, he’s standing too close to you at the armory where you’ve returned your weapons. His shoulders are bent slightly towards you, hands twitching at his sides. In all honesty, you wish that you could do your usual destress routine – because as much as he seems to enjoy having something/someone to squeeze, you enjoy having to sit still for a few moments of physical contact just as much.

And after thinking Soap cracked his skull, Gaz lost his arm, your captain got skinned, you need to decompress. And you need to do it with Ghost, who saved each and every one of you today.

“C’mon,” you say and, taking a chance, grab his hand.

He hums in question, but allows you to lead, careful not to grip too tight. The bones there are too delicate, and you need them in working order as their medic. He can’t be so rough with them.

You practically drag him to the common room and put on the kettle. Understanding, Ghost preps the mugs and sachets of preferred tea. When the water is hot enough, you each make your tea, then tug him to the couch. You direct him into the corner – and it’s only then that you hesitate.

Instinct is to climb into his lap. He’s a big man and you want to be cradled, but you also suspect the weight and warmth of another body would be soothing to him too. Instead, you clamber up as close to him as you can get, wedging your shoulder against his rubs and encouraging his arm around you.

It seems like he hesitates for a moment too. This is the most contact you two have ever had, regardless of how close he usually stands when he’s squeezing your face. Right now, you’re pressed together all down one side, your thigh overlapping his a little. After a moment, though, he releases a long breath and curls his arm around you. His hand settles naturally on your hip.

It’s not long after that that the squeezing starts.

He's still got his gloves on and the skin on your hip is sensitive, usually hidden under layers of clothes, but you’re too snuggled in to disturb the arrangement now. Between the heat he radiates like a furnace, and your steaming tea, you’re quickly cozy and spaced out. The rhythm of his hand kneading plush flesh is soothing, something to drift back to while your mind goes blissfully blank of anything but safe, warm, comfy, quiet.

At some point, your mostly empty cup is plucked from your hand. You mumble a thank you and curl in closer, both legs over his lap now. His other hand rests on your lower thigh, just above your knee, and begins squeezing there too. Almost a massage, if not for the near-rough way he grips you.

“Like a cat,” you mumble, head lolling onto his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“Cat making biscuits.”

There’s a huff of air. You smile faintly and tilt your head away from the suddenly too-bright lights of the common room. Don’t even realize you’ve tucked into his neck until he rubs his jaw over the top of your head.

“’S nice,” you whisper.

He hums. You think it might be agreement. Must be, Ghost wouldn’t be entertaining this if he didn’t. It’s a reassuring thought to drift off with, knowing that no matter what you want, he’ll never do something just to be nice.

You wake the next morning horizontal, something too firm to be a pillow under your head. When you sit up a little, Ghost’s dark eyes are peering at you, heavy as usual, but not as sharp. His chest rumbles beneath your chin in greeting.

“Mine or yours?” you mumble.

“Mine.”

You hum, too sleepy to let the implications of such a big gesture make you anxious right now.

“You’re a bad pillow,” you say instead.

It’s a lie. He’s a wonderful pillow. Jacked as he is, all that muscle is so plush and cushiony when it’s relaxed like this. Helps, also, that he’s still so warm.

“Slept on me just fine,” he grunts. “Drooled a little, too.”

“Did not.”

“Explain the wet spot on my tits then.”

You say the first thing that comes to mind. “Lactating.”

“You’re a freak.”

“Stones in glass houses, sir.”

You close your eyes again for a moment, enjoying the dark room and heat beneath you. The best night of sleep you’ve gotten in a long while, honestly. Especially with so much of the team injured.

There’s a tug at your hair, gentler than you usually get from Ghost.

“Get the fuck up, Squeaks,” he gruffs without any heat. In fact, he sounds like he’d rather you didn’t. “Need to piss and eat.”

“At the same time?” you tease. You’d sound more scandalized if you weren’t still half asleep.

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

He rolls you onto the mattress and pushes himself up.

“Meet back here in fifteen. Fresh clothes, fresh face.”

“Gonna squish it?” you ask.

“Maybe later, see how the day goes.” He pinches one of your cheeks anyway. Still rougher than most people would be, but for him it’s downright tender. You try not to lean into it, not sure if you succeed. Don’t think either of you cares, really.

You lay there for another moment, listening to him bustle around his quarters, getting new clothes it sounds like.

“How copy, sergeant?”

“Solid, sir.”

“Fifteen.”

“Yessir.”

You haul yourself up and trudge out of his room for a shower. Gonna need all fifteen of those minutes.

Breakfast is a quiet but pleasant affair. Gaz is using his sling and sore as all hell, but in high spirits. Soap is exhausted from two-hour wakeups and the sensitivity the concussion has left him with. The painkillers are helping, and despite all that, he’s in a decent (if slightly subdued) mood.

You snatch up a couple of dry muffins and an orange juice for Price before heading to debrief, plopping it all on his desk when you enter his office. Your efforts are rewarded with a fond smile.

Gaz and Soap take the two single chairs, probably afraid of falling asleep on the couch. That’s where you and Ghost end up, you pressed up against the arm and him… right next to you.

Not that you’re complaining. His thigh pressed against yours is a nice comfort. Reminiscent of how he made you feel the night before. A reminder that he’s here, that he’s solid and safe while you all recount the mission from the day before. If Price is shocked by you two practically nested up together, he doesn’t show it.

Somewhere along the way, your hand reaches for something to fiddle with. You’re not as restless as Soap, but you like something to keep busy while you’re thinking or anxious. Usually you tear up the inside of your mouth biting your lips, but you don’t want to aggravate the healing split. Your fingers land on the pocket of Ghost’s cargos. The material is thick, the stitching an interesting texture, and the pockets have snaps that are quiet enough to play with during debrief.

Ghost lets you fidget in peace, only giving you a slight nod when you glance at him to check. His arm is resting along the couch behind you, and you can feel his fingers twisting into your loose hair. Fair exchange, you figure, and settle in.

There’s a brief call with Laswell to discuss next steps. You listen, but not closely. You’re just a medical sergeant after all. Your opinion is considered when offered, but you’re not much of a strategist or tactician. Mostly, you go where you're directed, do as you're told, and keep everyone in one piece as best you can.

When it’s over, Soap helps haul you off the couch while Ghost stands, clipping his thigh pocket closed again.

“Good to see you two getting along,” Price calls as you’re leaving.

You glance over your shoulder, catch the smirk on his face, and stick out your tongue. And then promptly bolt, lest you be reprimanded for insubordination. It’s a common threat in the 141; you’re not sure if anyone has actually been written up for it outside of a mission. You don’t want to be the one to find out, though.

Soap cackles at you, Gaz calls you chicken shit. Ghost ruffles your hair and steers you towards his office.

“Oi, where are you two off to?” Gaz asks.

“Paperwork,” Ghost replies shortly.

News to you, but sure. Some company would be nice while you fill out forms. That becomes mildly more difficult when he plops you into his lap, but you make do. Ghost keeps his office cold – all those layers, you figure – and the chair across from his desk is purposefully uncomfortable to discourage lingering. His broad thighs make a much better, warmer seat. The fact that he circles an arm around your waist, hugging you like a kid with a teddy bear is just a bonus. For all that, you’d figure out how to do reports on water.

You two should probably talk about this, or something. There are regulations or codes of conduct prohibiting this sort of behavior. Never mind that the interpersonal lines (the ones you actually care about) are starting to blur. But well, you don’t have a problem with all this, and you wouldn’t be breathing if he did. So, well, there’s not much to talk about, is there?

“Hey, LT?”

“Mm.”

You watch him sign the bottom of a report, his signature an efficient and jagged thing, somehow still elegant. Like watching him practice with his knives. He flexes his hand when it’s done. You two have been at it for a while now. He hasn’t said a word, but you know Ghost despises paperwork. You could both use a break.

“You ever seen Halloween?”

“The horror movie?” He pauses, thinks about it. “Yeah.”

“The next one is going to take place in the summer. Guess he’ll be Michael Perspires.”

He goes still behind you. “What.”

“He’s gotten a job as an electrician. Michael Wires.”

You keep your face forward and down, pretending to work, trying to swallow back hysterical giggles.

“Squeaks…”

“He’s into arson now as well. Michael Fires.”

His arm tightens around your waist. You wish you could see his face, but you know you’ll break if you look. “Shut the fuck up.”

“He didn’t tell the truth on his resume. Michael Liars.”

“If you make another shitty Michael Myers pun, I swear to god—”

“You don’t like them?” you ask, grin so wide it hurts. “I’m going to Michael Cry-ers.”

“God fucking dammit, Squeaks.”

You burst into laughter that is quickly cut short by his arm constricting like a snake. Even with your air supply diminished, wheezing a bit, you kick your feet in delight.

“G-Guess… guess you’re…” you struggle to get it out between the lack of oxygen and your giggles. “Guess you’re M-Michael Tires of this joke.”

“I’m going to make you regret breathing at our next sparring session.”

And oh, you believe him. Your LT doesn’t make idle threats. But you’re telling yourself that it’s so worth it this time. Soap is going to give you a fucking medal for this. You know, assuming Ghost doesn’t snipe you when you try to tell the story.

You’re still cackling, but it turns to squeals when you feel sharp pressure on your shoulder.

He’s biting you.

“L-LT!” you gasp, scrabbling to push at his forehead without dislodging his mask. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop!”

He growls, the sound burning through you, straight to the pit of your stomach. You choose to ignore that in exchange for the oddly ticklish sensation of him gnawing through your shirt.

Knowing by now that you won’t be free until he’s ready, you just try to sit still and not spur him on further. After a moment, he unlocks his jaw and speaks in your ear, voice low but unmistakably amused.

“Medic, stress ball, comedian, chew toy – anything you can’t do, Sergeant?” he snarks.

You scrunch your nose at this new designation. “I am not a chew toy.”

“Seem pretty chewy to me,” he muses, sinking his teeth in again. You bark out reactive laughter and squirm, but his hold hasn’t loosened a bit and you’re trapped against him.

“LT,” you complain like usual. “You’re going to leave a mark.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but you feel his teeth dig in a little harder. Well, that’s new. You still don’t push him away, a not-so-small or secret part of you pleased by the idea of him leaving a bruise. It wouldn’t even be visible. Just something to remind you of the trust your lieutenant has in you, in the bond you two have formed, unorthodox as it is.

You hand him a bottle of water when he finally releases you, to sooth his undoubtedly dry mouth. There’s a wet patch on your shirt (and probably your underwear) but you ignore it to return to your reports. He seems a little less reluctant to join you now, pleasingly.

You’re not so sure about the “chew toy” thing, but you definitely seem to be an effective stress relief.

You’re having a great day. No one is injured, you’re caught up on paperwork. You pinned both Soap and Gaz during sparring earlier, earning a proud nod from Ghost and Price. There were pudding cups at lunch, and you’ve made plans with the rest of the team to watch a movie in the common room tonight. Even your antisocial LT agreed to come.

In fact, he’s the first one there when you arrive in the early evening. You chirp a hello, heading for the pantry for popcorn. Soap and Gaz can’t be trusted to make it without setting off the fire alarms.

Ghost hums in return, but he seems content to scroll on his phone, saving his energy for socializing. You don’t mind his silence, never do. Not like he can chat when he’s biting you like a teething puppy. And he has been. A lot. His new favorite form of stress relief, apparently, apart from squishing your cheeks like usual.

If there’s privacy for it, his teeth have been imprinting your arms, shoulders, even your hands in perfect pinpricked circles. He’s not any gentler about it than he is smooshing up your face, and a couple times now you’ve discovered bruises later on. You suspect that’s his aim, especially when he’s more aggravated than stressed. A way to release aggression without wasting bullets at the range or beating the stuffing out of someone in the ring.

You don’t mind, no matter how you complain aloud. It was a sudden step up in intimacy, but you like the feeling of his teeth on you. A way to get that soothing moment of forced stillness without losing the ability to speak, eat, or look around. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the mark either. Feels like a claim, one you’re not sure is actually being made – but you’re allowed to dream.

That said, Ghost is a bastard about it. If you thought he was pushy before, pinching your cheeks at inopportune times, the biting could almost be classified as a nuisance. Several times now, someone has walked into the common room to your forearm between Ghost’s jaws. You’ve lost count of how many conversations with Soap or Gaz have been interrupted by your lieutenant’s canines sinking into your shoulder or the meat of your thumb, tongue swiping excess saliva from bare skin.

You’re ruminating on this as your fellow sergeants filter in, joking and laughing about something stupid the recruits did earlier.

Ghost has hardly looked up from his phone, only jerks his head in acknowledgement when they greet him. His shoulders are loose; he’s relaxed. You know better than to mistake it for being unaware of the environment, but… well, if there were ever a time for payback…

You leave the popcorn to finish in the microwave and stroll over to the couch. To your delight, Ghost shuffles a little to make room for you, an obvious invitation to cuddle up. It’s almost enough to distract you from your mission. Almost.

You perch on the edge of the cushion, hook a thumb under the edge of his shirt. The break in routine draws his attention but doesn’t seem to raise any alarms. He flicks his gaze up from the screen to catch your eyes. You lock gazes, tug the fabric up just the tiniest sliver. Then dart down and blow a deafening raspberry into the toned skin of his stomach.

There’s a moment of dead silence. Then you scramble up and bolt, yelping when you hear the heavy thump of boots behind you.

“Squeaks, you little shit!” he snarls, Manchester accent thicker than usual. And he gives Soap shit.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you lie, revealed by your breathless giggles.

“I’ll make you sorry!”

You believe him.

You skitter around Price, calling a frantic “hi, sir” as you stumble to keep your footing. Ghost doesn’t even bother with pleasantries, solely focused on getting ahold of you. Your only saving grace is being able to take corners faster than him, but his long legs eat distance like nothing and it’s only two hallways later that you’re snatched right off your feet.

You squeal, not sure if it’s in terror or delight, as he hauls you up and over one broad shoulder.

“Ghost, wait no, I didn’t mean it!”

“Sure fucking seemed to,” he growls, manhandling a better grip on you.

You put up a bit of a struggle, but there's no question who would win even if you really did fight him. Instead, you press against his chest and arms, laughing as his fingertips dig roughly into your hips and thighs and waist.

“Earning your nickname today,” he mocks as he lugs you back to the common room.

When you arrive, Soap groans in dismay at your failure, Gaz taunts you for thinking you could get away with your stunt. Price just shakes his head, playing at exasperated but unable to hide his fondness. Ghost all but tosses you onto the couch and before you can scramble up, flops on top of you. All the breath is forced from your lungs with a little oof, feeling a bit like those animals that can flatten themselves to squeeze into small crevices.

“LT, I can’t breathe,” you whine. “You’re heavy.”

The cushions on the couch aren’t luxurious by any means, but they’re forgiving enough that you can, in fact, breathe. It’s just a little more difficult than usual. Not difficult enough to tap out, though. You like the weight of him on you.

“Should have thought about that before being a little shit.”

You grumble; don’t really have an argument for that but unwilling to cede the point.

“Oi, you two done?” Gaz calls. “I wanna watch the movie.”

Price snorts. Soap, angel that he is, offers you the bowl of popcorn.

“No one told you to wait, sergeant,” Ghost replies, bland.

“Yeah,” you second, muffled and admittedly pathetic sounding. “Takes you five minutes to figure out the sound anyway.”

“We all know you’re going to put the subtitles on, don’t know why the volume matters,” Soap chimes in.

“It’s only for the Captain’s sake,” Gaz defends.

“Now what are you implying, Garrick?” Price asks, silky and dangerous.

You snuggle in happily, enjoying the moment of peace and companionship. No shooting, no bleeding, no nightmares. Just the five of you, alive and healthy, enjoying this little family they’ve built and brought you into.

You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until the pressure is gone, Ghost wedging his arms between your lax body and the couch. It’s cold without him as a personal blanket, and you curl into his arms with a discontent noise.

“Atta girl, Squeaks. I got you,” he rumbles.

You crack an eye open to check on everyone else by instinct. Gaz and Soap are leaning on each other, lightly snoring. It looks like Price is about to rouse them as well, but he shoots you and Ghost an especially soft look.

“Taking this one to bed, sir.”

“Be good to our girl, Lieutenant,” Price nods.

“As good as she is to us,” Ghost agrees.

You’re half-sure that you’re dreaming, but you smile at them both before tucking in and falling asleep again.

The next morning starts in Ghost’s bed, a place you find yourself often enough now that you recognize it as quickly as your own. You’re all tangled up in each other, more than usual. There are fingers in your hair, scraping across your scalp. You could purr it feels so good, pressing your face into Ghost’s chest to let him get a new spot.

“Didn’t even make it halfway through the movie,” he teases.

“Seen it before.”

“Gaz is going to be cross.”

“He’ll understand – getting chased takes a lot of you.”

“Don’t make me chase you down, then.”

You snort. If you have any say in it, you’ll be instigating games like that much more. Something about the big scary Ghost dashing after you over a stupid little prank – and knowing that the worst you’ll get out of it is a forceful cuddle – is not the deterrent it should be.

Still, there’s a pattern to this little game of yours. You can’t admit that you enjoy the play.

“Not my fault you can’t take what you dish,” you reply, twisting to nip his chest through his shirt, as if to prove your point.

It’s sharper than you would be with anyone else. Ghost, though, hums low and rough in his throat.

“I’ve never done that bullshit you pulled last night,” he grumbles.

“Lack of imagination on your part.”

He huffs, pinches your cheek and chuckles when you whine in complaint, muttering that it’s too early for his shit.

“C’mon, Squeaks, up and at ‘em. Before Soap takes all the blueberry.”

“Yessir…” you groan.

Ghost has been away. Price sent him and Gaz off on a stealth assignment, something that Soap is less suited to. Not that he couldn’t do it if needed, but it’s more Gaz’s specialty, so Price sent him. Soap isn’t too bummed about it, though. He’s been wreaking havoc around base with you casually egging him on from the sidelines, feeding into his chaos without being directly involved.

Not that Price would see it that way if he caught wind. But he hasn’t, so you’re not in trouble yet.

You might be after this though.

One drink too many, Soap complaining that you always play it safe. And, to his credit, you do. He and Gaz are the troublemakers, you just like to watch and occasionally add your two cents to the explosive mix. Price has joked before that you’re the best behaved amongst the group, even over Ghost.

Not only are you the least experienced with combat, but you’re also the team medic. It often leaves you feeling like you have to maintain a certain level of decorum and responsibility alongside your officers. It’s no wonder that you try to stay on the straight and narrow – the occasional snippy comment aside.

But this is beyond anything you’ve dared.

Soap has had enough to point out the parlor down the street and dare you. You’ve had enough to be goaded into spitefully proving a point. If Gaz were here, he might be clever enough to dare Soap into something else to get him to back down. If Ghost were here, he’d scruff you both like unruly kittens and haul you back to base. If Price were here, you’d be running laps until you puke.

Instead, it’s just you and Soap. Ghost and Gaz aren’t due back for a week and half, Price is probably buried waist deep in paperwork as usual. And there’s no one to tell you not to.

And so Soap gets his nipples pierced and you get your tongue re-pierced, and you both wake up the next day a little hungover and a lot sore.

You consider taking it out but… well.

You kinda missed having it.

And you want to see how long it’ll take Ghost to notice if you use your discreet jewelry.

You give Soap painkillers for his nipples and promise to hook him up with a good jewelry store recommendation. Then you spend the rest of the day trying not to talk. The rest of the week, really. If anyone notices, they don’t mention it. Soap is always happy to talk for the both of you.

By the time Gaz and Ghost return, it hardly hurts anymore. Still healing, yes, but it only aches in the mornings now. You fit the flat-topped, clear ring into the piercing and go to meet the boys on the tarmac.

They exit the aircraft together, Gaz chatting about something and Ghost humoring him in characteristic silence. When the latter sees you, though, he makes a beeline. You let out a surprised but pleased noise as you’re scooped up, mask wedging into the space beneath your jaw to press against your neck.

“Welcome back, sir,” you manage, squeezing his shoulders.

He grunts in reply. You shoot Gaz a questioning look.

“It was slow going,” he explains, “And the guys on the transport back were, uh, chatty.”

Ah. Set on your feet again, his gloved hands rise to squish your face like usual.

“Do the thing,” he gruffs.

You wrinkle your nose. Partially out of embarrassment, and partially because he’ll see the piercing if you’re not careful.

“That captain is—”

“That’s an order, sergeant.”

You sigh. Then poke your tongue out as he smooshes your face further. He exhales like the first hit of nicotine for the day. You keep the jewelry hidden behind your teeth and are released a few seconds later.

“That’s the stuff,” he says.

“Christ, LT, don’t say it like that,” you complain.

Unsurprisingly, he ignores you, turning to Price.

“Debrief now?”

“If you and Gaz don’t need medical.”

They both shake their heads, and you make no secret that you’re pleased by this news.

As you head into the building, you find Ghost’s finger hooked into your belt loop, tugging you along to Price’s office. You don’t mention it, only arch an eyebrow when you catch his eye.

At the door, Price pauses, giving Ghost a long, exasperated look.

“You know she’s not actually a service animal, son?”

“The intel isn’t confidential.”

Price sighs, drags a hand down his face. “Suppose not. Get the fuck in, then, Squeaks.”

You get the fuck in.

As usual, Ghost stands, and you’re obliged to stand with him. In front of him, actually, his chin settling on top of your head while his hands settle on your shoulders, squeezing and kneading at the muscle. You tune out most of the conversation, only here for Ghost’s sake, apparently.

Not that you mind. There’s a large, loud part of you that is glowing with the knowledge that he missed you so much.

When it’s over, he doesn’t even bother to stop at the mess hall. He picks you straight up and strides off to his quarters. You complain that he needs to eat, or at least drink water, but he doesn’t even deign your fussing with a response.

He closes and locks the door when you’re both inside, then tosses you on the bed. It smells overwhelmingly of him: metal, gunpowder, standard issue detergent, and something spicy. It’s a scent you’ve become intimately familiar with – could get addicted to, if you let yourself.

You settle in amongst the crisp sheets and thin pillows, Ghost sheds his tac gear like a second skin. When he’s down to his undershirt and boxers, barefoot on the cold ground, you open your arms.

He climbs over you as you giggle, then unapologetically drops all his weight. You make your usual little oof sound, suspecting that he likes it, and tilt your head so he can press his face (without the skull mask) into your shoulder.

“So how was it actually?” you ask.

“Gaz was antsy the whole time. Said he sensed you and Soap up to something without him.”

You snort, relieved that he can’t see the damning expression on your face right now.

“There isn’t anything to get up to when he’s not here causing it,” you lie.

“Don’t put anything past Soap, the crafty cunt.”

You grin, patting your hands lightly over his shoulder blades. “Nice alliteration.”

He hums, slowly going boneless beneath your rhythmless tapping.

“Mask,” he mutters.

It takes you a second to realize what he wants.

“You’re asking me to pull it up so you can bite me?” you scoff.

“Telling, not asking,” he grumbles.

“Oh for the love of…”

You do it anyway. It’s not long before you feel his teeth, always sharper than you expect, latch onto the base of your neck. You tilt your chin back to give him comfortable access, staring up at the ceiling. How often does he sit here after nightmares, staring at it? Does he do it even when you sleepover, clinging onto him like a koala?

You lay like that for a while, fingers finding the fine blond hair peeking out from his rolled balaclava and scritching. One of his hands wedges beneath himself to find your hip, squeezing you tight enough that his nails scrape across your pants.

“So what did you two get up to?” he asks, detaching eventually.

Your neck is aching pleasantly, mind drifting in peace, and you don’t realize what he’s asking at first.

“What?” you ask.

You try to suppress a shiver as his tongue drags over the saliva he left on your neck. This is a normal part of the process, but that doesn’t mean you’re immune to the pleasure it sends down your spine.

“You and Soap,” he clarifies. “What did you do?”

“It was mostly Soap,” you deflect, forgoing any attempt at innocence.

He snorts. “My problem?”

You consider, humming. “Probably not.”

“Probably?”

You shrug. “Don’t leave me unattended if you don’t want paperwork.”

He nips sharply at the hinge of your jaw. “Didn’t want to. Price said you don’t have enough experience if things went to shit.”

You don’t know how to feel that Ghost would have preferred you on a mission with him. Even over Soap? You know he’s fond of you, but you didn’t realize it was enough to have you partnered with him on missions. It makes your chest warm and fluttery. The bastard.

“He’s right,” you say instead of something unforgivably sentimental.

“Imagine he’ll overlook that when he finds out about your body candy.”

You squeak, eyes closing in regret. Well, it was a nice life while it lasted.

“That fast?” you ask.

“Saw it as soon as you opened that pretty mouth,” he answers.

“It’s clear!”

“Thought I wouldn’t see a piece of plastic in your mouth, sergeant?”

You sigh, barely even noticing the bite he leaves on your collarbone. When he pushes his chest up to look at you, he’s half-lidded, almost lazy looking. But the corner of his mouth quirks up, just that slightest bit you’ve become hypervigilant of. Your hands slide from his shoulders and curl into the front of his shirt.

“How much trouble am I in?” you venture.

“A world of it,” he replies, voice pitching low and rough in a way that’s just not fair.

“Soap did worse,” you complain, not above throwing him under the bus. This is his fault anyway.

“Don’t care what Soap did. Care that you tried to hide it from me.”

He catches your chin between thumb and forefinger, gives it a little shake like a reprimand.

“Wasn’t hiding it,” you argue. “At least not from you. Would have told you by the end of the week if you hadn’t noticed.”

And you really would have. If Price hadn’t been present on the tarmac, you had half a mind to show it off immediately, excited to be breaking the rules.

Ghost hums, eyes roving your face – apparently to determine the truth of your confession.

“Doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” he warns.

But you know that tone of voice by now. You’re not off the hook yet.

“…Want me to take it out?” you try.

His eyes go from dark to pitch black. “No.”

Oh?

Oh.

“Want… to see it?”

He hums. Not quite confirmation, but close enough. You don’t even think before dropping your jaw, tongue rolling out over your bottom lip. He let out a short, hard breath. You see his jaw twitch.

Then he shifts.

His thumb lands on your tongue, much farther back than you expect but you don’t flinch. He draws a line down the center to the flat top of your piercing and then presses down. You make a protesting noise, a warning because it’s still new and still sore. He doesn’t let up but doesn’t push any harder.

“Squeaks.”

You flutter your eyes open (when did they close?) and meet his eyes. They nearly absorb all the light in the room, twin blackholes drawing you in, inescapable and immutable. There’s a hunger lurking within, one you realize with a jolt you’ve been seeing for a long time now.

Whatever he sees on your face, it makes him run his tongue along his own teeth – pearly white and perfectly straight. Then he ducks down and licks over your piercing, first in neat sweeps, and then in tight little circles around its circumference.

Trapped beneath him and mouth open, you can’t swallow back the whine that peels from your throat. You’d be embarrassed about it; except the noise you make when he stops is so much worse.

“Taste good,” he rumbles.

“This another stress thing?” you ask, dizzy and flushed.

He smirks, chuckles deep in his chest. “If it is, will you let me do it whenever I want?”

You nod, thoughts blurring at the edges. His smirk widens, but he obliges when you tug at his shirt, wanting him close, wanting him to do it again.

It takes a long time for it to evolve into an actual kiss. He spends what feels like a small eternity flicking his tongue over your piercing, around it. It’s an unusual sensation, not quite ticklish, but decadent and erotic. At some point, quiet little noises start spilling from your throat and don’t stop. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing down when the pitch goes higher – or maybe you pitch higher because he’s closer?

Eventually your jaw tires from hanging open, tongue aching at the stretch. You retract back into your own mouth, but Ghost chases after. It’s like he forgot about actual kissing until that moment. And then he has something new to amuse himself with. His tongue explores your lips, the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat. He drags his sharp teeth over your bottom lip, growls when you return the favor in retaliation for the sting.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, “my medic.”

You hum, reciprocate the thorough exploration he just gave you. He tastes a little metallic, but mostly he tastes like Ghost, like Simon, and it’s addicting.

“Think it’s a stress thing for me too,” you murmur when you pull away for air.

“Yeah?” He trails his mouth down your jaw, teeth scraping. “Anxious while I was gone?”

You nod. You always worry about the boys when they’re away, when you’re not there for a worst-case scenario. But you thought about your lieutenant especially, wondering at his mood, at his feelings, without your usual daily interactions. His absence left you feeling twitchy, a little unmoored. You wonder – hope – if he felt the same.

“Take what you need, then,” he whispers. “Don’t mind returning the favor.”

You sink your nails into his shoulders, rake them down his back and sides, treating him like a scratching post. He shivers, puffs out a hot breath by your ear. Your mouth finds that strong, sharp jaw and latches on, sucking and biting, worrying the skin until you pull away to a dark bruise.

“Go on,” he urges.

You do, making a trail down his neck, then across. Tug at his shirt when it gets in the way. He leans back to pull it over his head. You nearly tackle him, mapping out the swell of hard muscles, licking over the angry lines you clawed into him.

“Easy now, precious,” he purrs. “No rush.”

You make a disagreeing noise, lips never leaving his skin. One hand tangles in your hair, petting and holding, not guiding. His other drifts down to your ass and grips like a vice. It hurts a little; it feels so fucking good. There will be bruises for days.

When your nails scratch across his hip, he bucks, fingers spasming against your scalp.

“Careful,” he growls. “Asking for something you might not be ready for.”

You hum. “Maybe,” you agree honestly. “I’ve never…”

He goes rigid. Worried, you glance up. His bare chest (marked up by your hands and mouth) is heaving. His jaw is slack, lips wet. You can’t distinguish between pupil and iris anymore.

“You swear?” he asks, rough. “You’ve never fucked anyone before?”

“No,” you say, not embarrassed, not with him. “Got close, but never managed it. Things always got in the way. Used to be a joke with my friends, that I was cursed.”

A fire alarm, an oblivious roommate, police knocking on the door, the roof falling in, once.

“You have experience,” he asserts.

“Definitely.” You quirk a wicked smile his way. “Plenty of practice with my mouth…”

He shudders, tilting your head to a vulnerable angle, neck exposed.

“And my hands,” you add, gasping.

“You keep pushing, pet…” he rumbles.

You whine. “Want to, with you. Want it to be you, Simon.”

His lips crash into yours, messy and filthy, licking all the needy sounds from your mouth.

“Strip, sergeant. Now.”

You scramble to obey, wiggling out of your clothes as quickly as you can while still half under him.

“Always so good for me,” he hums. “Always follow my orders, my good little sergeant.”

“Yours,” you breathe against his mouth.

The last scrap of clothing is barely off when he pounces, hand flattening on your stomach and pressing you down into the mattress. It nearly knocks the wind out of you, the force of it, pinning you. His eyes hungrily lock on your chest, on the smooth and unmarked skin of your breasts.

If you wanted to protest, you don’t get the chance to. He descends on you like a starving man, all teeth and tongue, practically mauling you. You squirm, not sure where you want to go, just that it’s a lot of sensation all at once. He captures a perked nipple between his lips and sucks until you keen, knee bumping his flank like you want to kick him off.

He slots his hips between yours, presses up tight to trap you further. His free hand grasps at your other breast. Kneading roughly, then twisting and plucking at the rosy nipple until you’re crying out, nearly thrashing. When he’s satisfied, he switches his hand and mouth, spinning you up and up until your breasts are aching and the best kind of sore. He finally pulls off with a lewd pop, mouth slick, rosettes left all over you in his wake.

“Trying to kill me,” you pant.

He smirks, drops one last soothing kiss on your sternum. Then extricates himself to remove the last of his own clothing. His dick springs free from his waistband, slapping obscenely against his stomach. You freeze when the dim light glints off bits of metal.

“Is that…?”

“Come find out.”

You scoot to the edge of the bed and brush your fingertips over the hypnotizing ladder of studs along the shaft. Which, now that you’re closer and your hand is there for scale, is huge. Like, almost pornographic. You didn’t know that existed outside of raunchy media. That’s been under you, snuggled up to you, beneath your ass – for months now.

“Oh my god, Simon,” you gulp. “Is that going to…?”

“It will if you can be patient for me.”

“Okay,” you say, eyes never leaving the glittering silver row. You trust him. As rough as he can be, he’s never hurt you. Not in any way you didn’t crave.

His hand catches your chin again, tips your gaze back to his. “Another time, lovely. Give your tongue a break.”

You whine but sit back on your haunches, hands planted between your knees. “Then hurry up.”

His thumb caresses your jaw, presses in warning. “Patient, I said.”

“I’ve been patient,” you argue. “Gimme.”

That coaxes a chuckle out of him. He plants a hand on your shoulder and shoves. You land on your back again, stretch your legs to hang over the side of the bed. He lowers to his knees between them, thick thighs flexing. His hands slide under your hips and drag until your thighs are over his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “Simon.”

“That’s it, lovely,” he coos, teeth grazing your hip. “Just lay there saying my name. Let me play with my toy.”

You’re so wet that you can feel it all over your inner thighs, would be embarrassed if not for the absolutely feral noise he makes at the sight.

“Made a mess.” He draws his tongue up your thigh, sucks at the junction where it meets your hip, loud in the quiet room. “You always like this for me?”

“Mhmm,” you whimper out, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s true. You can’t count the number of times you’ve gone back to your room just to change panties.

“That’s my girl.”

He spends an agonizing amount of time licking, biting, and sucking your thighs. Your pleading and whining is met with indifference or absent chuckles. The need has long since tipped over into desperation, muscles twitching with little sparks of pleasure at every graze of teeth and sharp suck.

You’re already both understimulated and overstimulated when he clamps down especially hard, think he’s broken skin for a moment. Frustrated tears have been dancing at the edges of your vision for a while now and they spill over at the blissful burn that shoots through your leg.

“Simon, Simon, please,” you sob, “please, want it. Please, just—”

He shushes you, soothing the hurt with his tongue until your babbling trails off into little sniffles.

“How copy?” he hushes.

“S-Solid,” you answer. “Just a lot.”

“Tactical retreat?”

“No.” You take a shuddering breath. “No, please. Want to keep going, sir.”

His breath is also unsteady as it brushes over your sensitive skin. “Alright, precious. Tap out if you need.”

You snake a hand down the bed and find his wrist, digging your nails in as you squeeze. A promise to honor his command.

He groans low in his throat, eyes smoldering as he looks up your heaving body.

“Pretty when you cry,” he rasps. “Will you do it more if I play with your needy clit?”

“N-no,” you lie.

He calls your bluff, pressing his mouth to your pussy and making a long, slow pass up your slit. You shake and whimper high-pitched, almost hurt sounding. He swirls the tip over your throbbing clit, sucks gently every few passes. You press your eyes shut, too gone to try to stop the reactionary tears any other way.

It’s a quirk of sex you’ve always had. Not prone to crying emotionally or from pain, but when the arousal or pleasure gets too intense, your eyes water like rivers. Some partners have found it off-putting, but the louder you wail and hiccup and cry, the more eager Simon gets. Like he’s got a direct line to heaven’s choir with his tongue.

You’re gripping his wrist so tight that you must be close to drawing blood, but he doesn’t do more than flex his fingers on your ass. Keeps you right there against his mouth, so that all you can do is take exactly what he gives you.

He seals his lips over your clit again, rubbing his tongue against the swollen bundle of nerves as he sucks. It gets you to the edge so fast that you’re seeing stars, nearly kicking him.

“Close,” you pant.

He eases up just that little bit to keep you from tipping into orgasm. You’re devastated. Afresh wave of tears drip down your temples to the sound of pathetic, helpless moans. Blessedly, he doesn’t stop. Just keeps you right there as he slides a hand from your ass to your cunt.

Just one of his fingers is thicker than any of yours; sliding two into your dripping hole almost hurdles you into ecstasy. He pulls his mouth away as you clench around them, trickling down his wrist.

“So tight. Didn’t you ever get off to the thought of me?”

“All the f-fucking time,” you admit.

“Yeah?”

You nod, tongue laving over your bottom lip. “My hands just… yours are bigger.”

He chuckles. “No cute little toys to help you out?”

“Like to imagine it’s you,” you ramble, shame long gone. “Easier without a vibe.”

“Fuck.”

He dives down to your clit again, tongue almost cruel as it tortures you with quick, rough strokes. You might scream; you don’t care if you do. His fingers curl to pet your walls, find that spot as if he had his sniper scope on it. You thrash as he strokes you, steady and unrelenting. He sucks one last time and you’re gone, coming so hard that your fingertips go numb.

You’re definitely screaming now; his name, specifically. He growls against your pussy, the vibration only prolonging that pleasure, writhing on his hand. You swallow air like you’re suffocating, Simon filling every part of you, drenching your senses. He’s all you know right now, your heart beating to his name.

And he doesn’t stop.

“S-Simon, what are – t-too much. It’s too much, it’s too—” His pins your hips down as he fits a third finger inside you, finger-fucking you so hard that the slick sounds almost drown out your sobs. You’re overstimulated, riding the edge of pain in your pleasure, lower back tight and hot.

But you don’t tap out, just fist the sheets hard enough to pop the seams.

Simon is single-minded, insistent, demanding. It’s a quality you’ve always admired in the field, and right now it’s pulling you apart piece by shivering piece.

“Simon, I-I’m gonna – I can’t…” You shake your head, crying freely and loudly, whimpering as much as you’re moaning.

He presses one of your thighs towards your chest, fingertips digging harsh into muscle. The shift gives him better access to that thrumming knot of nerves inside you. He presses against it hard and incessant as his tongue flicks repeatedly over your abused clit. Your second orgasm drowns you in waves, hips rolling, not sure if you want to get away or get more.

Simon strokes you through it until you subside into pathetic, shuddering noises, pushing weakly at him, pleading for mercy. When he pulls away, slick is dripping down his chin to his neck. The bottom edge of his balaclava is dark where it’s bunched over his nose. He surges up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You stay that way for a while, letting him coax your breathing into something like normal again. A task made more difficult whenever his fingers tease your tender nipples, preoccupied with how your lungs hitch and your body jolts.

Eventually, your mouth strays to clean him up, licking yourself from his jaw and chin, messy but earnest. He captures your mouth again when you’re done, sucking your tongue like he wants to get every last drop. You shake at the thought, almost horrified to realize you’re still ridiculously horny.

He must see something in your face because he smirks a little. “Playtime’s not over, don’t worry.”

His fingertips trace over your pussy, not dipping in far, but the threat of it triggers a new batch of whimpers and tears. He cocks his head at the sight, almost curious, then leans down and follows their paths with his tongue.

A hum, low and pleased, thunders in the heady sliver of air between you. Against your hip, you feel his cock twitch, hot enough to brand.

“Taste good everywhere,” he muses, tongue still lapping at your tears.

“God, Simon,” you keen, squeezing your glassy eyes shut.

“Want you to do it again,” he murmurs. “Cry for me so I can taste how good I make you feel.”

You moan, pussy clenching, feeling horribly empty. The teeth in your neck are an almost welcome reprieve from the overwhelming pleasure, grounding as they bruise delicate skin.

“Want to see you crying on my cock, lovely. Will you do that for me?”

You nod, reaching for him. Curl your arms around his shoulders, wrap your legs around his waist. He shushes you again, cooing when you hide your wet face against his neck. He supports your unsteady body with unfaltering strength; lets you cling as he rearranges you in his lap.

You can feel his cock beneath you, rock hard, the Jacob’s ladder teasing against your pussy. It distracts you a bit, foggy mind obsessing over how it’ll feel inside you, especially now that you’ve come twice.

His hand pats your ass. “Eyes up, doll.”

You emerge from your hiding spot only to stare, wide-eyed and awed, at his bare face. There are scars everywhere, just like the rest of his body, of varying color and size and healing histories. One on his temple, just clipping his cheek, catches your attention. It’s one of the better-healed scars.

You press a gentle kiss, flick your tongue along it. His hands spasm on your hips, but don’t tug you away.

“Handsome,” you sigh, then nip the same spot you just kissed.

You can feel his smile, a small but precious thing, against your cheek. “Can’t even fucking see straight right now.”

“Not that far gone,” you scoff, scritching your nails along his stubbled jaw. You could purr at the way he leans into it.

“Have to fix that, then.”

You prop yourself up with your other hand on his chest. His heart is beating beneath your palm, a little fast, but steady and strong. You adore it instantly.

You make eye contact, the hand on his face drifting to his cheek. Then you stretch to get the other… and squish. Just like he’s done to you countless times.

“Yes,” you agree.

That finally coaxes a proper chuckle out of him, bass deep and a little rough with disuse, but music to your ears. You let his cheeks go, nipping the little red marks your grip leaves behind.

“C’mon, Si,” you whisper. “Want your dick in me.”

And finally, it seems he’s run out of interest in teasing.

You lean your shoulders against him, letting him take most of your weight between his chest and the arm angling your hips. His other hand steadies his cock, drags the flushed, leaking head against your sopping entrance.

He lowers you slowly, encouraging you to dig your nails into his shoulders, draw them down his arms. Even stretched and two orgasms in, he’s big. It’s testing your limits, not quite pain, stinging in a way that makes your mouth water.

And your eyes.

The tears are back and streaming down your hot cheeks. When Simon notices, you feel his cock throb. You choke on a noise, mouth falling slack as he licks at them like a thirsting man in the desert.

“Didn’t take long,” he teases, a little mean. You love it.

“S-sensitive,” you whine, pressing your forehead to his.

“I know, pet,” he croons. “The head’s almost in.”

Just the head. Christ.

The pleasure keeps racking you and so do quiet little cries, your walls clutching every raw centimeter of his cock like he was built just for you. (Or the other way around, a depraved part of you whispers.)

He’s steady and patient as he fills you, keeping your mouth busy with claiming kisses when he’s not drinking up your tears. At the first rung of the Jacob’s ladder, you squeak and have to be held down, gone on how it stretches your poor entrance and grinds against your abused walls.

Each one after that garners a similar reaction, driving you insane as they press against you.

“Can feel your fucking heartbeat,” he groans at one point.

You moan, raking your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. The blond strands are dark and messy, getting messier as you play with them. He grunts and his eyelids flutter every time you tug.

By the time he’s fully inside you, your ass resting on his tense thighs, you’re panting and trembling. He sweeps a hand up your arched spine and curls his fingers around the back of your neck. You lean into his hold, go lax as he guides you through a decadent, devouring kiss.

“There we are, lovely,” he soothes while you whimper. “Hurt?”

“A little…” you gasp, clenching helplessly around the base of him.

“Good,” he growls, teeth on your shoulder.

You moan, falling limp in his arms. He rumbles a pleased hum, squeezing at your hips and ass and thighs in that way you recognize.

“Stressed?” you ask, confused.

He snorts. “I don’t need a reason to play with what’s mine.”

You suck in a breath, the casual (and true) claim making your head spin.

“Relax, pet,” he murmurs. “Just get used to me inside you.”

You mewl, high and soft in your throat. He tilts his head to speak in your ear.

“Your pussy is going to remember the shape of me by the end of this.”

And your lieutenant doesn’t make idle threats.

He guides your head down to his shoulder, his other arm wrapping around your waist. The lewdest hug you’ve ever received. If not for the fat cock stretching you, it would be calming.

“Good girl, that’s it,” he hums, drawing idle patterns along your spine. “Just drift. It’ll be a bit before you can handle a proper fucking.”

He’s so deep and big inside you that you believe it, but a nagging part reminds you of the uneven score.

“What about you?”

He presses an unusually gentle kiss to your temple, though it’s balanced by the tight squeeze to the back of your neck.

“Don’t you worry about me, precious,” he chuckles. “You’ll keep me nice and warm until you’re ready.”

You swallow thickly, can’t help how you flutter around him. It’s a delicious thought, just sitting here with him filling you up for an indefinite period of time, until he decides you can handle how he’s going to fuck you.

“Like that do you?” he muses, too dark to be truly amused. “Like being my personal cocksleeve?”

“’M not,” you mumble, feeling a new sting of tears.

He tuts. “You’re my toy every other way. No point pretending now.”

You whimper into his neck, bite in retaliation but don’t deny it. Well past the point of anything like plausible deniability.

“No more fussing, pet. Be good for me now.”

And you are, settling in with your mouth brushing absent kisses to his marked collarbones. His hands never stop stroking your skin, lulling you into empty-headed bliss. The full feeling of his cock never dissipates, but you become less aware of it, internal muscles accommodating the stretch. You don’t even realize you’ve slipped into a doze, breaths going deep and even, safely cradled in your lieutenant’s arms.

When you wake, watery early-morning light is leaking past the blackout curtains. One of your hips is stiff from sleeping bunched up, but that’s not what calls your immediate attention. No, it’s the absolute puddle that Simon is coaxing from your stuffed hole with his thumb on your clit. He’s hard inside of you again – or maybe he never got soft in the first place.

“Mornin’,” he rasps when he sees you peeking your head up. Calm as you please. Like his cockhead isn’t kissing your cervix right now.

“You bastard,” you wheeze, sinking a mean bite into his shoulder.

“Grumpy thing,” he teases. “Forgot how sulky you are before coffee.”

You grumble incomprehensibly for a moment. Can’t believe he put you to sleep on his cock. More than a little miffed that you didn’t receive the proper fucking you earned yesterday. That you’ve woken up raring to go already, want his cum in your stomach more than breakfast.

“You actually plan on doing anything?” you demand. “Or we going to the mess like this? Risky to have hot tea that close to your balls.”

His laugh is like honey, rich and syrupy. Liquid sunshine when you kiss it from his mouth.

“Remember who’s in charge here, pet,” he warns.

You tilt your head in question, arching an eyebrow.

“You,” he continues, surprising you. Then he keeps talking. “So if you keep acting like a brat, I’ll have to treat you like one.”

You shiver. It should be illegal to be so salacious this early in the morning. To your delight, he allows you to wiggle a little, testing the feeling of his cock inside you. It’s absolutely divine.

“Or, counterpoint,” you say, daring to be cheeky when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’d burn the world just to keep you warm for a night. “I was very good yesterday and deserve a reward.”

“That so, sergeant?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” you chirp. Duck down to bribe him with kisses and nips along his jaw and neck, stubble prickling your bruised tongue. “I’ll even ask nicely.”

He groans, low and rough in his chest. “Yeah?”

You yelp as he tangles his fingers in the hair at the base of your neck, dragging your head back. His teeth scrape over the stuttering pulse in your throat, where there’s a sensitive spot that makes you squirm. His other hand sneaks to your breasts, tweaking a nipple still sore from his treatment the night before.

“Show me how nice you can ask then.”

And, well, not backing down from a challenge is what got you here in the first place.

You straighten up as best you can – have to take a moment when his cock grinds just right inside you – and arch your back. Your nails score lines down his chest, just this side of rough, knowing it’ll work better than any soft petting. Paired with nibbling kisses to the spot beneath his ear, you can already feel the rumble building in his chest.

“Simon, please,” you breathe, “I need you. Need it to be you.”

“Need what, lovely?” he husks.

“Need it to be you that fucks me.” You dare to rock your hips, pleased and distracted that he lets you. His fingers spread your ass wider over his lap. “Need you to break me in. Please?”

Sniper he may be, but his patience must already be gossamer thin from holding back last night and crammed inside your pussy until morning. He snaps at your crooning pleas, rolling you onto your back and grinding into you as deep as he can get.

There have been times in the field that you’ve stared as Simon operates his rifle. It’s his piece, modified and maintained in pristine condition. You’ve watched his clever fingers put it together, dismantle it, clean it, handle it with a deadly competence and precision that you envied. Not him, but the rifle. Probably something wrong with you, that you want to be an instrument, a tool, in your lieutenant’s capable hands, built up and broken apart at his whim.

Now, though… now you know. You’ve got confirmation that it’s everything you imagined and better, his scarred hands on you like he owns you, like you’re his to figure out. You want to be, you are, and you babble as much when he draws his hips back and snaps them forward.

There’s nothing testing or careful about it. Simon knows you’re not fragile, spent all night making sure you could take him exactly the way he wants you. You’ve never wanted him to hold back, don’t want him to now. Crave the way his control seems to slip when it’s you, your body, your voice egging him on.

He rolls his hips every time he bottoms out; his piercings grind deliciously against your twitching entrance with every thrust. You bury your fingers in his hair, tug when he pulls out as if he’s going to leave you empty and wanting. He grunts against your neck, teeth ravenous over skin that already bears their imprint.

It feels like freefall with no parachute, like getting caught in a perfect white-hot explosion. The force of him makes the bed creak, would shove you up the mattress if not for the tight grip on your thighs. His arm loops under the small of your back and angles your hips up.

“Mine,” he growls into your shoulder. “All fucking mine. My sergeant. My medic. My pretty toy.”

You can’t string together more than broken syllables, little noises forced out every time he drives home. He’s not looking for a verbal response though; your body is already singing its agreement, clamping down on his cock like you can’t stand any millimeter not inside you. You’re rocking with him as best you can, knee hitched up by his ribs, pulling him closer, closer, closer.

“I’m right here, doll. Not going anywhere,” he murmurs. Then, almost to himself. “No, not letting you out of my sight ever fucking again. Going to keep you right by my side, within reach.”

You cry out, ridiculously turned on by promises he can’t possibly keep. It’s not the nature of the job, but the fact that that’s what he wants…

“Go fucking crazy when I can’t see you,” he pants, “touch you. Was goin’ fuckin’ batshit all week. Gaz wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Just wanted to get my hands on you. My teeth in you.”

There’s an earnest, desperate edge to his words. Sounds like a sinner praying for salvation, like he’s begging some cruel god for relief. Or, more likely for your lieutenant, threatening to take that god’s place.

You’d worship Simon if he did. Practically do already. Would spread yourself out on his altar and let him devour you mind, body, and soul just to appease his appetite.

“Simon, please,” you cry, head tilting back, bearing your throat. “I’m yours. Your medic, your sergeant, your toy.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. “That’s right, love. All mine.”

He pushes himself up, pressing his hand to the wall over your head. It’s gorgeous, the play of muscle and sinew in his arm. A fucking masterpiece of a man, beautiful and dangerous and right now, all fucking yours too.

The new leverage lets him slam into you faster and harder, frantic now. You have to brace your arms above your head to keep from knocking into the wall, pushing back to meet him thrust for brutal thrust. Could swear you feel him in your guts.

“C’mon, love, let me see those pretty tears.”

His hand slides over your thigh to your clit, thumb rubbing vicious little circles over the nerves. It gives him what he wants instantly, you’re near screaming as you cry. It’s rough and ruthless and has you so close to the edge that you’re almost jolting away.

“Lemme cum,” you beg, “Please, please, Simon, want to cum on your cock. So close…”

His grin is more just a bearing of teeth, eyes glittering in the shadows above you. “Cum for me, precious.”

It doesn’t take much more than that, always eager to please your lieutenant. His hips and finger sync up at just the right moment, just the right way, and you’re gushing over his cock, voice breaking. Your nails scrape the wall as you curl our hands into fists, bucking as he fucks you through it.

You’re not surprised when he doesn’t even slow down, though you reach to push his hand off your screaming clit. His hand darts from the wall to capture your wrists, pinning them over your head. The punishing rhythm of his hips doesn’t even falter, bullying that spot inside you relentlessly.

“I didn’t say you could fucking stop,” he snarls.

You whine and struggle, but that just makes you tighter, makes him rougher, makes it better. You’re not even sure if the cresting sensation is pleasure anymore, if it’s another orgasm or your body reaching max capacity. It’s just whiteout intense and you can do nothing but lay there writhing.

“Gonna cum in you,” he moans, head dropping. “Gonna leave my mark inside you too.”

You contract around him helplessly, his thrusts getting messier, plunging into you at a dizzying speed. Not even sure if you’re making noise anymore, or just sucking in air when you can get it. His fingers flex around your wrists, tight and unforgiving.

And then there's a burst of heat as he moans, sounding gutting. He fucks you through his own orgasm before finally slowing, and then stopping buried deep inside you. His thumb eases off your abused clit, hand landing on the bed beside your hip. Your leg flops down to the mattress, stretched out and still twitchy.

“How copy, sergeant?” he rasps.

“Solid, LT,” you wheeze. “You?”

“Fucking fantastic.”

That startles a little giggle out of you, grinning up at him fucked-out and high on afterglow. His returning smile, small and disused as it is, is better than all the orgasms you’ve had in the last twelve hours.

“Gonna pull out now,” he warns. “Brace.”

Even prepared, you still yelp, beyond sensitive and cored without him inside you. The feeling is only exacerbated by the warm cum you can feel dripping down your ass from your used hole.

“Look at that…” he drawls appreciatively, tilting his head for a good look. “There any part of you that ain’t pretty?”

You groan and cover your overheated face, knock your shin into his hip. But you leave your legs open.

“Shut up, Simon.”

“Insubordinate.”

“Fraternizer.”

“Mm. Gonna report me to Price?”

“Only if you report me.”

“Mutually assured destruction then.”

Your mouth is still hidden under your hands, but you know he can see your body shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Or you could help me clean up, take a nap, and we’ll negotiate terms for a ceasefire.”

He chuckles. “Should have you on a diplomatic envoy, Squeaks. Have the rest of us out of a job. No wars, no soldiers.”

You shake your head, dropping your arms to card through his hair. He lowers himself onto you – not his usual full-force flop, but still by no means delicate about it. You like the weight of him on your tingling body. Feels like he’s keeping you from floating away.

“Only way they’re getting me on protection detail for politicians is if you’re there with me.”

He grimaces. It’s stupidly charming how it makes a scar on his nose scrunch up. “The point is to stop incidents, not start them.”

“Shame, then,” you hum. “Guess we’re stuck here then.”

“Guess so.”

He pats your thigh, then pushes himself up. You protest immediately, but he shushes you with a wry smirk.

“Part of the terms, wasn’t it? To clean you up?”

You grumble but subside, thankful that officer quarters come with an ensuite. It doesn’t take him long to return with a damp cloth and a cup of water. He sets the latter on the side table and kneels between your thighs, wiping you down as gently as he’s ever been.

When he’s done, you make grabby hands until he scoffs and climbs in with you again.

“Nap?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah. Got you up early. Still an hour ‘til breakfast.”

Not for the first (or likely last) time, you are grateful for Simon’s brilliant tactics.

“You’re my hero.”

He snorts, but when you peek up at him, there’s a fetching pink tint to his cheeks. “Go the fuck to sleep, Squeaks.”

“Yessir.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #cross posted on ao3 #old fic #sergeant squeaks #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley

2K notes · View notes

2knightt · 1 year ago

Note

Do you think u could write abt the gang being (separately) absolutely obsessed with the reader. Like they adore everything she does, they can’t get enough of her. To the point where the rest of the gang starts releasing them abt it, meanwhile reader is like completely oblivious lol

୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ heaven and hell were words to me.⋄ 𓍯

…IN WHICH! the greasers are totally obsessed!

tags/warnings: no confessions—just the gang having a crush, gang being literally whipped, them being a little odd, kinda toxic!johnny LFMAO, nothing else to my knowledge

ೃauthor notes⁀➷ i’m just working…working hard so i can please you.(shout out to ema/corvyes/loml for that ref.) but if i get a req asking me for like the gng confessing to you—i will do it. trust.

Dallas Winston

WHEN HE’S DRUNK, YOU’RE ALLLL HE TALKS ABOUT LMFAOOOO

“i’m tellin’ you—there ain’t a girl like her.”

dallas would repeat after what felt like this 5th drink of the night. buck is sick of him, two-bit regrets dragging him along, and dallas just wants to tell them how good you looked today.

when he sees you walking home, to school, or to work he WILL tag along. HE DOESN’T GAF IF YOU TELL HIM TO TAKE A HIKE!

actually, he kinda does. you’re like the only person he listens to.

LMFAOOO THE GANG THREATENS TO CALL YOU OVER WHENEVER DALLAS IS DOING SMTH STUPID

like whenever you threaten a kid ur gna tell santa.

“dallas, i’m gonna tell y/n what you did last week.”

“??if you do, i’ll beat your head in, soda.”

“YIKES..i’m gonna have to tell her that too…”

“…don’t, she’d be so mad at me😔😒.”

THE GANG TEASES DALLAS THE WORST(besides ponyboy) ABOUT YOU LFNAOAOAOAO

like they’re shoving him toward you, nudging him at even the slightest mention of you, giggling as they tell him they seen you today.

“look, it’s your girlfriend.”

“steve, shut up! she ain’t deaf!”

—

“GO SEE HER!”

“OW—i mean—hi, y/n.”

“did you…trip? or did you mean to bump into me?”

“yeah, sorry or whatever. some IDIOT back there pushed me.”

—

“guess who i saw..🥰🥰”

“who?”

“your wife…”

“can you NOT.”

despite all that, you somehow, still don’t know how he feels about you. how? we’ll never know. it’s beyond the human mind.

his friends try and hint at you that the big, bad greaser has a school girl crush on you. do you get what they’re trying to say? no. but that’s okay, you’re just a girl.

lowkey pisses dallas off but that’s okay cuz he prefers admiring from afar. DOES HOWEVER ASK YOU TO HANG OUT AND CONSIDERS THEM A DATE IN HIS HEAD TO KEEP HIM SANE LFMAO

“you wanna go see this drag race tomorrow?”

“sure! i don’t have work then. uhm, pick me up at my place!”

“alright, cool.”

‘yeah..,it’s date🥱😍’ — dallas’ brain.

Johnny Cade

‘johnny, if you even fucking stutter when you talk to her today—you’re gonna have to drink pickle juice.’

“oh, hi. i didn’t see you there, johnny. ‘m sorry.”

“o-oh—it’s alright.”

‘well, shit.”

he thinks he looks like such a fucking loser when he talks to you omfg😭😭

the gang tries to tell him he might have a shot but he thinks they’re just telling him that because he’s their friend. :(

HEAVILY admires from afar. like seriously he’s a fucking stalker

WAIT LMFOAOO HE’D BE THE TYPE OF GUY TO ACCIDENTALLY STALK YOU LIKE HE’D FOLLOW YOU PLACES FROM AFAR LMFAOAOAOOAOA

what a little freak

anyways

he accidentally lets things slip to let you know he’s better than any other guy trying to go after you. like if you had a shitty ex—he’s preaching that he’d ‘never treat you like that, he can’t imagine that a guy with a brain ever would.’

johnny does everything to keep your attention on HIM and nobody else when your friends try and talk to you when you two are out together. like you could be having a conversation with him and he’d be just pouting in the background with his arms crossed.

“y/n, look. they got that shirt you was talkin’ ‘bout. let’s go check it out. c’mon.” “oh—alright! bye, viv!😊” “yeah, bye viv.😒”

side eyes the gang whenever they bring you up in conversation

“johnny and y/n sittin’ in a tree—“

“😒🤨”

“alright.”

he tries to subtly hint that he really likes you and that you’re his type but it’s not subtle at ALL.

“y’know, if i were to have a girlfriend, i’d wish she was like you.”

—

“my type? uhm, it’d probably be someone-“ and he goes on to describe you.

Ponyboy Curtis

‘holy fuck that’s literally y/n walking towards me??!! does she know i’m here—does she even know me-wow she looks good in red. i mean—SHE’S WAVING OH MY GOD.’

HE IS SUCH A WRECK I CANTTT

ponyboy is the type to stare off into space in your direction and dream about how well he’d treat you if he was your man!!

yk how bitches be like ‘my man, my man!’ whenever they talk about their crush?? he’s all ‘my girl, my girl!’ WUAGRMRNEE

the gang was so confused on why he was so eager to go to school all of a sudden?? and why he cares about his appearance just slightly more than usual?? …is that soda’s shirt he’s wearing?-

two-bit was the first one to realize what was happening when he seen ponyboy and you talk in the halls. that wasn’t the giveaway, though.

it was the way he stared at you like you were the only girl alive and everyone else was just gone. two-bit was almost moved to tears to see ponyboy all grown😞😞!!!

“is tha’ your girlfriend? that why you couldn’t wait ‘til monday?”

“shut up!”

“ouuu, wait until the gang hears ‘bout this!”

“YOU AIN’T TELLIN’ ‘EM NOTHIN’!”

ever since — it has been hell on earth for ponyboy. dallas brings you up every time ponyboy gets smart, johnny giggles at every kissing scene at a movie nudges him, soda and darry had to give him ‘the talk,’ (soda just made it worse by making snide remarks.) and steve never stopped poking fun at him.

two-bit tried to get you to spill the beans on how you felt about him, but all you’d do was huff and ignore him. FINE THEN😒!—is what he always thought.

soda, johnny and two-bit all let ponyboy rant about you.

“LIKE, BRO. my girl, my girl! she’s so cute and smart. LIKE SHE’S TOTALLY MY DREAM.”

—

“that’s so cute ☹️” - soda

“SHE WANTS YOU SOO BAD” - two-bit

“just go tell her, man.” - johnny

does everything to impress you stoppp 😭😭!! pony is trying harder in school, using less hair grease, wearing darry’s cheap cologne when he’s not looking, etc.

HE’S SO SILLY I LOVE HIM!!!

Sodapop Curtis

delusional king!!! yes soda, let the voices in your head tell you that she wants you so bad!!🫶🫶

swear to goddd he thinks y’all are meant to be. you tipped him when he was working at the cash register and he was sooo in love

sorry in my head he’s a hopeless romantic

cause a) you were gorgeous, b) kind enough to tip him, and c) most likely rich💯💯

when he seen you at random places with your friends—soda would get so excited LMFAOOO

STOP HE’D HOUND PONY FOR YOUR NAME

“bro they probably go to your school—just lemme look at your yearbook!”

“no??? you weirdo???”

“please??!! i’ll do the dishes or something!”

“….get me a pack of cigarettes and i’ll tell you.”

“OKAY🥰🥰”

stole them but pony never said how to get them so who gaf!!!

SODA WOULD TOTALLY WRITE YOUR FIRST INITAL + HIS LMFAOOAOAOAOAA

or he’d see who’s last name went best with curtis or your last name!!!1!1!1

he’s crazy insane over you did i say that already

whenever you come by the dx—he’d give you shit for free while you insist to pay.

“jus’ take it.”

“i can’t—i’d feel terrible.”

“it’s alright, no one has to know. right?”

he’d flash his million dollar smile, pushing your coke and chips close to you, inciting you to just take the food.

WAJENEDKD he wants u so bad it’s. so terrible.

steve hates his rambles

“YOU SHOULDA SEEN THE WAY ME AND HER WAS TALKING—SHE’S SO INTO MEEEE”

“yeah, she wants you!!! shut up now!!”

Darry Curtis

nobody knows. it’s like a top secret only darry knows. the gang has their suspicions but they can never really know why darry is suddenly so adamant on going to go get him, soda, and pony’s hair done at the salon.

they alllll can see that he only really talks to you—but at the same time he does that weird ass dad stance where they stand with their arms crossed and legs far apart LMFAOOOOO

darry thinks you’re like…model fine btw.!!!!!

BROOO WHEN YOU LIKE UNCONSCIOUSLY MASSAGE HIS HEAD WHEN YOURE CUTTING IT—HE’S SOO READY TO JUST ASK YOU OUT

darry doesn’t know what it is but goddamn!! you have him in a spell!!

“c’mon—we gotta go to the salon again.”

“….we just went?”

“TWO WEEKS AGO. it’s about time we go AGAIN.”

does in fact work a little extra just so he can see you. he’s that much of a loverboy i fear.

HE DOES ACTUALLY NOT WAIT TO ASK YOU OUT

like, among all the gang, he’s the only one mature enough to actually flirt with you properly & to ask if you’re single.

darry’s fucking down like that.

AWWHHH HE TOTALLY BUYS YOU FLOWERS AS A ‘THANK YOU’ GIFT LOL

flexs his strength around you to prove he’s worthy !!! DARRY LOVEEESSS SHOWING OFF WHEN YOU’RE LOOKING

megara + hercules methink…..

you two probably started hanging out as ‘friends.’ …yeah right!!!!

he’s driving you around as you be his pretty little passenger princess, he’s offering to buy you things when you two are out, etc, etc.

darry might not know how to show that he likes you, but trust me, the second that you look a little too far into his actions—it gets obvious.

like maybe too obvious idk.

Steve Randle

HELLLOOOO??? HE IS TOTALLY SHOWING OFF HIS GYMNASTICS MOVES AROUND YOU

“bro, bro! (yes he’d call you bro. idgaf.) watch what i can do!!😊😊” “wowwww, steve that’s so cool.”

geeks out near you. when you aren’t around the average person would see him and go ‘jesus christ, he literally might beat my ass.’ but when you’re around, they might think, ‘why is that scary looking guy talking about cars and comic books rn??’

you bring out the nerd in him in the best way possible🫶😊 BECAUSE THAT MEANS HE LIKE LIKES YOUUUUUUU

and it’s so obvious to the gang bc wdym steve told you all about DC comics while all they got was a ‘yeah, it’s alright.’ …hm…..

soda NEVER shuts the fuck up and him and his little girlfriend. NEVERRREE

“why’re you so pouty today? y/n ain’t say hi?”

“bro, shut up!”

steals for you and gives them to you all proud like he paid for it LMFAO

tries to be sooo cool around you but the second you bring up the latest batman comic he’s all “OMGOMGOMGOMG IT WAS SOO GOOD!! DID YOU SEE THE-“ he’s a loser what can i say.

dallas totally flirts with you in front of steve just to piss him off LOLLL like when he sees dallas twirling your hair around his finger steve is just all “???🤨🤨😡😡”

and then becomes your knight in shining armour and swoops you away as he glares daggers at dally!!!!<3

Two-bit Mathews

he becomes the funniest man on the planet i’m not joking

he says jokes that anybody and everybody will laugh at. just because he wants to see you laugh at what he says for his delusions

two-bit thinks like ‘she laugh=she likes me’

he’s not the brightest but it’s okay

HE MAKES IT SOOO KNOWN THAT HE LIKES YOU LFMAOOOOOO

“you’re lookin’ pretty? who’s the fella?” / “gee, i didn’t believe when they said they seen an angel walkin’ around until now.” / “well, now you owe me dinner.”

shit like that

two thinks he’s soooo smooth…smh.

DALLAS AND PONYBOY SO BADLY WANTS HIM SHUT THE HELL UP ALREADY ABOUT YOU LMFAOOO

they keep on telling him just to confess already but then two gets all giggly and shy and goes “omg guys noooo🤭🤭🤭��🫣”

just coincidentally runs into you everywhere you go!!! (literally has eyes everywhere. he’s weird. he’s odd.)

follows you around like a lost puppy and lowkey kinda gossips. idk.

#2knightt #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #dallas winston x reader #johnny cade x reader #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #steve randle x reader #darry curtis x reader #two bit x reader #two bit mathews x reader

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skippingstonez · 5 months ago

Note

Can I request a sky or wild x reader where reader has a crush on them and Link is unaware. And the reader has a tendency to draw him, and somehow he finds the sketchbook and goes through it to see the numerous drawings of him. But he didn't know the reader even drew in the first place, I think it would be really cute

*starts writing this, intending to use Wild*

Sky: *over dramatically breaking down my door* Change it

Me: But-

Sky: *raising the master sword menacingly* Change. It.

Me: Yes sir!

A Sketchy Confession

(Sky x Reader) Warnings: None, but Sky insisted it gets a little steamy at the end and who was I to tell him no <3

You bit your lip, chewing on it unconsciously. The pencil in your hand marking the paper repeatedly in an attempt to capture the landscape ahead of you. You huffed, erasing some of the lines before trying again. The tiny body of water rippled, disturbed by a leaf that had fallen from the tree above you from the warm summer air. You debated whether or not to add the newest addition. Having almost completed the drawing you had set out to do well over an hour ago.

Soft footsteps approached, breaking your concentration in a need to know who had finally found you.

Sky walked past the small fence of Wild’s house to where you were sat by the little pond beyond the stable. He was just wearing his white shirt and pants. The usual green tunic and chainmail likely left back inside the house. The blue detailing by his collar pulled out the blue of his eyes as they spotted you.

You closed the small notebook resting on your knees as he sat down beside you. Forcing your face to remain calm and relaxed as his knee bumped against yours.

“Nice hiding spot.” He chuckled, “I thought you'd gone with some of the others to check out the shops.”

“And give up the opportunity for some peace and quiet? No thanks, think I'll keep hiding here for a bit.”

Sky laughed, leaning on your shoulder. “Mind if I join you? Legend’s trying to help Wild organize his stuff and I'm not about to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Not at all. But if someone finds us I'm offering you as a sacrifice to their shenanigans."

Sky clutched his chest, dramatically gasping as if he was mortally wounded. “Ugh fiiiiiine, I guess that's fair.” He pulled out a small knife from his pocket and a block of wood a size bigger than his hand.

“What have you been up to out here anyway?”

“Just keeping busy,” you answered, pushing the notebook to the side nervously. The only one in the chain that had seen the inside of it was Legend due to an unfortunate mix up which he still hung over your head.

Wars, being really big on keeping notes and journaling, had given all of you little notebooks as a way to encourage you to do the same. Most of the chain quickly forgot about it in favor of their own preferred hobbies. Legend and Wild seemed to be the only others to use it frequently enough for you to notice which led to you and the grumpy Vet getting them mixed up one day.

Journaling had never been your thing. Words were tricky enough in normal conversation let alone trying to express the thoughts running through your head at any given moment. Still, you felt bad not using the small gift which is how it ended up as a sketchbook rather than a journal.

Drawing had kept you sane, especially so on the hard days. Sketching out the thoughts and feelings that overtook your mind. Unfortunately, after using it for sometime, it had seemed that there was a particular someone filling up most of those thoughts. So much so that the notebook was now full of sketches and quick doodles of the knight sat directly beside you.

Something which, after a rather charged chat with Legend about, you refused to let Sky, or anyone else in the chain know about. You'd rather get stabbed by a Lizalfos than die of embarrassment.

“What are you making?” You asked, redirecting the conversation away from the item tightly in your hand.

“Oh this?” He held up the piece of wood. “Not quite sure…any requests?”

You thought for a moment before answering. “Have you done that flying bug thing in your bag?”

“Oh you mean my beetle? That's a great idea! I'm gonna go grab it for reference. If I'm not back in 5 minutes just know,” He paused, throwing an arm around your shoulder. He pulled you close to him and you just knew your face was likely turning red. “It's probably Legend’s fault.”

You snorted, shoving him off as he got to his feet and made back towards the house. He turned back, shouting over his shoulder. “Wish me luck” He said with a small salute. You rolled your eyes but saluted back. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered around at the thought of spending time with him.

Alone.

You smacked your face lightly. You needed to get a grip on yourself before he came back. You grabbed the notebook, stuffing it deep down into the depths of your bag.

__________

“Make sure you've got everything,” TIme’s voice rang out. “Once (Y/N) and Wars get back we’ll head out.”

Sky finished stuffing the last of his things back into his bag, clasping his sailcloth over his shoulders. He gave his surroundings a final scan, double checking that there wasn’t anything left behind by mistake.

He got to his feet, stretching his arms over his head with a quick huff.

“Sky! Let's get going!”

“Coming!” He strolled over to where Legend and Four were headed towards. A quip about Legend’s new hair color already poised on his lips.

Something on the ground caught his eye, making him paused to take a closer look. It was a book. It's dark brown cover having nearly blended in with the bark of the tree.

He picked it up. The lack of title or name making it near impossible to distinguish whose it could be.

“Sky come on!”

“Coming!”

He mused over the small book as they walked. Flipping through the dozens of drawings that covered its pages.

The detail work was exquisite. Each line carefully crafted to enhance every feature within the confines of the picture. Sky didn't know much in the way of art, but the little he knew helped him understand just how much work had been poured into each one.

And there were a lot.

“Here I thought Wars was the narcissistic one.”

Sky nearly dropped the book as Hyrule appeared next to him.

“Clouds above Rule! You startled me.”

“Do I wanna know why you have a book full of drawings of yourself?”

Sky rolled his eyes, snapping it shut. “It's not mine. Don't suppose its yours is it?”

Sky handed it over, letting Hyrule flip through some of the pages. “Nope, definitely not mine. Hey Vet!” Hyrule called out.

Legend’s head snapped towards them from where he was by Four, pausing to let the two of them catch up before walking beside them. “Need something?”

Hyrule handed him the notebook, “Don’t suppose we can add drawing to your list of random talents could we?”

Legend opened it up curiously before slamming it shut again. His head swiveled to the back of the group before glaring at Hyrule. “Where the hell did you get this?”

Hyrule shot a finger towards Sky who immediately wished he had kept his mouth shut. Legend glared at him, waiting for a response.

“I-I found it as we were leaving this morning. I didn't know it was yours-”

“It's not.” He snapped.

“Wait if it's not yours then whose is it?”

Legend looked towards the back of the group again as if afraid of getting caught. Sky couldn’t help but try to follow his gaze only for Legend to slam the small book into his chest.

“Gee Sky, a book full of drawings of you. It's an absolute mystery as to who it could belong to.” His voice was overflowing with sarcasm that Sky was not appreciating. Sky crossed his arms, narrowing his gaze towards the Vet. Hyrule awkwardly looking between the two of them.

“I already told Hyrule, it's not mine.”

“Oh you have got to be kidding me.” Legend groaned, rubbing his temples. “Please tell me you aren’t that oblivious.”

“Excuse me! I am not oblivious! Now are you gonna tell me who it belongs to or not?”

“By the three… you seriously need me to spell it out for you Bird Brain? There isn’t a single person in this group you can think of that this might belong to?”

“Obviously not since I still have it! I don't recall anyone here talking about being able to draw so please, enlighten me.”

Legend grumbled, obviously frustrated about the current situation. “Try the girl back there that's painfully head over heels for you.”

Hyrule snorted, hands slamming over his mouth to keep in his laughter.

“(Y/N) doesn't draw.”

“Obviously, she does Sky. Or did you not look through the damn thing?”

“But…no. No, she would have told me!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me Sky. She's embarrassed. Did you really expect her to waltz up, show you the dozens of drawings she's done, of you no less, and actually admit she's the one that drew all of them? She might as well have just confessed her love while she was at it.”

Sky's mind went blank.

Was Legend really telling the truth? Had you drawn these and not told him?

No. No you would have told him. Surely Legend was mistaken and it was someone else's. Maybe it was a shared notebook and that's why there were so many of just him?

Sky couldn't even convince himself that his reasonings were true. Deep down, he knew Legend had to be right. Even deeper, he wanted him to be right.

Because if the Vet was right, and you had drawn all of these. Then was the Vet also right about your feelings for him?

“You… you think she likes me?”

Legend tugged so tightly on his hair he was surprised it didn't rip out of the man's skull.

“For fucks sake Sky! What do you think?”

“Buddy” Hyrule chimed in with a pat to his shoulder. “Come on, surely you suspected as much right? I mean she practically grows hearts in her eyes when you're around.”

Really? If that was true then how had he never noticed anything?

“Alright let's stop here for now and take a break.” Wars announced, handing a few chores out before everyone could scatter.

Legend and Hyrule walked away, having been out on scouting the perimeter. Leaving Sky to think about their conversation.

There was just no logical way that this was yours. He forged the Master Sword, defeated countless numbers of monsters, puzzles and a God for Hylia’s sake. Surely he would have noticed if his companion had a crush on him or at the very least had been drawing him for weeks on end.

“Uggghh where is it!?” Sky looked up, watching you practically dump out the entire contents of your bag. He got to his feet, making his way over to you quickly to try and help whatever problem had arisen.

“What's wrong?”

“I can't find my notebook! I swear I put it in here last night but I can't find it!”

Notebook?

Sky paled, shoving the notebook into his bag before you could see.

“Oh,” he said nervously. Why was he feeling so nervous all of a sudden? “Do you want help looking for it?” He offered. His mind yelling at him that the one he had just shoved in his bag was the same one you were looking for. That Legend had been right. That you were the one that had done those wonderful drawings.

Hylia, Legend was right.

“No!” You said a little too quickly. “No, it's fine. I'm sure I'll find it eventually..” You began shoving things back into your bag. Not caring about keeping anything organized. “But thanks, I appreciate the offer.”

You walked off, shoulders sagging slightly.

Sky's heart raced in his chest as the realization of it all slammed into him like a Loftwing at full speed.

You liked him.

Goddess how had he not seen it until now? You, wonderful, beautiful you, liked him.

He walked to the edge of the small clearing, taking out the notebook again when no one was looking.

He flipped through its contents once more. Admiring all the work you had done. He knew he needed to give it back, and he would.

But what was the harm in waiting a day or two?

Just until the perfect moment presented itself.

Then he'd give it back.

And hopefully more.

___________

“Sky? You over here?”

“Here!” He could see you approach out of the corner of his eye. Placing the shirt he had been scrubbing at for the past few minutes on the rock beside him.

“Oh uhh sorry I can come back later!” You stammered. Hand raised to cover your eyes when you realized he was shirtless.

Sky chuckled. “Come on (Y/N) we all know you’ve seen worse. I'm just trying to get some of the blood out from earlier.” He said, motioning to his pieces of clothing drying nearby. He waved you over, patting the ground next to him.

You walked over sheepishly. Kneeling down with a respectable distance between you and the knight. “Want any help?”

“Nah that's okay. I got most of it out already. Buuuut~ I'm actually glad you're here!” He leaned over for his bag. Shuffling through before pulling out the small brown notebook. “I believe this belongs to you.”

He pushed it into your hands and your heart skipped a beat. You snatched it up, quickly flipping through the worn pages to confirm that this was indeed the one you had misplaced the other day.

“Sky this is…You found it! Oh my goodness thank you!” You hugged it tightly to your chest. Relieved to have your drawings returned to you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you could draw?”

Your heart skipped again and this time you wondered if it was because it had finally cut its losses and simply stopped working. You didn’t dare meet his gaze. Keeping your eyes distinctly on the grass between you and him. You forced yourself to swallow, willing your voice to work.

“You...you looked through it?”

“Well…yeah?” Sky rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Only because I didn’t know it was yours! I found it on the ground and I was just trying to see who it belonged to! But then I saw all the work you put into those drawing and they were just so beautifully detailed that I sorta just kept going and-”

“Hold up,” You interrupted, having no clue where to begin unpacking all of the information he had just spouted at you. You were mortified at the thought that he had seen all of those drawings you had done of him. Not to mention- wait had you heard him right? ”You like them? You don't think..ya know, that it's kinda weird?”

Sky cocked his head. His eyebrows raised in confusion as if you had just spoken an entirely different language. “Are you kidding!? (Y/N) those look amazing!”

Heat invaded your cheeks and you prayed that he wouldn’t call you out on the obvious red spreading over your face. He shifted closer, a hand coming to grab at the notebook which you clutched onto tighter. Sky tugged at it again, giving you an incredulous look. You pouted but let him take it back.

He flipped through a few pages before pointing to a sketch you had done back in Wild’s era. The small field of wildflowers that overlooked a small village on the coastline. “I mean seriously (Y/N) do you see these?”

He turned the page, pointing to a rough sketch of War’s scarf wrapped around his sword. “I never even realized that scarf of his had some of those embroideries on it!” He flipped through some more pages, pointing out drawings on each page. He eventually paused, placing the book face open on your lap.

The only drawing on the page was one of the man beside you. He was standing against a tree, his hand outstretched in front of him as a small red bird fluttered around his head.

Sky leaned over, hovering his head over your shoulder. “That one’s my favorite.” He whispered. A soft smile on his lips as he admired the drawing in your lap.

You replied just as softly, “Mine too.” A finger traced over the soft lines of the bird. Recalling how you had sat there for over an hour to memorize every detail of the scene laid out before you. His hand covered yours, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“They’re amazing (Y/N).” You looked up, his face right by yours. The proximity alone making you blush furiously as his words stirred something in your chest. “You are amazing.”

His lips pressed against yours, taking you by surprise.

You let your eyes slip close, moving your mouth against him. A feather-like touch brushing up the length of your arm. His hand coming to hold your face to his. Your fingers twitched towards him, only brave enough to rest just above his knees. You didn’t dare go any higher than that. The heat coming from him only serving as a reminder of the lack of clothing between your bodies.

A gasp escaped you as Sky pulled away. His mouth agape, chest rapidly rising and falling from the small pants that he let out. You pulled your eyes away from his slightly reddened lips, catching his eyes that stared back in disbelief.

You both let out a breathy laugh, turning your face away into his shoulder. His lips pressed into your hair as you both sat there for a moment.

You pulled away, unable to hide the stupidly large grin on your face. You closed the notebook that had stayed put on your lap. Holding it protectively to your chest.

“Thank you Sky”

His mouth curved into a small smirk, “It was just a kiss (Y/N). No need to thank me.”

You hit his shoulder, rolling your eyes as he snickered. “Not that bird brain.” You stuck your tongue out at him for good measure and nodded towards the notebook. “For this.”

Sky’s face softened for just a moment. That smile that you had fallen in love with making a short appearance before morphing into an expression you had never seen grace the Skyloftian’s face.

“Ya know (Y/N),” His arm snuck around to rest behind you. Supporting his weight as he leaned back in. “Seeing as you're quite the artist, maybe you should draw me.”

You snorted, “How much of that notebook did you actually look through? Because I'm pretty sure I have already.” You tapped him on the nose. Leaning away, only for him to follow after you.

“Mmm~ I'm aware.” He purred, glancing down at your lips that you chewed on nervously. “And you did such a good job too.” He snatched the notebook from your hand, tossing it lightly to the side.

“Hey!” You tried to grab it and he caught your hand. Lifting it up so he could place a light kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“You could draw me like this if you’d like.” Another kiss on your wrist as he looked up to your eyes. Your heart thumped wildly in your chest. Breath catching in your throat as the tip of his tongue flicked over where his lips had just been.

“Sky-”

“Would you like that?” His hand pressed against your back. Pushing you closer to him till you were sat on his lap. You braced your hands against his shoulders. Fingers brushing along his collar bone that had him shuddering beneath you.

“Is there something else you'd like as well?”

“I…I want..”

“Tell me what you want.” His voice was breathy by your neck. The smallest trace of his lips grazing over the sensitive skin that made you shiver. His hands gripping onto your hips. Your mind already imagining the small circles of his thumbs pressed against another part of your body.

“Sky please..” you whimpered shamelessly. You slid your hands across his chest, letting your nails drag lightly across the expanse of skin. His chest rumbled, chuckling while his mouth traveled just below your jawline.

“Please what?” He teased, pulling a small moan from your lips as he kissed right below your ear.

“Use your words baby bird” He whispered into your skin.

“Kiss me. Please.”

His lips slammed onto yours, yanking you forward till you were pressed flat against him. Your hands tangled in his hair, giving a short tug that had him groan into your mouth. When you did it again he shot forward, your back hitting the damp grass with him hovering over you. His forearms trapping you in place as he slid his tongue over your bottom lip.

*Ah-hem*

You both froze at the sound of Time clearing his throat. Both glancing up to see the man standing a few paces away. His arms crossed over his chest with his signature scowl of disapproval.

“I suppose it's a good thing I didnt send Wind to come collect the two of you. Now,” his face lightened ever so slightly as you both quickly sat up. “If you two lovebirds would keep it together, the rest of us would like to get moving soon.”

“Yes sir..”

“Sorry Time..”

Time just stared as you both scrambled to your feet. His face lightened into a softer, more contemplative smile as he twisted the ring around his finger.

Sky quickly grabbed his bag, throwing on a spare shirt while you grabbed the two still drying nearby, along with your notebook. Time walked off, muttering something about his wife being right that you didn't quite catch.

Sky's whole face had turned pink, adamantly avoiding your eyes. You stepped closer, holding onto his arm as you reached up and kissed his cheek.

“Just so you know,” you said. Beginning to follow after Time. “I’ll definitely be taking you up on that offer.” You winked as Sky's face turned the color of his Loftwing. Standing there dumbfounded for a moment before rushing to catch up to you.

His hand rested on the small of your back, letting you lean into his side as you walked back.

“Maybe we wait till the next inn though.”

#link x reader #giggle requests #lu sky x reader #sky x reader #sky was VERY insistent on getting some attention #lu sky #I love when sky gets over confident #screaming #squeals #giggles #legend does NOT want to be involved

161 notes · View notes

thesiltverses · 6 months ago

Note

Who are the people who win the status quo in the TSV world?

In ours there are capitalists who have, for all intents and purposes, *won* the system — more money than they can ever sanely spend in their lifetimes, being able to afford any material luxury they ever so desire, beyond the reaches of mortal laws and jurisdictions, insulated from common political concerns by heinous wealth.

What does that look like in TSV? Someone untouchable by gods, maybe only hoarding the positive blessings with 0 negative effects, deflecting harms onto people lower down the food chain.

It feels like everyone in TSV is living precariously to me — walk by a coffee shop at the wrong time and you might get caught in a deity of sleep publicly-broadcast ascendancy. Who are the people completely immune from this? Is it only the gods themselves?

Well, I don't agree with the premise, I think; even the gods live precariously, for all their power, because they'll never be rid of their lousy insecurities and their implacable desire for attention and love, and because you cannot buy your way out of time, change, death, or your own fundamental incompleteness.

We don't present anyone within the TSV setting who's 'won' and lives in complete existential safety, because I'd argue that doesn't feel true to life or capitalism: our most powerful characters and entities remain hungering little things, expending a huge amount of energy on the desperate pretence that they aren't hungry and they aren't desperate and they aren't alone and they deserve to have the power that they have.

Anton Chigurh can claim to be some kind of inhuman agent of remorseless fate and then still get sideswiped by a random car. Our billionaires can buy themselves a governing share in the most powerful nation on the planet and yet remain a sad little twerp desperately and vainly hunting for reassurance from internet strangers that he's actually likeable and cool. And tomorrow any one of them may be wiped out by hubris, obstinacy or just bad luck, no matter how many preventative advantages or how much financial invulnerability they hold over the rest of us.

There's a consolation - even if there's not a huge amount of hope - in knowing that even the tallest trees do not grow whole within this walled garden, under this light.

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luckyartdrawer · 3 months ago

Text

Burning Celestials Ch 2: Fall For Me

2nd Chapter has released, Yippieee! Feel free to read on ao3 or look below the break to read!

Click here for AO3 Link!

Ch 1. Sun, Ch 3. Eclipse

Summary: You were gone, but not really. Somewhere new. Besides the suddenness, you weren't caught too off guard. Moon wasn't either, well, until he actually looked at you that is. 2815 words

When you appeared, he almost completely missed you.

You didn't make a dent in the space around you, a mere speck who should have gone unnoticed and declared unimportant as you arrived. You did absolutely nothing but just show up.

Moon was originally just going on his usual, boring, but necessary, mindless wandering. It's not as if he noticed all the pointed stares you earned, popping out of nowhere, it was more like he noticed the lack of glares being trained on him.

He had half the mind to keep moving, but it was rather unusual for a planet and their orbitals to not actively avoid his presence.

Moon couldn't help but cast a curious glance in the same direction as the spectators, finding himself looking down at the winding roads below. There, beyond the labyrinth of one way trails, compacted dust and rock contained in golden silks of light, was the main attraction. Moon was high above, but even then he could still spot the reason why you had such a captive audience.

You were a being who contained antimatter. Poor thing, frozen to the spot, surrounded by judging eyes.

Moon could've chuckled at your unfortunate fate, if he himself was not living the same story. You just had to be someone with a magnetic pull worthy of rivaling a planet’s. A being not aligned in this cursed place’s straight and narrow hierarchy.

Moon waited as he watched the murmurings dwindle and scatter rapidly, the drifters succumbing to your pull before greedy planets or other moons dramatically pulled them away. The golden roads quickly cleared; the audience plummeting from many to one.

Looks like no one was in the mood to deal with you right away.

Moon had his fill of entertainment for the day, fine with leaving the encounter as this; just a mere glance. Yet, once he made that glance at you, no longer observing how the others observed you, he found something that made it hard to turn away.

You seemed to believe you were now alone, staring at the expanse around you, slowly twirling to take it all in. Your foot snagged on the uneven ground and you fell, your yelp failed to reach him through the thick vacuum of space.

You were nothing impressive… But your confusing emotional state was hard to miss.

What's wrong with you?

He got a little closer, jumping down to a road slightly below the trail he was on. Your figure was somewhat easier to decipher now, what with the void of your body matching the black of the surroundings making it difficult. It's easier to define some of your edges the closer he gets, the colorful dust surrounding your body much more noticeable.

He thought you were a black hole, but perhaps not…

You pushed at the rocks, sifted through the dust, and plucked at the glowing strings that hold the roads together. He couldn't read your emotions from so far, but anyone sane would be able to notice when someone is enchanted by the ground.

How could you be so preoccupied with something like that, especially after what just happened?

So, like any reasonable being, he wanted to know why.

Moon crouched at the path’s edge, coaxing the loose light hanging to the rest of its mass to pull and expand into his hand. He layered it over his shoulder, looping it until he believed he had a long enough spool of light to force a stop.

Then, with a jump, he descended, grasping the end with one hand and guiding the slack with the other as he free-fell.

His world spun, the pieces of his body juddered and grinded together, new crumbs speckling the dark half of his face and body, the murky essence keeping him whole. The feeling of floating completely, being swallowed by the inky black of space even for a moment…

It's so easy to get lost in it.

If he were to just let go…

Unfortunately he remembered to shake the euphoric feeling away; he couldn't allow it while on this little escapade. The easy glide through space led him so close to you, but with a simple twist of his leg and foot around the leftover slack, he stopped upside-down just a couple of feet above you.

Your pull was there, but only noticeable within this close radius. At least, for him that is... That odd detail by itself already planted a seed within his mind.

He's never felt a pull like this before…

Moon watched silently as you fiddled with the light, hearing your quiet awes at how it bends and allows your hand to push through with enough force. When you raised yourself back to standing however, he decided to finally announce himself.

His voice surprised you so bad that you stumbled back to the ground, twisting onto your back to look up at him.

How unperceptive. It's… cute.

Moon could practically feel the tension radiating off of you, but he focused on his inspection of you as you collected yourself. He's heard of beings appearing from nowhere, but this is the first time he's seen someone who has.

You certainly fit the part…

Besides your unusual coverings, the biggest thing he took note of was your eyes… They're a blindingly bright white, somehow not swallowed by the void of your body.

It confused Moon greatly; the Black holes that brought him to existence had no facial features at all. They were all but swallowed whole once they became the cold creatures they were doomed to be, or so the story goes. Even the antimatter that keeps himself together threatens to swallow his 2nd eye.

Yet here you are without even a single vortex, stardust hovering around you with controlled ease. How are you calmly defying the unstoppable?

He wanted to unravel these mysteries that are suddenly piling up. Questions that he would usually never care for start to form in his mind, all directed at you.

After you relaxed in his presence and struck up a hesitant introduction, you desperately took his offer to travel with you when he acknowledged your lost expression. As he uncoiled and released himself from the golden rope, you caught him off guard with how quick you aimed to seek out answers to every little thing, starting with his now abandoned shortcut.

Seems both of you wanted to unravel the other.

Moon wasn't unreceptive to your lines of questioning, despite how new this kind of interaction is to him, rather, he was oddly charmed by them.

They were such simple queries, grounded in reality.

There were no untold rules or distrust of his presence. It was as if you didn't even feel the radius of his magnetism, easily wandering close and far from him as you wandered together.

Perhaps your pull was just simply stronger than his?

Yet, that same pull, as much as it coaxes him in, is gentle. Open. An invite rather than a demand.

It's not the commandeering gravity of the planets or the black holes, dragging all who cannot resist their orbit as part of their entourage. The cold war between those with such intense pulls is mind numbing. One claiming that it is their birthright to rule, while the other simply exists, unable to help themselves from eventually consuming those they ensnare, bit by bit.

Yet here you are, nothing like them. You don't demand anything from him. You don't cast him out for not clinging to you like how he “should” be.

To you, he's more than just a Moon, but probably no more than anyone else.

Moon would much rather prefer if all pulls felt like yours. He hoped his own enticed you just as much, if to just keep you from eventually drifting too far away.

You rapidly became a new comfort.

Watching him with wide doe eyes.

Falling in step, side by side.

To say it was intoxicating would be a little on the nose.

He taught you about so many things as the cycles passed; made more reasons for you to drift closer.

He rambled about the expanse beyond that none can touch. Moon would tell you all the fables and constellations of every system he's ever seen, if you'd just ask. He'd point out the colors that occasionally blend in the universe, explaining their meanings in mythos; it's something so enchanting that he cannot help but stand and watch from time to time, an explosion of dust and color shining through a dark, star-filled void.

It's beautiful, but unreachable.

You made the rather astute observation that the view looked like you...

Exactly, so don't leave.

Don't drift away or become untouchable.

Be his piece of the sky.

He emphasized how the roads never end and are always shifting in the loose expanse of space. Not built by the celestials but rather as if weaved by reality for their very way of life. The theories and beliefs of some other worldly beings never cease to prickle at his mind. These strange roads of fate wind around gigantic planets, becoming paths that allow celestials to reside wherever they'd like on each one, while others find comfort in reaching a star and carving out their own home within.

Despite how encouraging the winding paths are for wandering celestials, Moon chose to never keep a home. The moment he stupidly told you, you immediately set out to make him one.

He couldn’t risk getting caught, let alone having you do such a thing for him. He told you as such; the black holes will find him, the planets will chase him away, yet you debated with him over it repeatedly.

The pesky insistent attitude annoyed him with how much emotion that welled up within him.

Longing.

Hope.

Fear.

Craving.

Desolation.

Excitement.

He could have shot you down, left, and kept safe, even after you found an, admittedly , lovely vacant star to occupy. But… He wouldn't willingly pull away that far.

He loves how you cling to him, even during an argument. He'd save unsaid counterpoints just so he could start the bickering again when feeling particularly needy. Addicted to your touch.

What may have finally convinced him to stay was when you pouted, saying you'll just live there without him.

And oh… when he realized you intended to stay with him.

The flutter in the dark matter that keeps him whole made him pang. Burn in a million different ways. Pine to hold you. Beg to absorb you.

You wanted to stay with him . Live with him.

Not that random you'd frivolously talk about when explaining your past.

Part of Moon ever regrets asking, jealous of the tone shift of your voice becoming more animated and lively when you started to talk about another man. The way he’d taught you things before Moon ever had the chance of meeting you. The kiss you shared before you suddenly departed from him…

He usually tried his best to constantly keep that character out of his mind, wanting to be blissfully ignorant. He wanted to live in his fantasy where the universe was just you and him.

But now…

Did he finally get you to stop seeing that man in every little thing you saw?

Oh, please… Please let it be true.

You're too alluring to ignore the feelings in his chest anymore. He's been hooked on you the moment he saw you.

It's so hard to pretend that he doesn't want to pull you in. Mesh together until one is the other. Take him fully and wholly.

He wants to revel in you.

Stop chasing someone else light-years away when he's right here…

He couldn't just tell you, no no no, not when you could still be enamored with that memory. So he showed it in small ways. Enough to quell his bleeding heart into a sore ache. Begging for you to see his signs.

Let him entice you.

Come to him, follow his pull, like he does with yours.

He'd let you hang off his arm when you needed some reprieve from the constant walking, he feels stronger than the universe when you ask to be carried.

He'd hold you close from behind and tuck his head into your shoulder whenever either of you was emotional or introspective, disguising his selfish cravings as a physical comfort. Though, it's not much of a disguise if you were to see his wandering, clouded eyes.

He'd comfortably stand with you, regardless of where or why, and look into your eyes. Your acknowledgement or returned gaze was not necessary, you seem to have grown used to it and continue on with whatever work you carved out for today. Just seeing you from up close, being allowed to speak, allowed to touch, allowed to admire; it's enough to keep his twitching, itching, scratching desires at bay.

He'd woven a staircase of light from the golden path and connected it to your shared home, large but dazzling railings encasing his creation to ensure you'd never fall into the void below.

He'd never let you fall without him.

So fall for him, please.

Crash into him so hard that he breaks from the inside out.

He's always been so fragile, but you are the only one allowed to shatter him.

Moon feels such desire constantly. Each smile thrown his way, all the appreciative shows of thanks, and every shiver from you in his arms makes him hope more and more.

You fulfill every craving.

He can't part from you, refuses to, so give him anything and everything you're willing to.

Please.

Shatter him completely.

He couldn't wait anymore unfortunately.

You never took the plunge, at least not openly. Now he couldn't let you come to him, not at a time like this.

The black holes finally tracked him down. The planets were furious at their arrival. You both were surrounded by each party; the all encompassing and possessive beings that hungered for something to fill their empty voids, and the prideful and spiteful monarchs that won't allow a single one of their charges or harems to be taken from them, regardless of the feelings of their lessers.

The black holes wanted to keep building upon him, the only being they so far able to create rather than destroy. Something they could feed off of for all eternity.

The Planets wanted him and you gone, a looming hidden threat to their ever growing rule, believing that you'd both side with the destruction of the black holes.

Cornered from both sides, home invaded and crushed into stardust, Moon did the only thing he could do.

And you'd fall with him.

Yanking you by the collar into his chest, he leaped past the ledge.

The twine of light he held in his other hand was the only tether between the two of you and land. He held you close and spun, allowing the string to tie you two tightly together.

Even in this situation, the uncertainty of it all, his heart is soaring.

You're so close, reliant on him. Your terrified screams as you hide your face into his chest only proves it. He's elated, euphoric even, to be here with you. The light you emit shines as brighter than anything he's ever seen.

If he closes his eyes and relaxes his body, he could even feel like he's one with the void.

One with you. The two of you are just masses of antimatter, dust, and light.

What a wonderful dream…

Your screams stop and his tight hold becomes suddenly loose.

His eyes open and with an enchanted sigh he becomes breathless.

His tether is gone.

The golden roads are so far away.

You are not in his arms.

Tears flood out of his good eye as you've done exactly what he dreaded.

You drifted away. You became one with the sky. You became untouchable.

Without him.

But oh, look at you… You're everywhere, flooding his vision with black and white, speckles of colored gas and dust gently floating in the void. You're right where you belong.

He couldn't stay mad at you for that. All he can hope is that soon enough he will be one with the sky too.

Together you'd be the greatest mythos to grace the universe. Even if he'd be the only one to believe in it.

Tingles dance upon his back as he allows his vision to blur.

If he focuses enough, it still feels like you're there.

Holding him. In his arms. Feeling the warmth and coolness of your bodies mingling together.

He dreams of his lips dancing across the crook of your neck like he was always tempted to do.

Trailing along the path he'd measure daily in his mind.

He dreams of your lips meeting his.

A gift from the divine, a taste of the untouchable.

Then finally, he dreams of black.

76 notes · View notes

plotsignificanthaircut555 · 2 months ago

Text

Afterlife (Toji x Reader)

MDNI 18+ Only

Toji needs to get out. He can't reckon with the damage he's doing to his son. To his life. He calls the one person in the world he can trust, Shiu. Shiu directs him to the one fixer he trusts with a job this important, You.

wc 12.3k ao3 masterlist doodle's picks

you can buy me a Ko.fi here, if you like!

Warnings: rough sex, kissing, fingering, slapping, spit, toji's pretty pathetic and then kinda mean, table sex, faking death, blood but like not in a sex way or like a lot, blood drawing that's it, toji is complicated and soft despite his best efforts, Background toji/shiu, also background shiu/you, just a ful little extra.

(My partner and I watched Breaking Bad and played Cyberpunk 2077 in very quick succession and this was born! I'm also putting off my multi part Nanami fic because im at a sticky spot, but she is still COMING!!!)

No sane person chooses to wipe themselves from existence. Effectively killing one’s self, without truly ending the life attached. Just the history, the future of that life. No longer being known, or ever having been known. What is a life that’s known? A series of labels and attachments, relationships both personal and professional. The intangible part of life, of perception, whatever that thing is that makes up the life as we experience it, would remain, privately. But Toji could not live any longer. Not like this.

He had been a good husband. He knew it. She knew it, and showed him as much. She had taught him exactly how to be a good husband. Being a father came less naturally to him. But she had been there to guide, with her unending patience and pragmatism. He wished he could say he was a natural parent, that it came easy to him. But since he was on his own, he could feel how poorly he was doing. The already tangible difference in his son without his mother, Toji would ruin him. And once the money ran out, not that they were exactly wealthy before, and he returned to his tried and true methods, he realized that he wasn’t fit to raise anything. Let alone care for and nurture. It took him two years to realize how he could never be the father Megumi needed. In that time he did his best to find a suitable mother. He found Kuyomi, who was already a mother, but willing to embrace a son that wasn’t her own into her family. Tsumiki and Megumi got along well, both curious children; Tsumiki, a leader and caretaker, and Megumi, an inquisitive growing mind. They were a good pair, they would be good for each other.

He knew that when he didn’t come home, Kuyomi would be frightened. Maybe even angry. But his second wife was resilient, she knew how to make do and keep going. The house was paid off, she could keep her job, the kids could walk themselves to school. It wasn’t going to be easy but he had to remove himself from this family. They would be starting middle school soon, and the window was closing on the time before Megumi would be able to forget him easily. Tsumiki would have flashes of memory but hopefully she would forget too. He had to go now. Tonight. He made the call.

Somewhere in Tokyo, a phone rings, only to be answered and hung up.

Shiu Kong only had your phone number for one reason. Anyone who had access to your direct line only had it for one reason. To vanish. You were blessed with a special gift. Nothing magical or cursed. Something, beyond that, something that was destined. You had a calling. And the skill set to back it up. You could make anything disappear, anything or anyone. The latter was your true calling. Your true passion. FInding the exact manner and location for someone to completely fall off the grid, supplying them with everything necessary to start a completely new life. It made you feel like god. No. No, it made you god. Deciding who is lost into the cracks of society, using all their tools against them, their precious processes of documentation and surveillance as props for escape of a lifetime. Each lifetime. Shui had called upon your services before, specifically your…disposal services. Both post mortem and object focused vanishings. Tonight he caught you up late at work, running a series of false identification numbers to check for matches and current users.

“Got a package for you.” You could see him on the other end of the phone, the sound of city rain dappling the awning he stood under outside of some building in the shady, crowded but discrete areas in which he was observing something…someone…who really knows.

“Yeah? Is it big?” You can’t help but flirt a bit, Shiu was sexy, especially when he needed something from you.

You had worked with him for years, fixing whatever he needed to be rid of: evidence, vehicles, weapons, CCTV footage, bodies, people, whatever. He was a living link between the broken, who desperately needed help, and the fixers, like yourself. Your talents made you dependable and your discretion made you irreplaceable. You had indulged in each other socially, a few nights spent together seeking the confidence and understanding that could only be provided by each other. You could hear his own flirting tone lying beneath his work voice, strong and sexy, even and controlled.

“Mmhm,” He pulled in a line of cigarette smoke, “Needs Priority Shipping. Overnight, if possible.”

Overnight?

That was an ambitious timeline for any disappearance, especially one of the weight that was being alluded to. You stilled your keyboard busy hands, the call now holding all of your attention, your sliding plastic phone tucked between your cheek and your shoulder.

“Overnight, hmm…that won't be cheap. The rate of stamps being what they are.” But you couldn’t deny the adrenaline beginning to itch through your veins toward your thumping heart.

He exhaled his lungful of smoke, you could smell the wet warmth of his breath through your receiver, “Understood. How soon can I have it picked up?”

He sounded terse now. No one liked talking about the finances of disappearance. Scrubbing an entire existence from human record was expensive. Hours of work, crafting new documentation, falsifying medical records, employment records, the potentially endless travel, supplies, not to mention your own personal risks. You clicked your tongue, running a quick series of mental calculations before answering.

“Well if you already have it wrapped then it can be picked up in an hour. It’s late but I should be able to have it sent off before tomorrow evening.” You leaned back in your desk chair, awaiting his answer.

“One hour. Good.” Shiu was always beautifully concise.

“Will you be accompanying your package to its retrieval?” You cocked your head, although he wouldn’t see your coy expression, you hoped it translated through your phone lines.

His low chuckle told you it did, “I’ll see that it gets sent out properly but I think it's best if the reception remains a surprise. Don’t you?”

“Good man.” You smiled, “Will you be needing to sign off upon its deliverance at its destination.”

“Notification is good enough. No signature required.”

“Understood. One hour.” You clacked your phone shut, setting it down upon the desk in front of you.

You carefully removed the SIM card from the plastic spring loaded pocket in which it had resided all of two hours since you had programmed it, and split it in two.

Fifty minutes later Toji stood in the only memorized, never written down, location that Shui had brought him. A small underpass where a rarely used frontage road passed below a slightly less used highway that roared above. It had taken nearly the whole hour since the call to drive out here, he had less time to pack than he expected. Even less time to say goodbye, so he opted not to. Slipping out while the children were still sleeping, not willing to risk lodging any memories of emotional departures in their still impressionable minds.

The smell of the rain and Shui’s smoke surrounded him, they gave him something to link himself to while he still felt foggy. Since he had decided to depart he had felt like he was in a dream, not alive but not yet dead. The truck that arrived was weathered, a faded, sun bleached flower delivery advertisement had once been painted along the body. He could barely make out the slogan underneath the bouquet.

24 Hour Flowers

Discounts, Deliveries, and Disposals.

Disposals. An odd thing to put on the side of a real truck, but fitting for its true purpose.

“Alright Zenin,” Shui nodded towards the truck, “Here’s where part ways.”

“Zenin…” Toji groaned.

“Indulge me one last time, huh?” He shrugged, the thin smile on his lips was jovial despite the tug at his heart.

Toji nodded. The driver, a short man in thick glasses, gave them a look to get things moving. Toji opened the sliding door to the back and slid it open, crates and petals littered the inside. The bag he brought with him looked even smaller inside than it had in the open air. He looked back to Shiu, offering his hand forward.

“Thank you, Shiu.” He felt true gratitude for his partner, in a way he may never have before, despite the many favors and jobs he had helped Toji with.

“Sad to see you go, Zenin.” Shiu had snuffed his cigarette against the wet side walk with a hiss, clearing his hand to shake Toji’s.

Both men nodded as their hands raised and lowered, one clean shake to celebrate the end of their work together.

“I’ll keep an eye on them for you. A distant one, can’t promise I’ll do much about it. But I’ll keep an eye.” Shiu wasn’t even sure if he meant it, but he was compelled to say it nonetheless, “She’ll get you where you need to go. I hope we don’t meet again.”

Toji feels the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth, “You know it freaks me out when you act sweet on me.”

Shiu rolled his eyes, but smiled the same, sliding the van door shut. Toji would never see him again, probably the closest thing he had to a friend, his family, all gone. He was gone now. Toji Fushiguro was dead. Toji Zenin had already been dead.

Shiu watched the van turn and race back the way it had come, flinging puddled rain up into the air. He forced himself not to think about never seeing Toji again, it would be put aside with all the other parts of his job he chose not to think of anymore. Some things were simply events, necessary happenings that he had no control or investment in. Those things were not for him to dwell on. He turned and made his way back to his car.

It was forty past the next hour when your delivery driver arrived with your cargo. You buzzed in the van to the garage, watching it pull in on your security camera. Its lights dimmed as you stepped away from the monitor, heading down stairs to begin. You entered the garage right as the van door was pulled away. A man in his early thirties stepped out, his hair still wet from the rain outside, a vertical scar along his lips, dark green eyes. It’s such a shame when the pretty ones make such a habit of ruining their own lives. He had a tan work jacket over a dark grey t-shirt, and a clean(ish) pair of loose pants. You looked him over for a moment as the driver unloaded the single duffle bag that your client had brought with him. He watched you just as closely, clearly catching your reaction to the state (or absence really) of his luggage.

“Traveling light. Good call, makes things easier.” You nodded, “I trust Kong got you up to speed?”

“Yeah.” His voice was low, casual, you wondered if it ever took on a tone of sincerity or desperation.

The driver took his leave and van out the back. The two of you stood in the garage and listened to the hums and squeaks of the gate shutting behind him. Toji looked over the space, the deceptively normal, boring even, mechanic’s garage, tools and dust scattered around, cans and trash serving as totems for the perceived workers to have indulged in between jobs. He wondered if this place was an actual functioning garage or if it was all a perfectly dressed ruse. He looked at you, the casual clothes, the soft, jovial look in your eye. You didn't look how he expected a fixer to look. No fixer he had met before was so…like you.

“I was expecting a flower shop.” He looked around.

“A flo-- oh! The van, yeah, better to not have the cargo vans be branded, harder to trace. They’re all something vague and easy to forget, come in and out for ‘maintenance’. Nothing gets back here. You’re safe.” You smiled, and turned back toward the staircase that led up to the “office” of the garage and up even further to your loft, “Come on up, can I get you anything, coffee? Tea? Beer?”

It would probably take years before he lost the assassin’s wary way, maybe never depending on how well behaved he was in his retirement. The office, again, was normal. Papers and appointment books scattered about, a small looking security monitor, if he didn’t know better, if Shiu hadn’t been the one to send him here, he may have even believed it. You opened a small mini fridge from under the desk, retrieving a beer and passing one to him as well, pulling a desk chair over.

“Have a seat.” You pulled a folding chair off the wall and set it up for him across from yours.

He sat in front of you, the can cold against his palm, watching you take your seat on the wheeled stool tucked away by the leaking water cooler in the corner. The crack of the can’s breakaway made him blink down to the drink in his own hand.

“Not a drinker?” You hummed curiously.

“Not often, but not never.” He popped his own tab, listening to the crack, the hiss, the bubble.

You took a sip, the refreshing and starchy tastes easing your tongue and mind at once. You pulled a small legal pad from the desk and flipped a few pages of notes back.

“Okay, so, logistic wise, you’re not being tailed or even investigated right now, so that’s good. No heat is better. Last tip under your name was give or take seven months ago, also good. No one has reported you missing yet, either. How long would you say that will last?”

The beer was sour against his tongue, “Dunno. Few days.”

Toji didn’t miss the surprise and subsequent judgement that came over your face.

You nodded, “Okay good. Gives us more options.”

“Didn’t Shiu tell you, I have to get out tonight?” His face crinkled in confusion and a bit of annoyance, he wasn’t here to stop over, he needed to get the fuck out.

“He did. But he also told me you want to stay in Japan.” Your tone was warning, reminding him that he had no powers of negotiation here, “If we went international I could have you on a plane with a new identity, new job, and new apartment waiting for you before the sun came up.”

He clicked his teeth, his eyes rolling back, “I’m staying in Japan.”

“You’ve made that clear. Disappearing locally requires more…logistics.” You nodded, returning to your notes.

A tense silence holds between you, he's clearly unhappy with this arrangement. Whether it was you or the circumstance or the timeline, it didn't matter, everyone who came through your door was unhappy, you could work past this. But you couldn’t work past cold feet.

“I gotta say, if you’re staying here because there are things you have to finish or keep your eyes on from this life, that time has passed. Once you called me, once you came here, that life is gone, it's over. You’re dead already. As far as your family, your son is concerned, you will have died last night. There isn’t any going back, or any watching from afar anymore. Not only does that kill you in this new life, but that kills me, kills Shiu. And I don’t let my work be discovered. I’m sure you know what I mean when I say that.”

You stared at him intently, making sure the severity of your implication was not lost on him. You would kill him before he tried to reintegrate into his old life, whether it be through contracts or trying to contact his family, his child, you wouldn't let that happen. It’s not personal, and sure, his position as a father did make you hurt for the kid, but you wouldn’t be ruined because of some deadbeat dad having a change of heart.

“Fine. How long’s all this going to take you?” He leaned back in the chair, the wood creaking under his weight.

“Not long. Not like you have anywhere else to go, though, huh? So maybe just be patient and help me out with these notes?” You tapped your pen against the pad, trying to remain jovial despite his growing arrogance.

He grunted with a nod, gesturing for you to continue.

“Phone’s busted, right? SIM card snapped and disposed of?”

He nodded.

“No goodbyes, no one to follow up with when you're out of here. We can take care of them for you, if you need the help?”

“No. No one.”

You nodded, “Okay, I need your driver’s license.”

He lifted his hips enough to pull his wallet from his back pocket, you tried not to linger too long looking at the motion of muscle underneath his shirt. He extracted his license and handed it over. You pulled a small metal bin from one corner of your desk and over it, you cut the plastic card into strips. With a cigarette lighter on your desk and a cotton ball that had soaked in a disinfectant you started a small fire inside of the basin. You watched as the edges of the strips charred and curled, the ink blotting into circles and beginning to melt.

You stood up, walking over to the opposite side of the room and pulled down a backdrop, a pale blue backdrop.

“Mind standing here for me?” You tapped a small taped X on the floor with the toe of your shoe.

Toji was watching the flames consume his identification but turned at your voice, standing and joining you at the back drop.

“Here, please.” you tapped the X again, he moved into position.

You pulled a tripod and camera forward and aligned it about six feet away from him, angling it properly.

“Smile if you like, nothing too big, no teeth. Up to you!” You smiled hoping he would join you, he did not.

You snapped the photo and checked the results in the display window. Looked sterile and personality less, how very government issued of you. You snapped the camera closed.

“Looks good, tuck that backdrop back up for me?” You asked him while you pulled a laptop forward and began to upload the photo.

He tugged the line down and watched as it rolled itself back up, he couldn’t help the confusion at how casual this all felt. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, some kind of pristine, shady facility that thrived underground that could whisk him away unheard of. More aligned with the style of Jujutsu, that, but this was the real world. No flashy powers, no disparities.

“Blood or teeth?” You asked, taking your seat and sipping your beer again.

“Excuse me?” The instincts of the assassin were tripped once again.

“About a week or so from now we will light a car on fire, inside of that car they will find a few of your personal effects and some of your recognizable genetic material. Which can either be blood or teeth. It;s up to you. I know teeth sounds harsh, but the car won't get hot enough to burn the bones, so even just one will be enough for identification. Blood, we’ll have to take a lot more, a lot of it is going to get lost in the blaze, so more quantity to work with, more likelihood that it gets found.”

“Don’t they need to find a body?” Toji questioned, unsure of the level of detail you were expecting, and surprised at what he was learning.

“They will, we already have it, were sort of fudging the numbers a little bit. But with car fires the time of death becomes kind of hard to find, no tissue to date, nothing like that. And the teeth, or blood, will be enough for them to tell who, and they’ll pair it with whatever date you had been missing and they’ll take an easy win. That’s why it's good you’ve been on such good behavior recently.” You assured him evenly, maybe you should try and give this part of your schpiel a little more sincerity, but what is the point? It’s not like it would make a difference with these types, anyway.

He took a seat in the chair again, letting what you said wash over him, “Okay, blood then.”

You tried not to look disappointed, teeth were just so much easier. But harder to…source…so you understood the choice, so you nodded.

“Great. I’ll get set up upstairs, you drink two more of those incase they wanna test your blood, there's more in the fridge, help yourself. And then I'll bring you up to start, okay?”

He nodded, taking a larger sip of the beer in front of him, watching as you slipped into the hallway and based on the creaking, up a set of stairs. He looked back at his ID curling and burning inside of the bowl on your desk. The yellow-white flame licked at his photograph, the one you were no doubt replacing upstairs. He watched the fire encircle his own face, the liquid you had added beginning to bubbled the plastic, he watched as his own face boiled and burst, before being eaten away by the fire.

How fitting.

He had finished his third beer by the time you returned. He felt fine, a collective thirty or so ounces of beer wasn’t going to affect him yet, but the night was catching up with him. The hours spent in the van, the sleepless final night he shared in what was his home. His eyes were beginning to feel heavy, but he knew it wouldn’t be over soon. You descended the stairs, they creaked under your feet, letting him know you were returning.

“Took a while.” He complained, gesturing to the empty cans in front of him.

“Short notice means setting up takes longer. But as I understand your time is not exactly a commodity right now.” You looked him over, taking into account his tired eyes, “Let’s go ahead and get started.”

You led him up the narrow staircase, he had to side step in to follow you, and you took in a breath before letting him into your loft. The door creaked as you pushed it aside, the dim lighting of the staircase now overtaken by the cool, computer light of your studio.

Toji took in all in with a single turn of his head, the three tower computer set up along the back wall, where you had been creating a new identification card on one monitor and looking over surveillance feed from around the city in another, the disheveled bed under the small, single window to the side, the kitchenette opposite, with a small fridge, a stove, and a sink, one small door behind that contextually he assumed was a bathroom.

“Welcome, make yourself at home.” You shrugged, knowing you didn’t have much to show for yourself despite your substantial earnings from your business.

He followed you in and watched as you pulled your desk chair out towards a small rolling table and an IV tower that you had presumably set up while he waited.

“Have a seat, the sooner we get this started, the better.” You tapped at the back of the chair, beckoning him forward.

“Quite the set up, you go to medical school?” He removed his jacket before taking a seat.

You took his coat and laid it over the bed, out of the way, thankful for the distraction from the show he and his arms were putting on. You rolled a stool over to the right side, where you had set up the tower, and pulled on a pair of clean latex gloves.

“Not allergic to latex?” You kept your hands off him.

“Nope, not a fan though…” He gazed over at you from under his thick lashes.

“Funny guy, huh? Shiu never said you were funny.” You ripped open the alcohol swap and gestured for him to present his arm. He laid it on the arm rest, you could already see the veins along his bicep and forearms.

“Shiu doesn’t have a sense of humor.” Toji settled back in his chair, laying his arm out for you.

You cleared your throat, “Is that comfortable? Gotta do this a few times so it’ll be better if you’re comfortable.”

“It’s fine.”

You nodded, wiping down the juncture of his inner elbow with the alcohol pad. You tied the rubber tourniquet about four inches above his arm, the main vein beefing up, presenting itself for you.

“You’re not a fainter, are you?” You teased.

“I’ll be fine.” You thought you saw the side of his lip curl up.

Retrieving your needle you attached the back to the vacutainer and pulled off the plastic sheath. He winced a little bit at the sight of it. You aligned it with the most prominent vein.

“Just a little pinch, okay?” You soothed, before pressing in.

The vacutainer began to fill, you pulled one line of tubing forward and attached it to the back, watching as the blood carried itself up the line and into the bag. Toji watched too, as his blood left him, climbing its way up to its next purpose. Maybe that's exactly what he was doing. You rolled back, peeling the glove off your hands.

“Alright, that’s all for now. Bag fills in about ten minutes, we’ll do two more after this.” You stood up, “I’m gonna keep working on your new card, You need a coffee or anything, you let me know. You feel like passing out, you let me know, okay? We can take breaks.”

He nods and you pass him back to your computer, taking a seat and watching how the new ID was coming together.

You changed his bag after about ten minutes, you made coffee during the filling of the second. Tomorrow morning a driver would pick up the blood and bring it to the disposal site, two local vagrants waiting on quick money would light the car on fire after it was loaded with the blood and the body by Shiu’s guys. They were hand chosen not to be the type to look inside. You brought him a cup of coffee, sitting with him as the next bag filled.

“You mind the cold?” You asked, sipping on your own cup of coffee.

“Don’t prefer it but I’m not being picky.” He shrugged, not having the energy to do much but lean back against his chair and raise his cup to his lips.

“It’ll take more time to get you all the way up to Hokkaido, but people are less prone to asking questions up there. Gets you out of the way, ‘bout as far as we can still in Japan, if you change your mind and go international, you can also jump ship to Seoul and leave from there.”

“I’m not going international.” He fussed tiredly.

“Or we keep you in the Kanto region and take you down to Kanagawa, find you a coastal town, you can fish or whatever you like to do. Maybe we get you a boat, less documentation needed for a aquatic residence.”

He thought for a second, picturing a life on the water, sun leathering his skin, salt cracking his lips, stinking like fish and shit. He thought then of the cold in Hokkaido, the brutal winters, wind whipping his face, snow piled high above his head, and isolation.

“Nowhere in the middle? Either next door or the tip of the fuckin country?” He groans, his head rolling over to face you.

“Just ideas. I had a great farm picked out for you in Arizona before I knew all your specifications.” You rolled your eyes, looking up to see the second bag almost full, “Let's take a break before the last one. You need a break.”

He didn’t argue, he didn't flinch when you pulled the needle from his arm and disposed of the used equipment in the trash.

He stood up on weak legs, “Mind if I…”he gestured to the bathroom.

“No, go ahead.”

He retreated to the bathroom to relieve himself. He hadn’t done so since his departure. Afterwards he looked at himself in the mirror, maybe it was the bloodloss, or maybe it was the reality of what was happening finally catching up to him. But he looked…scared. It was unfamiliar to see his own face turned up in fear like this. The muscles bringing together the expression felt weak. Fuck, he felt weak.

A knock came at the bathroom door.

“Toji?” your voice came muffled behind its wood.

“Hm?”

“Don’t faint on me in there. If you’re gonna pass out, at least lay down. I don't get paid if you hit your head and die before I deliver you.” Your half hearted chuckle barely made it past the door.

The attempt at keeping things light. It should have annoyed him, it would have annoyed him, but it was…kind of you to try and keep things transactional. He exited the bathroom while you were still standing next to the door, he looked down at you, your wide, gentle eyes looking up at him without pity, without fear or malice, just…looking at him.

“The cans clear if you need to…” he can’t stop his big mouth.

“I’m good, Just wanted to make sure I didn’t take too much. You sit back down, I made some food, should help you get your strength back up enough to get the last bag.”

He did just that, you brought over a bowl of some very aromatic soup for him, and one for yourself, along with a few more beers. You took your seat next to him and began to eat. The soup was good, a little simple but as he began eating he realized it had been nearly a full day since he ate.

“How long have you been getting rid of people?” He asked between slurps.

“A while, ten years or so. Not very frequent work, but even the downtime pays well, so.” You shrugged, mouth full

“Ten years…what the hell, you start at like fifteen?” He scoffed, opening his beer, the can’s crack sounding his surprise.

“Nineteen. It was this or university, and this was a lot less expensive.” You remember the day you left, the day you chose this, your first time helping someone disappear, it felt like yesterday and a lifetime ago all at once, “better than going into debt or barely making an entrance exam.”

“I didn’t do university either. I got into…my business…pretty young, it’s not easy. Got out for a while but this life has a habit of bringing you back.”

“You mean your wife?”

His heart pumped in his ears, of course you had done your research, and since you had you should know better than to bring her up so easily.

“I’m sorry about what happened, death’s not exactly fair with his selections, is he?”

Toji sipped his soup, not looking at you, trying to decide if he would give in and blow up or if he would be able to quell the blood pounding in his ears.

“What was she like?” you pressed further.

The blood stopped, the anger stopped, in a millisecond he decided.

“She was incredible.” He sipped his beer, “Smart, patient, beautiful.”

You smiled, watching the images of her play behind his eyes, memories you would never know. A type of memory you would never have for yourself, most likely. Toji couldn’t hear the waver in his own voice, if he had he may have been too embarrassed to continue.

“She could…always wrap the perfect present. The perfect cut of paper every time, the scissors would do that slide thing where they kind of hiss and glide through the paper. And she always folded the corners in so they made these perfect, clean triangles on the sides. When our son was young she would put a ribbon on the inside that he could just pull and it would all fall apart like…magic. She made that magic for him…for--for me. She was…she was incredible.” He looked down into his nearly empty bowl, the residual steam misting his face, stinging his eyes.

Your own eyes stung, the portrait he made so intimate and reverent it brought tears to your eyes, “She sounds incredible.”

You had done this enough times to know this was a unique case. A lost love wasn't uncommon, a lost job, a bad breakup, severing ties with family, whatever it may be. But this was love, that love was uncommon, the kind of love that held onto details like that with years in between wasn’t something you saw in your line of work. Your heart ached for the man before you.

“How did you get that scar?” You wanted to offer him a redirection for him to tell you to fuck off or to change the memory before his eyes.

Toji blinked a few times, clearing the steam and tears away.

“Fucked up family, fucked up kind of punishment.” He finished his soup.

You nodded, “Zenin clan’s no joke. Guess you don’t wanna go back to Kyoto?”

He raised his eyebrows at you.

“I’m kidding.” you stood up, taking both bowls to the sink and dumping them there, “Still feeling shaky or ready to keep going?”

It was nearly three, you didn’t have a lot of time before you had to really pull the strings. If he was going to get any sleep he would have to do it soon.

He nodded, finishing the beer, “Let’s go.”

You hooked him up again, setting a water next to him and returning to your computer. Your list of available residences wasn't massive, but it was varied. It was easy to disappear into a city, but the increased collection of cameras and sorcerers alike proved dangerous. Hokkaido was off the table, Kyoto was too populated, Osaka was interesting but your contact there had gone quiet for the last few weeks, still paid his rent so it was likely just personal. You sighed back into your chair, stealing a glance back at him. His hair had dried, but stayed down, his features seemed softer in the light of your room. Maybe it was the story about his wife, or the blood loss, but he seemed…gentler. Not the career killer that you had read about before his arrival.

“You said,” He spoke up, maybe feeling your eyes on him, “There was a farm?”

“United States, about fourteen in flight hours out of your specifications.” You sighed, looking over the listing on your other monitor.

“A farm, I’d like a farm.” He sounded drowsy. He would need to sleep after this.

You hummed out a response, an affirmative one, you looked over your listings again. One illuminated itself to you finally, a small house in the mountains of Tomi, in the Nagano Prefecture. A long abandoned family home high enough in the mountains to be kilometers away from any of the village centers, acres away from the nearest neighbors. It was once a farm, it would be hell bringing it back to life, but not impossible. For a guy like him, it would probably be a dream. Nothing like the countryside to die in. You could smell the grass and the fresh air, the crispy winters, the nearby river. This was it.

You stood and pulled the last bag free, bandaging Toji’s arm, and helping him toward your bed. He let you slump him back, feeling the weight of loss internal and external bringing him towards sleep.

“Get some rest, I found your spot. I’ll wake you when it's time to go. Trucks get here in about five hours.” You laid him out, he hummed, barely still awake.

“Don’t you need---” He mumbled.

“I’m good, you’ll be okay. Sleep.” You let him go, watching your bed sink under his weight.

You returned to your computer, finalizing the details of his new identity. He would be Ko Ueda in his new life, meaning happiness and peace. He deserved that much. You wished it for him. The details came together well. You managed about forty minutes of sleep at your desk before waking with a start and putting on a pot of coffee. Your death cover team was right on time to retrieve the blood, along with a spare t-shirt he had packed.

The man of the hour slept soundlessly in your bed as you printed his new documentation. School records uploaded into local Nagano servers, a few bumps and bruises in their medical files, a broken arm, a split lip, things like that. You gave him a few parking offenses, just for some real life. This was the fun part, creating a new life from nothing. Conjuring forth the history of an existence that no god, other than you, had. Ko Ueda was completely your own to muster. You didn’t use any of your flashier tricks, marital record, subsequent death certificates or divorces, you kept it simple. He wasn’t going to be too far, after all, you didn’t want to raise any alarm bells for the bureaucrats who did care about their jobs enough to keep track of those records to notice. Once the documents were alive both physically and digitally, you memorized your route to Tōmi, to the house that was now his. You burnt the notes you made last night in the same basin that held his license’ ashes. Only then did you wake up.

You weren’t sure how you wake a guy like this without getting grabbed or slugged. He had slept harder than you expected. Soft snores reminding your working mind that you weren’t alone tonight. You approached the bed carefully, not wanting to spook him awake. His lips were parted in soft breath, eyes shut and still in a dreamless sleep. But you noticed the slight pinch of his brow, he may not have been dreaming, but he was feeling. Maybe feeling was all dreaming actually was. You marveled at him for a second, taking in his sharp features, now laid before you. When was the last time anyone had seen him this still? He was beautiful, you chose only now to realize it fully. How handsome he was, the threatening nature of his appearance softened into allure by sleep. You wondered about his wife, if she only saw this side, if she knew both and loved them equally. You wondered what you would have preferred, both for her and for you, were you to be in her position. Time is still moving, you have to leave soon. So you opted to grip his shoulder.

“Alright big guy, go time.” You shook him softly, his eyes blinked open easily, he didn’t seem startled, he looked right at you, taking you in, no doubt remembering the connection that brought him here.

“Good morning.” You chirped, “I made coffee if you’d like any. We’ve got about five hours ahead of us.Getting up those mountains aint easy, I hope you don’t get car sick easily.”

He sniffed as he sat up, taking it slowly, his body still wary from its having been drained the night before. Toji took in his surroundings, putting together the pieces of the last two days. He ran a hand over his face and nodded, getting up from the bed.

“You sleep at all?” He stood, feeling the stretch in his back.

“Got a few minutes, had to work out some of the nitty gritties so couldn’t get all my beauty sleep, like you. But…we’re all set.” You shrugged, pouring more coffee into your mug, offering him one, which he denied.

He made his way to the bathroom while you packed your own bag, just an overnight bag for the drive, some toiletries, your work computer, the deeply encrypted one that was a total pain in the ass to use but was virtually uncrackable were it to be taken from you.

“Come downstairs when you’re ready! We’ve got about ten before we have to head out.” You called to him from over your shoulder, pulling on your bag.

He met you downstairs with his jacket donned, hair a bit wet from what must have been the fastest (and also uninvited) shower of all time. You stood before a large delivery truck, the interior of which was deceptively small. It was unlabeled, a vaguely industrial road shaped paint job featuring lined roads and a bird that could be a moving company’s or a repairman’s.

“Alright, you’re in the back, at least till we get out of the heavily camera-ed areas. We’ll see about getting you some time up front once we’re in the sparse parts. It’ll be about five hours up to the house, that’s if the mountains are kind, which they usually aren’t. Again, I really hope you don’t get car sick.” You popped open the back, gesturing to two crates which were merged together in the center to form some kind of trunk. Or coffin. At least Toji felt like it was a coffin.

“That’s it? Just lay and wait? To what, get caught? Till some traffic cop stops and searches?” He didn’t want to get in that box, just looking at it was making his stomach turn.

You sighed, you expected as much as him, “you’re not going to get searched, it’s going to be fine. Just lie down and take a nap or something. Count to a million, hum quietly. It doesn’t matter.”

“You think anyone cares if I’m sitting up front?”

“Not yet they don’t but once you’re reported missing every second of footage with your face in it is going to be studied and I’m not risking even the top of your nose being spotted in my trucks. You’re not in charge here, Fushiguro. I am. Get in the fucking crate.” You could feel the vital seconds slipping away like ants in your blood.

Finally he stepped inside, lying on his side and letting you close the lid over him. Darkness consumed the small space. The wooden crate lid had a small hole where he could see the ceiling of the truck bed. He heard the sound of you entering the cab, the door slamming shut, and the engine purr to life. His shoulders pushed against the sides of the box as he moved onto his back. The last thirty hours have whirred by in an instant, the call, the van, the blood, the loft, and now he found himself running away from everything with only one thing on his mind. Megumi. The boy had been sleeping when he left, dark hair matted on his head, curled in his cot, his little fist tucked under his chin. Toji had smoothed his thumb over the furrow in his tiny brows, frustrated even in sleep. He wondered what else his son would carry into his life from Toji. Would he be angry, or lonely the way he had been. No, Toji could already feel the energy coming from the infant, he knew he was gifted. He wouldn’t know the denial and ostracization that his father had lived. Good, he would be better for it. Better than he was.

You spent most of the drive on the phone, coordinating with your suppliers about the state of the house, how to stock it, what you would need. You got the power and water set up before your arrival, you heard from your car burn team about their set up, all happening perfectly. In a few days, the man in your cargo would be dead. This limbo was the strangest part. The space in between the life left and the life that would continue gave you vertigo. The sloping curved roads of the mountains didn’t help, you felt yourself getting dizzy and having to focus that much harder on the roads in front of you. The midday sun was starting to slip downward when you arrived at the farmland that was to be his refuge. The house took shape before you, over a fenced hill, tucked back where the treeline gave it a backdrop, something to blend into. You pulled up along the side of the property, cutting the engine and taking a breath, righting your equilibrium.

Toji felt the truck halt, he must have fallen asleep at some point, anything was better than white knuckling the boxes’ sides to try and steady himself as he felt every rock and tuck of the trailer. He looked through the small hole and watched the light cut through the darkness as the door clunked and creaked open. He pushed against the top, sitting up, ignoring the ache in his back from being stagnant with no support.

“Alright, come on out, stretch a bit.” he walked past you and out the back doors, not really waiting for your permission.

Toji winced at the change to open daytime light, after his eyes adjusted, he took in the land around him. The mountain air was crisp and clear, the early fall chill more present at this altitude. He could see some resilient asparagus plants in a fenced grow area on one side of the house still fighting forward. The house, his house. Clearly it had once been a home, it was in good condition, the paint job on the outside could use a refresh but the structure was solid, unmoving. A big change from the small townhouses and apartments he had grown accustomed to in the city. It felt cavernous, like a taunting labyrinth beckoning him forward into docile ruin. What he did not see was anyone else, no other houses, he couldn’t hear vehicles, or children yelling, or pinging electronic advertisements. The silence drilled at his ears.

Toji watched you walk to the front and unlock the door, stepping inside without inviting him. Although he didn’t need an invitation. This was his now. He followed you in, looking over the entryway, a neglected snake plant drooped in between the front and inner screens. He pressed further inside looking into the hallway, screens hiding the rest of the house's contents, all for him to discover.

“Two bedrooms, one large one on the upper level with a bathroom across the hall, and one on this level with a bathroom attached. Both have sleeping mats already. Bathtub downstairs, the water is on. They said on the phone it may take a moment or so for it to run clear, so don;t just drink straight from the tap like a dog, okay?” You swiped your hand over one of the kitchen counters, leaving the trail of your finger in the spread of dust, “There's enough food stocked for two months, a chest freezer with fish and a few steaks. There’s a cellar for whatever you like, wine, rice, hobbies, whatever. Do you cook?”

“Not really.” Toji took in the kitchen, it was sparse but had a working stove and refrigerator, he opened one of the cabinets, seeing a few plates and cups inside, a sick gluttonous shame started to sink in.

“Well you should learn. I can bring cookbooks if you’d like on my next stop.” You leaned against the counter.

“Next stop?” Toji cocked an eyebrow, turning to face you, “you’re coming back.”

You smiled, “Yes. In sixty days I’ll be back to talk about rent, utilities, all that fun annoying stuff.”

“I thought…”

“That I was just giving you a house and bankrolling your power and water? And why on earth would I do that?” You popped your head to one side, trying to keep this from getting more awkward than it was, “This is a safe house. Safety is expensive, safety like this…that's a luxury. What you and Kong have already paid is your extraction and settlement fee, but if you want to keep living here after two months, you pay again. Understand?”

“So you’re what? My landlord?”

“Basically.” You nodded, crossing your arms, “I’ve gotta keep an eye on you somehow, how else will I know if you decide to fuck me over and hop back on grid.”

Toji lowered his eyes, now understanding more of why you cared so much about this. And the levels at which you benefit from people ruining their own lives.

“Kinda fucked to take money from people with no other options.”

“You’re literally a hitman.” You rolled your eyes.

“Still, a landlord…that’s dirty work. Didn’t expect you to be so heartless.” He leaned on the counter catty corner to you, having traversed the kitchen over to you.

“It’s not my problem if you were to stupid to understand how this was going to work. Maybe ask more questions in the future.” You stared right back at him, unmoving, unafraid, “This isn’t the kind of contract where you get to decide what happens now. Now you do what I say.”

Toji watched you not so much as flinch at his approach, the way your eyes were so cocky back at him, calling him stupid, pretending to be so much better than him when you were the same kind of bottom feeder that he was--is-----was. He drew closer.

“Then why don’t you tell me what I do now.”

“Ko Udea, 28, born in Sendai, moved up here after inheriting the house from your late grandmother. Tend the land or don’t. Get a job in town, it doesn't matter. Just make enough for me to not lose money keeping the lights on, got it? I’ll be here every two months to drop off food, supplies whatever you need, and to collect. You need something from outside the town, you wait until I’m back, give me a list and it’ll be here next time. You need something faster than that, it doesn’t matter. There’s a shed at the bottom of the hill, you’ll find seeds, fertilizer, and the irrigation controls. You wanted a farm, I got you a farm. Don’t leave the doors open in summer, even if the heat inside is too much, you don’t need a house full of grasshoppers”

“Ko Ueda?” Toji laughed, “Kinda…hopeful i guess.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing off the counter, your shoulder brushing against his, “Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

You led him around, showing him the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the den, and the extra room that had been used as an office, too small for a real bedroom, no closet either. But you felt his eyes on your back, your hips, he wasn’t paying attention. The furniture was terribly dated, but it fit the grandmother narrative, dressers and bookshelves sparsely filled.

“If you want books I can get you some on my next trip.” You gestured to one of the emptier shelves.

“Not much of a reader.”

“Shocking. You play cards?”

He shrugged but nodded.

“You play solitaire?”

“No.”

“I suggest you learn, be a while before anyone is up here again, helps pass the time, especially in winter.”

Toji pictured it, the fireplace warming the house, snow piled outside, dead crops, and him, totally alone. He looked at you again, your back turned, realizing he didn’t know the next time he would see someone else other than you, the next time he could.

You led him back into the kitchen, pulling out the file folder with his forged documentation, “This is you now. Everything that makes you a new person. Read through it, memorize it, store it somewhere if you need it.”

The sun was dipping, inky purples taking over the sky, just shimmers of pinks and oranges at the horizon line. He studied it at the counter, huffing his displeasure every once in a while, you sighed at the darkening window. The two nights of no sleep were catching up to you, the prospect of driving back was becoming draining just to think about. It would be an hour’s drive to even get into town where you could get a decent meal and a cup of coffee to keep your road weary eyes open.

The thought of food made your empty stomach twist and groan.

“Hungry?” Toji piped up from the counter.

“Keep reading.” You looked back at the window, watching the light fade.

“You could stay, have dinner at least before you drive back.” His eyes licked over you, seeing the exhaustion taking its toll over you, weighing out his options.

“I gotta leave soon, I don’t have time for you to figure out how a kitchen works.”

“Then you cook. Give me one last decent meal before I’m on my own.”

You looked back at him, a stupid smirk all too pleased with himself over his features. Green eyes twinkling with manipulation and ulterior motives, but you were hungry. And you were tired.

“I don’t bite.” Toji’s smile widened.

You sighed, your stomach twisting again, “Fine.”

He stayed at the counter while you cooked. Nothing fancy. Eggs, rice, carrots and broccoli. You saved the meat for him later, figuring it would be a more familiar cook than anything else for him. He watched you tut about the kitchen, the practiced way in which you moved in the space, confident and smooth. He watched your arms as you stirred and cooked the eggs, the soft skin catching the sunset light, illuminating the soft sheen of sweat that popped up from the kitchen’s heat. He watched your neck glisten, muscles underneath shifting like dancers. He watched your hips as you checked the fridge door closed, the jiggle of your ass as you moved. Leading down to your legs, long and shapely, your jeans hugging the meatier parts of you. The smells in the kitchen gave his drooling mouth the perfect cover.

“Say thank you.” You gave him his plate, already starting to eat,, not waiting for manners of politeness from him.

“Thank you.” He said smugly, joining your feast.

You didn’t expect he would talk, you didn’t even know if you wanted to. The food was fine, the frozen ingredients were a bit mushy and the rice was rushed, but you were happy to have something to fuel you.

“You always make a housewarming meal, or am I just special?” He said with his mouth full.

“You asked me to cook.” You shrugged.

“But you didn't have to. You could tell me to fuck off and turn around back to the city. What’s keeping you here?”

You set your chopsticks down, “You looking for an answer here, Fushiguro?”

“Ueda, please.” he teased.

You stared at him, waiting for an answer to your question.

He looked back at you, the glint of oil on your lips, the same oil in his mouth, “Just wondering if I’m special, is all.”

“You’re something…” You rolled your eyes, annoyed at your younger self for indulging this kind of behavior enough to still feel heat climb in your cheeks at a dumb remark like that, “Just eat.”

He watched you fight the smile he brought out of you.

“I think…you’re warming up to me.” He said again, not touching his food anymore, too interested in seeing how far he could take this, “I think that maybe even…you like me.”

You can’t help but laugh, “What's the play here, big guy? Think you can flirt yourself into a discount?”

“Maybe. Maybe I like ya?” He picked his chopsticks up again, “How often do you stay and eat dinner with your clients?”

You hesitated before answering, the truth would only help his case but it's not like he really knew any better, “Sometimes, if I feel bad for how poorly prepared they are to be alone.”

“Ouch.” he was not put off by your answer.

You blew him off, picking at the end of your plate, “Finish up, I'm not doing the dishes too before leaving.”

Toji looked to the kitchen window behind you, seeing the deep dark sky that the city's light pollution can’t dilute, true rural open blackness, “I don’t think you’re going anywhere this late. Those windy mountain roads aren’t safe when it's this dark.”

You look at him, hard, your jaw set, the inside of your cheek clenched between your molars, “So that’s your game? Try and keep me here until it's too dark to drive, as if I don’t know these roads well enough to get down.”

Toji leaned back in his seat, a nasty ease settling over him, “Just don’t want my deliveries to dry up is all. That's a big truck with nothing in it, prone to tipping. Especially on the…curvier…parts.”

He wasn't talking about the roads, his eyes directed down your shirt told you that much. But, he did have a point, without the supplies you had in the back, that trailer was going to rock a lot more than it had on the way up here. Even navigating around a car coming up the mountain at the same time could tip it. You didn’t like the idea of plummeting down the side of a mountain, but you weren’t too crazy about staying here overnight either, not with the way he was looking at you. No matter how…regretfully charming he could be. This flirtatious switch in him could have come out of nowhere, but you knew the steps.

“I’ve seen this before.” You leaned back, mirroring him, “Sixty days is a long time. No one up here to pick up, balls might get a little full here all alone. Wanna drain em one last time before the real isolation sets in.”

“Well I wasn't thinking that but if you’re offering.” The smile that splits his face should have cut his cheeks open.

“I’m not.”

The smile fades.

“Toji, you think you're the first one who's ever tried this before. Sixty days of no touch will make anyone wanna fuck anything. My personal standards aren't exactly hinged on the idea of being the only living thing in the area.” You stood up grabbing your plate and dumping it in the sink, moving around the counter, but he grabbed your wrist.

“Oh come on, it’s not like that! You helped me out, I wanna say thank you. You told me to thank you.” he tugs you closer to him, making sure to catch you in his stare, not letting you leave.

Fuck, you had your convictions, you did. You never gave in when clients propositioned you, it's not like it happened often but it had happened before. But Toji wasn't like any client you had ever had. Big and broad, body trained to excellence, the ease of his motions, the curve of his waist and back. He was gruff and crass, and honestly kind of a dick, but you still felt your heart pain for him, for what he had undergone, for the way he spoke about his wife, his son…there was something under…all of that that you couldn't deny drew you in. physically it drew you in, your arm had bent, you had stopped fighting his grasp. His hand was moving up your arm, feeling the soft hair on your forearm, the crease of skin at your elbow. His hand was warm, softer than you expected, old calluses along the top of his palm that had healed, the time being a father changed his weapon hardened hands to ones fit to warm and administer baby lotion.

“One last favor.” he scanned over your body, back up to your eyes, “stay tonight. Leave tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help it, you had been bluffing all through dinner and you had to fold. You let him pull you in, and onto his lap, you let him grip your face and pull you in to kiss you. You let his tongue enter your mouth and taste your own. He let you move your hands under his shirt. He let you kiss him back even harder. He let you move to straddle his lap, and listened to the groan you let out at the stretch. He let you rock yourself back and forth in his lap, and you let his hands guide your movement.

Toji was quick to remove your shirt, pulling it over your head not caring that the angle strained your neck a little when he whipped it off. His hands traced the line of your spine, held your hips in place over his hardening crotch. He fought to keep his hips tied to the chair, not bucking up like some over eager idiot. His kiss was overwhelming, like being consumed rather than kissed. His tongue was hot and thick in your mouth, you worried you would choke, but you couldn’t fight it. You didn’t want to fight it. You lapped your own alongside, tasting the roof of his mouth, feeling the scarred texture of his lips across yours. The scar’s roughness titlated your neck as he made his way from your mouth, biting, nipping, teething at your skin, like he hadn’t just eaten. It made you pant, it made you yelp, it made you wet.

“Take your fucking belt off.” You grunted out, tired of reaching between the two of you to try and unbuckle it.

“Get on the table.” He bossed right back.

You separated briefly, enough for your both to shed your pants, and for you to start to remove your bra. He took over, turning you around and unclasping it, his other hand racing around your body to feel the weight of your chest drop into his waiting palm. He pushed the dishes to the side, not caring about how they clattered to the floor, probably broken. He pressed his hips against your ass, caging you in between himself the the edge of the table.

“Fuck, you think I didn’t notice these tits first time we met? You think I just wanna fuck cause you’re here?” Toji pushed you to bend over the table, both hands pawing at your chest hungrily, squeezing your nipples until you whined, “Selling yourself short, I think. I think you know you’re sexy and that’s part of your game.”

You felt your skin getting hot, your arms holding yourself up were getting shaky. His words were making you drip onto your thighs. You gripped the edge of the table hard, moving your hips against his, trying to get the right angle for him to be inside.

“Shut up, Toji,” You whimpered, sounding more pathetic than you wanted to.

“That’s right, say my name, baby.” He trailed his tongue down your neck to the slope of your shoulder.

He looked at the movements in your back, the way you were already shaking, the muscles hot and tight under the skin. He moved one hand down to your ass, feeling the soft, perky fat, pulling you open for him to see your hole fluttering, begging for him.

“Pretty.” He spit down against it, two fingers spreading merging with the wetness that was already there, teasing your clit before he pushed them inside of you. You panted at his insertion, your walls clinging to his knuckles, not wanting to let go. He started a brutal pace, not giving you any time to breathe before pushing them deeper inside.

“Been a while, huh, baby?” Toji teased you, his other hand holding you in place by the back of your neck, “When was the last time someone fucked you like this.”

You didn't answer, he was pumping his fingers too perfectly, hitting every spot, every groove you could have wanted him to. He spit again, letting his saliva wet your ass and join the drooly mess between your legs. You could hear the squelching of him finger fucking you, the sound of his skin and yours meeting, your cheeks burned in pleasure and shame, but still you moaned for him.

“Whoever he was, must not have opened you up right, you’re so tight…” He leaned over your back, getting close to your ear, “It wasn’t Shiu was it?”

Your eyes shot open, where they had been screwed up tight together. That was enough for Toji to know he had hit a nerve, deciding he should hit more, he added a third finger. The stretch made the dim lights bloom, made you crumple further into his hold, made you whimper out some kind of bastardized portmanteau of his name and something like ‘soooo goood’.

“You fuck him, too?” Toji hisses in your ear, not afraid of his canine teeth tugging at its edges.

You stay quiet, but he pushes his fingers in hard, deeper, making your knees wobble, barely able to keep yourself up.

“Answer me.”

You nod, begging for relief, for him to stop pressing deeper. He does, going back to his original, still ruthless pace. He lets out a mean laugh.

“I should have known,’ He pushed you down so your chest was flush with the table, keeping you in place with one big hand in the middle of your back, leaving you with nothing to do but take it, “Feels like his skinny dick didn’t do you any favors back here.”

Toji looked at your pussy, swallowing his fingers, the ripple in your ass as he pumped his hand, he noticed the shake in your knees, the way your hands flexed, your moans went up in pitch.

That same mean laugh sounded again above you, “Gonna cum? Damn, it has been a while.”

He wasn’t one to talk, his cock was standing upright at attention, begging, weeping to be involved. But nothing prepared a pussy better than an orgasm or two. He would have to opt for one, too fucking turned on to wait.

The relentless pumping of his fingers, the gradual build up of tension between you, the taunting, nasty way he spoke to you, it all was bringing you right to the edge. He moved his wrist slightly to mash his fingers right up against your g spot, watching as your whole body lept, forward. You screamed out into the empty house, rocking your hips back against his hand, wetting his wrist.

“There you go, pretty girl.” He pumps through the crest of your orgasm, letting up when you finally slump limp against the table, weak arms no longer fighting.

Toji removes his fingers and wastes no time licking them clean, swirling your climax against his tongue, watching you pant against the table. The surface is cool against your flushed cheek, you turn your face to look at him, watching him savor the taste of your cum, cleaning himself off. He catches your eyes, and you can see the spark of danger latent in his gaze. He pulls you by your hips onto your feet, turning you around and picking you up to sit on the table. You pull his shoulders to you, craning for his mouth, kissing him hard. You taste yourself on him, you taste the salt and sweet of your combined tastes, his spit, your cum, and that intangible taste of togetherness. You loop your leg over his hip,feeling the shaft of his cock move between your folds. His mouth falls open, hot, desperate breath filling yours. He grips your breast again, squeezing it as his other hand aligns himself with your entrance. The stretch of him pushing into you makes your head loll back. He pushes into you completely, heavy balls smacking against your ass.

You both cry out, “Fuuuuck” in the space between your mouths, shared breath giving way to shared words.

He fucks into you at a devstating pace, making you cry out in staccato moans. Toji’s hand bruises your hip, pulling you in to meet his thrusts, you wrap your hand around his neck using it for leverage to fuck yourself. You look between your bodies, seeing the muscles of his body straining, the dark curls trailed from his stomach to his pelvis, wet and sticky against his skin from your fluids. The sight alone makes your eyes roll back. His other hand trails up your back holding your neck, bringing it to his mouth again. Sloppy, wet smacking kisses fill the air of the kitchen, alongside his hungry, animalistic grunts and groans. He pulls all the way out and pushes back in in the same breath, as deep as he can.

“T-T--Toji…Fuck. Yes fuck, please.” You whimper.

“Take it, take it, take it, fuck, take it.” He mantras, pushing you down on your back and leaning over you.

The new angle allows him even further inside, your back arches up and you hook your arm over your head to hold on to the edge of the table. He watches you tremble under him, your breasts bounce and your jaw dropping open. Keeping pace, he slides a hand up your stomach, between your breasts, hooking two fingers into your mouth. You're quick to swirl your tongue around his fingers, he grins at you being the exact obedient slut he expected you to be. He pushed his fingers further, marking in his head how you didn’t gag. Pulling his fingers back he gripped your cheeks, pursing your lips and spit down right onto your mouth.

“Swallow it.” he tells you, a dark, vicious look in his eye.

You do, and fuck its incredible. Both your tasting and his watching send you both into a renewed fervor. He hikes one leg up on the table, new leverage allowing him to press against your g spot everytime. Your nails rip down his hip, praying he would ease up, but also praying he would never stop fucking you. He hisses at the scratches, the hand near your head giving you a harsh smack before moving down to circle your clit. The one-two punch of pain and pleasure sends you keening backwards into orgasm once again. You writhe under him, calling his name into the dark of the kitchen window behind you.

The way you clench around him has him shaking. He’s a sturdy man, knows his body well, but the way you feel inside might have him questioning everything. He holds down on your stomach, circling your clit with his thumb, trying to last through your orgasm. But all too soon, the lick of pleasure behind his belly button is too close to avoid. You can barely raise your head when you feel him twitching inside of you.

“Toji--fuck…” You plead weakly, wanting to feel his pleasure as wholly as you have felt your own.

He looked at your wet face, your pleasure hazed eyes, the hair sticking to your forehead and it pushed him over the edge with both hands. He buries himself inside of you, balls nestled between your bodies. He scoots you forward, making him deeper inside of you, ignoring the way you grind away, over sensitive and sticky. His orgasm is enveloping, making him see white and fold over you completely. Arms caged around your head, his chest crushing yours. You feel him pulse inside, painting you white from the inside.

He stays draped over you for a moment, catching his breath, relishing his last orgasm for the foreseeable future. You, and your lungs, really, are not willing to wait until hes had his retrospective fill, you tap his shoulder.

“You're crushing me, big guy. Let up.” You push at his shoulder and he follows your instruction.

He removes himself from inside of you, sitting in the chair he had pulled at the counter, leaning back blissfully, running a hand over his face. You sit up, still on the counter, feeling the harsh treatment and the hard surface settle painfully into your back and neck. You move your neck side to side trying to catch the building tension early, not realizing your spread legs put on quite the show from the man before you.

Toji watches as his thick, white cum oozes from your pussy. His hand has stopped at his mouth, running a finger over his lips at the intoxicating sight before him. You catch on to his ogling and cross your legs.

“Sorry about the counter. Cleans up easy, I'm sure.” You found yourself covering your breasts and body with your hands, unsure what to do now.

“Nothing to apologize for.” Toji stands, legs shaking, sturdy as can be and moves your arms, “Nothing to hide from either.”

He leaned in and kissed you again, still overwhelming but not as desperate or intense. You brought your hands up to his hair, feeling the shaved, soft hair at the back of his neck give way to longer, thicker strands. You feel the soft hair on his arms, his shoulders, his chest, mapping him out as he kisses you.

“And you said you didn’t like me.” He mumbles against your lips smugly.

You pushed him off, moving off the counter, “ I didn’t say I didn’t like you, i asked if you were trying to fuck to get a lower rent.”

Toji follows you walk down the hall toward the bathroom, leaning his head against the wall when you stop at the door, looking over your naked body, “And?”

“Not a chance.” You roll your eyes shutting the bathroom door between you.

When Toji woke you weren’t in bed. You had fallen asleep next to him, he followed you soon. But as the morning light peeled his eyes open, you were nowhere to be found. You must have slipped out before light. He felt strangely frustrated by this, not that it mattered. Not that you, even, mattered. It just was…disrespectful. He didn’t bother dressing as he moved down the stairs into the kitchen. A still steaming cup of coffee sat on the counter, with a small note.

See you in 60 days.

Full amount.

Good luck, Big Guy.

Toji smiles, setting the note aside, looking out the window at the land that was now his. Unending potential, no divine purpose, only his to mould as he sees fit. The cicadas began to sing, new life began.

THANK YOU for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this one! It was super fun to write and a great exercise. I'm loving the fixer x criminal dynamic right now, so desperate, so delicious. I hope you guys enjoyed it too! Let me know what you thought if you liked, I always love hearing it! -Doodle

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gazeofseer · 3 months ago

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Angel From Hell ♠️🌹

'I am super happy to announce my Ebook Novel Angel From Hell is all set to be released on 22nd March 2025.

Its very personal for me, because it is about my life and certain experiences which I have outlined into a real-time fantasy which will invoke likewise essence in your soul'

I take this moment to honor the divine for making me as an life to thrive beyond my ability and to do so I am here doing a detailed reading on the occasion Of full moon to everyone find the same strength to keep thriving through their life thats the overall human potential to keep going without thinking or narrowing the idea of life at any given cost' ♠️🌹

Pick a Pile - Your 👁️Unresolved Karma

1. Unresolved Karma - Past Life Pride and Shame

This Life leading to Self Sabotage even harms tendencies at times.

'In past life, you were someone who had a basic and decent lifestyle where you fitted so well in the societal norms that you were so happy to be alive, and ignored the sufferings of others even your loved ones had to reap your sins fruit with that one mistake which still haunts you till date.

As if, the echoes keep on screaming upon your name. You feel in this life as if you are meant for punishments. As if a little mistake or wrong you do you try to harm yourself in a way which leaves you sane and calmed as if your sin has been forgiven..but the trails of haunts don't seem to leave. So you unknowingly repeat the same things..

Frustrated naturally, Fighting with anyone randomly, constantly being in a conflicting energy, that you feel if you shed your sword and shield down the attack will be head on.

Many cruel Hallucinations you have been through, I don't want you to remember those.

This Eclipse, you want freedom something recently happened exactly the same and when you confronted you saw the difference.

The shame in you felt heard and the sins you did seems to not be as big as it seemed in your head. It is about a projection of using your mistake against you because you chose to be with the wrong doers as it made you feel like you were cool, powerful and worthy enough to leave you shallow at the end of day when they betrayed and put an show of exploitation, cruelty and injustice to you.

The pain underneath your spine is a sign of heavy betrayal where you feel no wound but still hurt. The toxic friends, in general you are prone to friendships actually you have to see people for the fairness they bring not to one but to the collective. You need to embrace being the support to those who are suffering in any means small, big, emotional or morally, to help them elevate from that situation or at least show them a way towards to any resources.

This will sooth the victim in you, the shame in you, that pride isn't a substitute to cover mistakes but fairness and justice prevailed when you own your mistakes as authentically as you embrace and work through the same and let others have that grace around you too. Which will help you to thrive on authentic friendships and relations. Your mother is your best friend. Lean into her warmth, let her know how much you love her and stand by her side for all the sacrifices she made. Acknowledge it without putting her in a way that she is a victim to whatever issues your family has right now.

Do not fall for people who use you in the name of help. Rather be broke, find the pieces fix it the universe is holding you, standing right next to you urging you to let go of the same.

Ritual to Release : Take water and place it by the east/where sunrises. After the dawn look into your Reflection not to control rather surrender In it and purge any emotions that arise at that moment and drain that water.

2. Unresolved Karma - Revenge/Avenge

Ribcage issues, Constant Nudge in Urine, Lack of Water and Dizziness suddenly.

Your karma seems quite hand in hand to your past life and now..Where you hate a certain set of or kinds of people which actually, stings your nerves you may even have short-temper issues the core knowing that you have been done wrong, misunderstood, and held as a target to pull down by almost everyone.

This is deep rooted fear of getting cheated on again and again. Being played, fooled and made feel dumb for the way you are which is different.

You might even feel crazier for this as people almost call you mad at times. You tolerated to a point where this rage became your very identity as your resilience broke out growing you cold and contradicting.

See you get cheated easily, because you keep cheating yourself. Imagine I keep having obesity of eating and to a point where I fear what if I have more food, can I finish it? So I attract a badge in such moments with the same energy and when it comes my reality that is my body won't withstand the same so cultivate this fear of having more.

This is where you are, being a victim of your own survival mindset which feels like soft shelter keeping as scapegoat and not much as a threat.l but that is how you get pushed away too like..

'You think who cares, and you attract people who say exactly feeding that thought who cares about you dude?'

You have a heavy dysfunctional psychological wound which needs to be fixed even by now you might have felt that even I am against you.

I seriously want you to consult a therapist or doctor because you have this conviction of your fear which needs a way out.

If you feel this is completely irrelevant to who you are? Here are a few signs to check with.

'Leo in your moon/8th house, North Node and Lilith in trine, you may feel sudden ache in nerves on your right head by the eye, you feel lost, lack of memory, twitching fingers, suddenly staring at something for sanity, your parents and you have toxic relationships, virgo moon, addictions'

If yes the only help you need is seeking help and if you feel that isn't rightful, or you have tried but it didn't work out, then try this..

'Sleep keeping your hands above your head looking at the ceiling, free your legs and let go, see as if what you think is not you, and see ot as a person, an experience, what you will see if what you exactly need to work on'

3. Unresolved Karma - Broken Heart

Full of love, yet resentful. Want Love, but only that burns.

You have this thing called the more delusional the less hurt. The more imagination the more numb reality. You read books and trust that is true, but you cannot accept the ones next to you, too much of expectations leading to parade of disappointments but you feel as if it made you stronger.

You are getting right? You are seeking pain but in the name of love. Because the shadow in you is mourning, crying, in self pity for once, once being the one but never being the one truly.

You are like that first love, but never the first wife, girlfriend, a great keep but not worth the time is how people around you think of you and you know.

Still, you chose such people why? Because love hurts, hurts so good to be in love isn't so?

But lowkey you are tired, and worn out its like you want to shut people standing at the door seeking a talk with you just because they recently moved in your life. And I see you even started to keep boundaries but there are some heavy realisations about how you let people treat you before you are trying to recover from the pain you accumulated as hurts by seeking truth and asking people out the ghosting now seems less hurtful but as a reality you kept dodging.

Spirit Guides Swan is with you, wear white avoid dark colors especially during healing time. You are already guided this is the confirmation you seek for. Avoid falling for presentations..you know? Stop stretching perceptions has people's identity as it is not. Just see the way they make you feel things are obvious.

Signs : Pisces 8th House, Rohini Nakshatra, Ketu, Uranus, and Neptune by Lilith sign, 8 Destiny Number, Personality Number 6.

This Eclipse practice writing meditation where let whatever you feel fall into words and set them at fire your next guidance is awaiting you right after that.

#wisdom #pyschic reading #pick a card #pick a pile #divine guidance #feeling #kindle ebooks #gratitude #occult #karmic cleansing #karmic lessons

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aurorasgate · 1 year ago

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LUNAAAAA ily 🤭 anyway i've read a bunch of your fics and i never thought i would like sephiroth until i read what you write so pls pls pls if you can write smth smutty and sweet of seph it would kill me (p.s. preferably after him and reader have their first baby and they've been so pent up after almost 2 years of not being able to do it)

hi babes!! ily too!🥰🩷 im so glad i could help bring you over to loving sephiroth heheh🤭 i did take this idea but i did change it a bit and then kinda ran away with it? i still hope you like it! thank you so much for reading and requesting something!

the sweetest of dark dreams

sephiroth x fem!reader | 6.3k + words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, porn with plot, un named daughter, hurt/comfort, post ffvii story, violence and drugging (not by seph), he's not pre-nibelheim sane but not crazy seph either?, possessiveness, explicit sexual content, mating press, cream pie, implied multiple rounds, i think that it but please let me know i missed anything!

synopsis: the first thing you saw upon opening your eyes is sephiroth with your daughter smiling at his side and tugging at his sleeve but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t considered that maybe you never woke up in the first place and you’re still dreaming. is it a nightmare or a sweet dream? you wonder again and again as two days pass, questioning if any of this is even real because how could it possibly be real when your husband who should be dead is suddenly.. here, alive and breathing and making your daughter smile. you don’t know what to believe but all of this feels so unbelievably real it’s hard to tell your brain and your heart otherwise and he doesn't wait long to show you just how real this is.

you’ve yet to decide if this is a dream or a nightmare or which you would even want it to be if you knew.

it started off as a nightmare. no it was so much more than that when you lost sephiroth after the nibelheim mission and somehow even worse than that when you found out you were pregnant. pregnant and utterly alone. on the run from shinra, desperate to ensure your baby would never be known by them, would never have to come close to one of their labs or needles.

then your daughter was born. a mix of you and your soulmate and beyond perfect. the rays of light in her eyes, his eyes, helping guide you through the darkness that had clouded the path in front of you for those first nine months without him and thus nightmare began to turn into a bittersweet dream.

the sweetness of it was easier to take in the more she grew, with each successful day that you’re both free of shinra, but a day never passed that you didn’t think of sephiroth or feel the permanent ache in your chest that had been present since you were parted. and you were never blind to the threats that still lingered. the truth that your daughter shares sephiroths jenova cells and if shinra ever found her.. well you would be sure they never got to her so you would not have to find out and she would never have to know any of the pain her father was put through.

it's what sephiroth would have wanted too.

nearly six years of you and her, safe and sound, six years of giggles and smiles and you doing everything you can to protect her, a dream you live out for both you and your beloved and when you heard of the explosion of shinra, what sephiroth had done, you had hoped maybe the running could finally be over, but it only took one moment for it to turn into a horror you didn’t dare dream of, that you could hardly take and have relived every night since in your dreams.

“mommy?”

“yes baby?” you replied as calmly as you could and prayed that your daughter couldn’t feel the rapidness of your heart beat under her hands that cling around your neck but you couldn't suppress it no matter how hard you tried.

“is something wrong?”

she’s always been more aware than you know how to handle at times but how could you lie when at this moment everything seemed wrong, so very fucking wrong, like everything you did to try to keep her safe wasn’t enough and never would have been. you remembered crying about how you couldn’t do this without sephiroth during her birth and maybe you were right all along..

you heard he died along with many others that fateful day but there was no mistaking hojo when you spotted him in the city you visited for supplies near the place you had called home for the last half year and the devilish expression on his face when your eyes met let you know he had not mistaken you either.

that sickening smile had only grown when his gaze came to the small child holding your hand, her silver hair so similar to her fathers if her slitted pupils weren’t enough to give her away to him. though you honestly don’t know how much of a look he got of her because so quick you had your daughter in your arms and slipped back into the crowd that frequents this market street.

you didn’t look back but you felt him and others following you.

“whatever happens, just don’t let go of me, okay?” you asked of your daughter, hugging her closer to your body. you had dropped your groceries somewhere on the side of the road to help lighten the load and get you moving faster as she wordlessly buried herself into your chest, holding on like her life depended on it.

she held on just as tightly when she was ripped from your hold by a man dressed in a shinra infantry uniform only minutes outside of the city. like they had been waiting for you, they cornered you against an abandoned building and before you realized it, hojo was behind you and you felt the prick of a thick needle sinking into your side.

there were a dozen others that surrounded you, some pulling your weakening body away from your daughter as others tried to make her let go of you. you’ve never felt so helpless, so scared and even though you know it’s only a dream this time around, the emotions flood back like they had then.

“what did you do to me?!” you screamed at hojo in your fight to reach for her but no matter how much you tried to move you couldn’t get your body to do anything and the place where hojo had injected you burned like the heat of it was draining every ounce of your strength and consciousness.

you hardly heard his answer over the cries of your daughter and the adrenaline pumping through your veins with no way to release after whatever the hell hojo put inside of you. you screamed, unable to hold it back when your mouth felt like it's the only thing that could move or do anything at all. it made your lungs burn with dry heat, you thought they may even burst with how it rages inside of your chest but you could only hope in the explosion it would take hojo and these ass holes with you.

by some miracle it ignited your muscles and you tugged at the hands that held onto you, your strength surprising them and their hold slipped, allowing you a moment to tumble away towards your daughter, reaching out for her with bruised arms just as gunshots echo all around you.

a gust of wind, like the beat of a giant wing, swirled around you, sending hojos lackeys flying in every direction but you and your daughter remained steady, not a hair flying in the wind. before your hands can connect with her she’s being lifted into the air by gloved hands and when you follow them to the person picking her up, feeling your body succumbing to the serum hojo injected you with, you see sephiroth holding her on his hip, reaching down for you with his other arm, a dark black wing surrounding you like a shield before the entire world faded away.

you awake with the same jolt you had once the serum had run its course, body jolting and gasping for air but unlike then, you’re quick to realize where you are and that things are okay. a weird, uneasy definition of the word but your daughter is safe and hojo is dead and that is enough for you. at least that’s what you keep telling yourself.

it had to be enough because right now nothing else aside from those two things make any sense to you and even the latter you’re only taking at the word of the familiar stranger currently asleep with your daughter in his arms on the plush chair in her bedroom.

it’s only been a few days since you woke up after being asleep for two weeks thanks to hojos concoction and the first thing you saw upon opening your eyes was sephiroth with your daughter smiling at his side and tugging at his sleeve but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t considered that maybe you never woke up in the first place and you’re still dreaming. is it a nightmare or a sweet dream? you wonder again and again as two days pass, questioning if any of this is even real.

how could it possibly be real when your husband who should be dead is suddenly.. here, alive and breathing and making your daughter smile and claiming hojo is no longer a threat because he personally saw to it and you’ll all be safe now. he’ll be sure of it. you honestly don’t know what to believe but all of this feels so unbelievably real it’s hard to tell your brain and your heart otherwise and regardless of whether it is or not, you need to continue to protect your daughter. so even in this foggy state between reality and a fucked up beautiful dream, you do what you’ve always done to keep her safe.

she may be a heavy sleeper but sephiroth never has been himself and you doubt that’s change in the years you’ve been apart so when you sneak out of the house, you hold your boots against your chest as you tiptoe out of the front door and hold your breath with every step until you’re on the edge of the small garden you keep, sitting on the wood plank of the garden box and lace up your boots before making your way back towards the city.

two weeks you’d been asleep. two weeks of not earning any gil and you don’t even know how sephiroth has paid for or gotten the food currently in your pantry. it’s just another worry on your shoulders that makes it hard to breath or think straight but it’s one you can do something about at least. you’d have made better care taking plans for your daughter in your absence had you not been asleep all this time and the fights you planned to join in the undercity for gil being only tonight until next month. you couldn’t wait that long and having joined them before, you know you’ll be fine. thank the goddess there were no lingering effects of the serum as far as you could tell.

that doesn’t stop how sickly on edge you feel the entire walk, like hojo or sephiroth might pop up from the shadows, like you’ve done a terrible thing by leaving your daughter with a man you aren’t sure is real. a stranger, you had called him earlier but you’re just as much of a stranger to him now too. so long without him, your only focus being keeping your daughter alive and safe at any cost and despite your heart with a wound that not even time could heal. you’re not the same person and if he really is the man you once called your husband, the same one who had tried to destroy the planet, he isn’t the same either.

he had been gentle with your daughter over the past two days of you carefully watching his every move though. she had hardly wanted to be away from him since you’ve awoken and he had seen to her care during the time you were drugged to sleep without as much as a scratch on her little body. she trusted him and though you aren’t sure that you did, you didn’t think he’d hurt her and you’d do your best to get back before either of them noticed you were gone.

your dream replays in your mind as you walk past the place where sephiroth had reappeared before you, right when you needed him. in the moonlight you’d never guess it was the place of a slaughter or the return of someone you never thought you’d see again. it looks almost peaceful in your slowed steps taking in the blades of grass that flatten under your footsteps but it does anything but bring you calmness.

on the brink of losing it, your mind running a million miles an hour with how to wake up from this dream, how to discern what’s real and what isn’t, you’re thankful the undercity is filled with more life than the actual city is thanks to more than just the townsfolk being here to watch the fights happening in an arena that sits in the center of it all. no one pays you any mind and the endless chatter along with the announcers echoing in the background nearly drowns out your anxious thoughts.

you’d need to figure them out at some point. you know you can’t avoid it forever but it would have to wait for tonight, until you could control just one thing and be sure there was enough gil for whatever your family might need in the coming weeks, until you could feel something that was undoubtedly real to knock you out of this sorry state if for no other reason but your daughter.

like always, you would need to push through for her even when you’re breaking in ways you don’t know where to begin to cover up or fix. then again, maybe you’re just unfixable to begin with.

having made your way through most of the crowd, you’re nearly at the carved out side entrance of the arena to look over the fight lists and sign up for one’s you know you’ll be able to win against other people and monsters but like he had been waiting for you to arrive, you see sephiroth leaning against the wall with his arms folded and his head down, silver locks covering most of his face just a curtain of starlight. he no longer wears his normal armor but there's no denying it’s him. in the busyness no one seems to notice him either but he’s all you can see.

in a blink, his attention is on you, as if he felt your presence, and you’re frozen in the street, unsure what it is that’s gluing your feet to the ground. fear? guilt? worry? you can’t begin to describe the feeling properly but it's like black tendrils root you in place and make your heart beat uncontrollably, uncomfortably.

unfolding his arms, he takes long strides towards you, his eyes never leaving yours, the expression on his face completely unreadable and as composed as ever. every conscious part of your body tells you to run as fast as you can in the opposite direction, all the while your heart whispers that he would never hurt you. run towards him. you push the urge down, remind yourself he isn’t your sephiroth, and when the nerves in your feet finally get the message and move, it’s away from him that they choose. he’s so close to you by then though and you know you only get away because he’s letting you.

you can’t get out the ‘excuse me’s and ‘i’m sorry’s that sit on the tip of your tongue as you hurry away from the arena and back towards the entrance you came from, accidentally knocking into patrons without looking back. you don’t even know why you’re running when you know there was no getting away from him. even if he’s letting you go now, he was faster. stronger. dangerous. and worst of all and more likely than anything else, maybe you’ll realize he’s just some twisted joke conjured by your subconscious or shinra in order to get whatever they want from you.

it’s just outside the dimly lit entrance to the undercity that sephiroth has had enough of chasing after you and before you can stop in your tracks, he’s standing in front of you, the lights of the undercity reflecting back on his handsome features, and he’s quickly changing your direction and backing you into metal wall of the normally closed off entrance with his steps only inches from yours. it’s only the two of you around with the arena growing louder, telling you the event is about to begin.

he doesn’t touch you, there’s not a place your bodies connect, no where you’ve dared to reach for in the two days you’ve been awake but you can feel the warmth of him at this distance, smell his familiar leather and flora scent, and it wraps around you like a blanket you had nearly forgotten the touch of but you hesitate to melt into its comfort. his strong arms cage you in, not letting you escape his intense gaze and towering height, and on bated breath you wait for him to make the first move, to say something, anything because for two days you’ve hardly had any words between you but it seems he was not going to let that continue any longer.

“what are you doing here?” he asks and you feel your heart skip a beat at the sound of his voice that wavers with what you swear is worry.

but it couldn’t have been, you tell yourself. he’s not real. this isn’t real. wake up - wake up!

“it looks to me like you already know,” your words are like venom on your own tongue. you hate the taste but you can’t stop it with the overwhelming feelings currently consuming you, that you don’t know where to begin to process. before he can say anything you continue, finally finding the strength to move and using it to shove him away from you with your hands planted firmly on his chest. it’s the first time you’ve touched him since waking up and you’re almost surprised that he feels solid. it steals the poison behind your words, makes you falter and they’re only defeated now. “you don’t get to judge my choices. i do what i have to for her. i always have and i always will.”

free from his caging, you don’t try to go back to the undercity. you know he wouldn’t let you and gods dammit your daughter is alone right now - your feet start to head back towards home at a quick pace, not waiting up for him or looking back to see if he is following you.

“that’s not the issue here,” his voice is close when he speaks again, as though he’s right on your heels.

you stop in your tracks, turning on the balls of your feet to meet his gaze. goddess how is he even before you..

“not the issue?” you can’t help but laugh. it feels horrible though, bitter and heavy and brings tears to your eyes. “then tell me, what exactly is the problem because i can think of so many bigger issues than earning gil to keep my daughter safe!” so quickly you’ve lost your cool, every word you speak brings you closer and closer to bursting into tears.

“you’ve done so much for her,” he says and despite the flinch of the words you used to claim your daughter without him, there’s a soft adoration in his tone that makes you think this really must be some kind of mirage meant to torture you further, to break you, and it’s working. he takes a step closer to you, reaching for you with his gloveless hand but his touch never connects. “but putting yourself in danger is no way of protecting her.”

your tears begin to shed without your permission, letting go with them the floodgates of your emotions. this was too much to take, too much to process when you don’t know what to believe or do when years of longing pain crashes to the surface in a suffocating wave. “what would you even know about it when you’ve been goddess knows where - what - trying to destory the fucking planet - while ive been in agony without you?! trying to get through every day-”

you take a step away from him, thankful there seems to be no one else around you to hear your loss of control, to see the way you run your hands over your face and hair and take in breaths that only seem to fuel the heat inside you that is cracking you with ever added degree.

“did you even come back for me after nibelheim? did you know i was pregnant or about our daughter?!” you’re sobbing uncontrollably, unsure if he can understand your words but you couldn’t stop them just as much as you couldn’t control your weeping eyes. you can’t meet his either when you continue, “i - i don’t even know if you’re real sephiroth! the only thing i know that's real is her and even if this, right now, is some kind of messed up dream hojo’s put me in, i have to take care of her in the chance it’s not and if it is then- then i have to wake up so i can save her. i have to do something! - anything - i -”

the touch of his hands on your face, cradling your jaw with gentle strength, stops you in your tracks before you can fully succumb to fear and grief and every little emotion firing off inside of you, before you drown in your own tears.

sephiroth says your name and though you can’t tell if it’s helping or making your tears worse, you don’t fight him. “you don’t think i’m real?” he asks, his voice deep and eerily tranquil but before you can protest or reply, his lips are on yours, pressing together in a deep, claiming kiss. one of his hands carding into your hair while the other grabs your trembling hands and brings them up to his chest.

you can feel his steady heartbeat under your palms, taste him on your lips with each kiss you return that’s coated in your tears and the way he handles you feels like a distant memory. you want to melt into it, let yourself be weak and handled by him like you had years ago but you can’t bring yourself to give in. it’s not real and it hurts that much worse because of it.

with unreserved strength, he presses you against him with a hand now at your back, splayed across you in a possessive grip, keeping you completely flush against his larger body, your feet nearly off the ground in your reach for him. you gasp against his lips at the sudden contact and when he takes in a deep breath, he affirms you as though he had read your mind, “this is real,” you feel the pressure of his forehead on yours and hiccup in your sobbing at the contact. “and you will never be without me again.”

“sephiroth..” you hold onto the shirt he wears, the fabric bunching in your fists as if he might disappear in the wind if you did not hold onto him. in this state you don’t know if you can believe him but so badly do you want it to be true and you think maybe for a moment you can give in, let yourself believe it for the sake of your heart that’s filled with a hope you worry might break you like you never before if it turns out to not be true.

you couldn’t bear to lose him again. even if neither of you are the same as before, there is no doubt in your mind that he is a part of your soul and heart just as you are a part of his. that you will always be tied to one another in a bond you can’t explain in words but that you’re certain transcends lifetimes and universes.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

the front door to the house creaks open slowly and for the first time since you gave in, you break from sephiroths lips, trying to catch your breath in quiet gasps thanks to the tears still flowing from your eyes. he’s carried you the entire way home, with your legs wrapped around his thin waist and his ever present strength helping him support you with minimal effort. he isn’t keen on letting you go now that you’re home either.

the house is quiet and in his walk to your bedroom at the end of the hallway, you both peek into your daughter's room to see her sleeping peacefully where sephiroth had tucked her in before following after you. you reach down and shut the door and in his next step, he captures your lips once more in a kiss that makes you light headed and dizzy.

he’s quick to press you against your bedroom door as the click of the lock fills the room and is quickly replaced by your whimpers. aside from when you slept here for those two long weeks, unmoving but with your heart still beating, he hasn’t stepped foot back in your room despite the fact it was torture to be so close and yet so far from you. he had wanted to devour you from the moment you first woke up and looked at him with those eyes that were so closed off but still so full of the love that changed him, that made him realize there was something he could not live without.

he wasn’t well without you by his side either and regardless of whether you believed him or not, he hadn’t known of your daughter but when he found out, all he had done was search for you until he heard the planet vibrate with your scream that shook his soul and brought him to you, never to be parted again.

“have you remained only mine angel?” he asks low against your lips, with an urgency that tells you he needs you to tell him. he gives you the chance, lifting up further up on his waist and stepping away from the door, latching his lips on the base of your neck, nibbling and sucking on your supple skin.

you’re quick to nod, your words following after he has you on the bed and is on top of you, not letting an inch between your bodies. “only ever yours,” you promise and you mean it whole heartily. there could never be anyone but him in your bed or in your heart.

“only mine,” he echoes, the words vibrating through his chest and then his teeth are sinking deeper into your flesh. you hold back a cry, feeling your body break out in goosebumps as you writhe underneath his broad frame, trying to keep quiet. he shifts and presses his hard, clothed cock over your sex, rolling his hips with a soothing lick over the marks of his teeth on your flesh. “all mine.”

the way he strips you of your clothes is such a stark contrast to how he handles your body. the fabric is carelessly ripped and torn in a ravenous fashion, the fibers easily giving way to his strength but when his fingers touch your skin that lay beneath, they’re acutely aware to your fragility compared to what had become of his own body and maps out every change in your own since sephiroth last saw you like this.

he remains completely clothed above you, his pupils the thinnest of slits underneath thick dark lashes that grow heavier with aching hunger the longer he stares at you. a piercing gaze that makes your entire body tremble and burn with heat. a predator gaze. the eyes of your other half that you only saw in your dreams for so long. but your dreams had never been this real. your heart had not beat like this in six years, not even your endless tears could begin to replicate the feelings coursing through you right now and you couldn’t control a single one of them but you didn’t need to when you surrender all of yourself to him.

the pressure of his body against yours once more grounds you, the warmth of his breath and lips on the skin below your ear, his hand that travels down your inner thigh towards where you want him the most making you whimper in a plea for more. at this point you aren’t sure you’ll be able to stop crying but your tears are slower now, your hands tugging at his clothes for purchase or to get them off of him or some mix of them both.

“i’ll show you how real i am darling,” he whispers against you, placing a kiss to the space below the lobe of your ear right as you feel his fingers on your cunt, slowly parting your folds from your entrance to your clit, groaning at the soft and wet feeling of you. “be a good girl for me.”

in all the time you’ve been apart you’ve never forgotten the feeling of him but have never been able to mimic it with your own hands and could not even dream of it with another, let alone follow through with it just to sate your needs. there’s nothing compared to the way he knows your body better than yourself, the intense adoration he shows it and how easily he finds the perfect pressure against your clit that has you clenching around nothing, arching into his chest, and soaking his fingers.

and when he finally sinks two of his digits into you, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep from screaming out. it feels so good, so right, so real. his body lifts from yours, spreading his legs and yours thighs on top of his follow, giving him the perfect view of your glistening cunt.

“‘s real,” you don’t mean for the words to be spoken out loud despite the fact they echo over and over again in your mind and you say them so quietly he might not have heard you had he not been so keenly aware of every inch of you.

his other hand comes up to your face, the pads of his thumb soothing below your bottom lip in a gentle caress that coaxes your jaw to slacken and hear the your sweet noises as he thrusts his fingers in and out of your tight hole, curling them when they’re buried knuckles deep inside of you.

“i’m real,” he confirms, running his thumb along your bottom lip.

your hands hold onto his muscular arms, your nails leaving crescent shapes in his skin with every lewd squelch from between your legs each time he pulls his fingers away and pushes back into you with skilled movements until you’re coming so quick, so hard, around his fingers. he massages that perfect spot inside of you that has you seeing stars behind your closed eyes, his thumb pressing against you clit in time with his movements and your orgasm rocks your body, adding to your tears that he begins wipes with his hand on your face as he watches you break around him, feeling himself growing impossibly harder behind the confines of his pants at how beautiful you are.

his chest is full of the anguish and relief of all these years without you, what he thought he had lost that only drove him to further madness but that was here before him now, that he would never be let out of his grasp again.

a whimper escapes your lips when he leaves you so very empty with the withdrawal of his fingers but you can’t bear to take your hands off of him. you need to feel more of him, all of him, and don’t stop your pitiful movements that pull at his clothes, shaking and needy. you can’t hold onto him tight enough but it doesn’t bother him, he doesn’t make you stop, and his much steadier hands help you take off all of his clothes, revealing every last bit of porcelain skin that you thought you would never see or touch again and the silken strands of hair that tickle your skin nearly everywhere your hands roam.

settling between your legs, he helps you stroke his cock in languid movements, his larger hand enveloping your own, mako filled eyes entirely focused on you, slitted pupils blown wide taking in the sweet divine bliss on the beautiful features of your face, the delicate curve of your breasts with every deep breath you try to take, the sticky slickness of your pussy that makes his hands on you tremble in held back strength and makes his mouth water.

“spread your legs for me,” he instructs, his free hand supporting your leg helping you move as he wishes. “spread them wider,” his voice falls deeper, your legs shake but not from the stretch. you do as he says and you let go of his big cock to reach your hands up around his neck to bring him down to your lips. his hair falls around you like streaks of moonlight, bringing you back to the place you always belonged and the softness of his lips on yours, the pressure of his leaking tip at your entrance, all reminding you how real this is. “just like that sweet girl.”

the thickness of him stretches you in a lovely ache that you only want more of and he takes it slow sinking into your tight walls until he’s buried to the hilt, all while kissing so passionately to muffle your shared moans, to feel and claim all of you that he could. his strong grip keeps you still, at the mercy of his movements. even when his hands travel from your hips to your legs while he begins to pull out of you just to sink back in with a powerful thrust, they have you at sephiroths will and you easily give it to him.

grabbing onto the fat of your thighs, relishing in the feeling of you in his hands once more, so pliant and desperate, he pushes your legs to your chest, spreading them wide, and sets a deep and brutal pace when he gives into everything he’s feeling that's only amplified by taking you like this.

at this angle he’s so deep, fucking you into the matress, and with how unchecked his power is, you don’t doubt you’ll have bruises where his hands hold you open for him but you want the proof that he’s yours again. that you won’t wake up to and he’ll be gone. you hold onto him with just as much fervor, your grip moves from his arms and bury in the thickness of his hair, tugging at the roots with every time you feel so full of him, so close to your release again already, and it only seems to spur him on more.

the bed posts move along the ground in time with his thrusts and when it’s somehow still not enough of you, his chest meets yours, his arms barely holding the majority of his weight over you that has you folded in half, whimpering underneath him with every jolt of his hips inside of you, the slap of his heavy balls against your ass joining your quieted cries of his name and his heavy breaths, his sweet praises.

“you’re taking me so well - ngh, fuck,” you clench around him, greedily sucking him back in when he’s pulling away from you. “my good girl.”

“‘m so close,” the words are breathless, barely there when they escape past your lips and the heat of them soaks into his own that can’t stop kissing you, delving his tongue into your mouth and tasting you again and again.

“i know,” his voice is octaves deeper, sensual in a way that only brings you that much closer. “don’t hold back. cum for me angel,” it feels like a gentle command, even with all the desperation and love behind his words. “need to feel you cum on my cock.”

“ah! s - seph-!” you can’t get out his name before the pressure between your legs bursts like it never has before and when you feel him throbbing inside of you, painting your walls with his seed, it only adds to the ethereal heat that washes over you and leaves you trembling in the drugging, hypnotizing atmosphere of him still hard inside of you, the feel of his body against you, the numbing tingle of your legs as he helps them unfold and settle comfortable around his hips.

he doesn’t stop there. your heart skips far too many beats at the loss of his chest on yours, not knowing where you began and he ended and your hands that try to pull him back to you are too weak to do anything but follow the way he moves you but he soothed you with his lithe fingers caressing your skin as they help you move onto your stomach.

you mewl at the sensation of his cock moving inside of you while he shifts you into this new position. the sticky mess between your legs drips onto the sheets below you but makes it easy to sheathe himself fully inside you with a gentle and small pull of your hips upwards.

most others would be terrified to be in such a vulnerable position with sephiroth but you’re nothing if not pliant and perfect when he plants his hands beside you, leaning down to kiss your neck as he bucks his hips into your sensitive pussy and whispers against your skin before sinking his teeth into your tender flesh again.

“i’m not done with you yet.”

bonus!!!

in the morning you wake up alone but the noise that erupted from somewhere else in the house and caused you to stir eases your heart before your mess of thoughts begins to come back to you. your daughter's giggles and though quiet compared to her own unrestrained shriek of laughter, you could still make out the deep chuckle of sephiroth.

slipping out of bed, you move slowly thanks to the ache in your muscles and between your legs, your steps a bit wobbly with each one you take to dress in something more decent and walk to the door. the more you move, the steadier you become and by the time you make it to the living area, stopping in your tracks to watch your beloved peel an orange for your daughter who talks to him animatedly, it’s a pleasurable hum throughout your body with every movement reminding you of the words he told you last night.

there’s still a lot to consider. a lot of questions to be answered. a lot of healing to be done. maybe you’ll never be back to normal or you'll be stronger than ever. you don’t have any answers, not for yourself or from him but for this morning, you can let yourself hope this will be the start of the dreams you shared with sephiroth since his days in soldier, whatever version of a normal life might be left for your little family.

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#final fantasy vii #sephiroth #sephiroth x reader #final fantasy vii x reader #final fantasy x reader #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #ffvii #ff7 x reader #final fantasy 7 x reader

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