#i feel like any of the main four paired with each other is just going to be an absolute behemoth of a ramble i don't know if there was | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mischievousmoony · 2 months

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hi i saw your request were open, and i really love you’re work and i was wondering if you could do something with james where the reader talks very quickly and quietly and often is told that she needs to speak up. and james always knows what she says and its kinda just fluffy? no worries if you don’t want to write!! have an amazing night/day

- 🪷

is this my first emoji anon? 🤭 thank u love, i had a lot of fun with this request

𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚞𝚙

⟢ james potter x reader ⊹ 1.9k ⟢ warnings/tags: not bully per say but other students are rude, fluff

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Miss. Y/L/N, have you found a group to work with?" Professor McGonagall asks as students around you huddle in groups of four whilst you stand alone at your desk, packing your things.

You mumble a response as you stuff your books into your bag, attempting to flee the scene as fast as possible. It wasn't anything to do with Professor McGonagall, but rather the fact that you always felt a little scrutinized when talking to anyone in a position of authority.

McGonagall squints as she tries to decipher your words. She finds herself having to make a guess.

"If not, I am more than happy to assist in finding–"

"She's with us, Professor!" James jogs over, returning from enlisting members for your group. As you straighten out your leafs of parchment, James starts packing away your ink and quill for you.

"And 'us' entails?" Professor McGonagall questions.

With a casual flick of his thumb over his shoulder, James gestures to a pair of Ravenclaws standing by the door.

"Very well," McGonagall hums in approval before walking off to ensure any other stragglers have found a group before they depart.

James would prefer to have Sirius and Remus as the other half of your group, but McGonagall has permanently banned James and Sirius from working together ever since they turned a simple demonstration into their own personal stand up comedy gig, resulting in some arguably intentional mishaps in their spellwork.

You've just latched your bag closed when James takes it from you and slings it over his shoulder without giving it much thought. He’s always absentmindedly doing you little favors, like it's his second nature.

"So, Cody has nothing better to do on a Friday night, why am I not surprised?" James says teasingly. "He’s insisting we hit the library and get a head start on the project. You free right now?"

"I'm free," you confirm, looking over James' shoulder at your group mates.

You hate group projects for a multitude of reasons. At least with most Ravenclaws— especially the two you're partnered with, Cody and Isla— you don't have to worry about them not carrying their weight.

This makes your main concern having to work with people you don't know that well. All you did know about them is that they're the kind of Ravenclaws that other Ravenclaws say give them a bad rap. They have a raging superiority complex, and you’d be surprised that James is okay to work with them if you didn't know him. That boy thinks he can make a friend out of anyone, save for some rivals he has in Slytherin.

So, you’re mostly surprised that they want to work with the two of you, but that probably has something to do with James being at the top of the class. Otherwise, they wouldn't normally branch out to students outside of their house.

You suddenly feel uneasy, realizing that for this project, you’ll be the student that the others are weary of not pulling their weight. You feel your hands get clammy over the potential judgement running through Cody and Isla's heads as James leads you over to them.

"Are we going or what?" Cody asks rather unmannerly.

James opens the door for everyone, "Lead the way."

You filter out into the hallway. Soon, the four of you fall in step with each other as James throws an arm around your shoulders.

"How long are we planning to spend on this today?" Isla asks.

"Well, if we dedicate the afternoon to it, we could get all of the research out of the way in one go." Cody responds.

James meets your eye with a sideways glance, and an entire conversation is shared through a couple facial expressions.

His lips curl into a knowing half-smile, See? No plans.

Your eyes twitch with amusement before they shift toward the pair. A microscopic scrunch of your nose conveys, I don't want to spend the whole day with these people.

His face contorts, Me neither, and he shakes his head, we can't anyway.

Your head tilts curiously.

"We have plans later," James verbalizes.

"We do?"

“Sirius got his record player repaired.” James smirks, “And I may have some butterbeer and a certain record waiting for us back at my dorm.”

Your eyes widen with excitement, “James, you didn’t!”

“Oh, but I did.” James says proudly.

“Sorry,” Cody interrupts, “you can’t work on the project tonight because you have to go listen to music?” Cody asks, and the rhetoric nature and judgmental tone are lost on you.

You dive into an explanation on how it’s not just any music, but your favorite band’s brand album. And not just that, but the limited edition record complete with bonus tracks not available anywhere else.

The record was wildly out of your budget and although record stores far and wide all received copies, they didn’t receive very many. You had accepted that you would likely never get your hands on a copy, but you hadn’t accounted for James’ readiness to move mountains at your whim.

You excitedly speak about your favorite band and everything you know about the new record, and it’s like you can’t get the words out fast enough. James listens intently, grinning widely and nodding along with your every word, interjecting occasionally with commentary of his own. You're too busy raving to notice the shared look between Cody and Isla.

"Is this supposed to be a private conversation or are we expected to understand you?" Isla sneers as the four of you reach the library doors.

James' grin falters as watches your excitement fade. You mumble out an apology, which James found completely unnecessary.

His tone flattens out from amused to deadpanned as he addresses Cody's earlier question, both to alleviate some attention from you and to deliberately ignore Isla, "We'll stay for an hour, maybe two. But after that, yeah, we're going to go listen to music with our friends."

Ever the gentleman, even when annoyed, he holds the library's door open for everyone. He eyes the back of Isla's head with offense as she passes, but his eyes soften when you walk through next.

The four of you quickly find a table, as not many are occupied to begin with.

James musters up a semblance of professionalism as he forces himself to stop glaring at Isla as she and Cody begin to discuss a plan for the project. Cody takes it upon himself to divide up areas of research without consulting the rest of the table.

"Hold on," James' brows furrow at his audacity, "What if I don't want to be in charge of researching the wand mechanics? And Y/N has an exceptional understanding of magical theory, she should be in charge of the magical formulas."

Cody and Isla's eyes fall on you and this time you don't miss their criticism.

"You have an exceptional understanding of magical theory?" Isla's face contorts into that familiar sneer.

James doesn't try to hide the way he rolls his eyes. He nudges you, "What was it you were saying earlier? The idea you had for the project?"

You gulp before you dive into an explanation. It feels like Cody and Isla were burning holes through you with their stares, so you try to distract yourself by gazing down at your hands as you them wring together.

In the middle of your explanation—

"Couldn't you at least look up so that I might have a chance at reading your lips?" Cody grumbles.

If looks could kill, James Potter would be a wanted man.

"S- sorry," you practically squeak. You do look up, but the glare on Cody's face intimidates you into mumbling even more. Even the most skilled lip reader wouldn't have a clue as to what you are saying.

"Merlin, could you just speak up?" Cody snaps his fingers in your face and your words die in your throat.

James suddenly wishes he had a beater's bat handy.

"Oi! Get your hand outta her face!" He raises his voice to levels that would surely attract Madam Pince's shushing any minute.

Cody retracts his hand but stands by his actions, "We'll hardly get anything done today if she can't even speak clearly. How do you expect me to deal with this?"

"Alright then, new plan," James says through gritted teeth. He stands abruptly, and his chair scrapes loudly across the floor as it shoved back by his sudden ascent. "The two of us will research the wand mechanics and magical formulas on our own, you two can have the rest. I'll let you know where we'll go from there next class."

James' hand finds yours in a grip that is surprisingly gentle considering the way he is currently conducting himself. He tugs on your hand, prompting you to rise from your own seat.

"You're just going to leave?" Isla asks.

At the same time, Cody protests the plan, "There's no way that I'm accepting that."

"Well, Cody, if you wanted to be in charge, then I guess you shouldn't have been such a cun–"

"James!" This time you're loud enough to speak over James' biting words.

"See you in class" are James' parting words to the very stunned Cody as he pulls you away from the scene.

Once in the hall, James can't help himself from raging over Cody's behavior.

"What a slimy git! Who does he think he is?"

You squeeze the hand that James still has wrapped around yours as he tugs you through the halls.

"James," you call gently.

"Don't know why I said yes to working with them. They basically cornered me, I'll have you know! I should've ran the other way when I saw them–"

"James," you try again, more firmly.

"Maybe if we talk to Minnie on Monday we can get our group switched. You don't suppose we can work with Sirius and Remus considering these extenuating circumstances?"

You dig your feet into the floor, "James!" you call out one last time, finally earning his attention.

James spins to face you, his hold on your hand not letting up.

"Yeah?"

"Calm down, would you?" You're voice comes out tinged with laughter.

James' troubles melt away at the sound of your laughter. His eyes search your face for any sign that it's false.

"You're not upset?" he asks, knowing you've been sensitive in the past to people's commentary on the way you talk.

"No, the look on Cody's face when we stormed away was healing enough."

This earned a laugh from James, "It was pretty satisfying."

James gives your hand another tug so that you fall into step with each other again. He only drops his hold on you to sling his arm over your shoulders.

"Dunno why people become such dunces around you." A playful smirk dances on James' lips, "Distracted by that pretty face, maybe, whereas I know how to multitask."

You shake your head at his antics, but your lips can't be stopped from curling into a grin.

"I can't deny the fact that you're the only one who seems to always hear me."

In the past, you've considered the possibility that James can always tell what you're saying because you feel more comfortable around him than anyone else, prompting you to speak more clearly. In actuality, James doesn't even need your words to know what you're thinking. He's known you for a long time, and he's spent every minute of it learning everything there is to know about you. By now, he might know you better than he knows himself.

"I guess I just might be the luckiest guy around, then, that I don't have to miss a second of your charm."

You sigh at his teasing and knock your shoulder into his, completely missing the genuine adoration in his eyes as he studies the way you smile at his words.

He can't wait to see how your smile looks when you find out that record he got you is signed.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

#james potter x reader #james potter drabble #james potter oneshot #james potter fic #james potter #james fleamont potter #james potter fanfic #marauders #james potter fluff #marauders era #marauders oneshot #marauders drabble #drabble #one shot #james potter one shot #sirius black #remus lupin #🪷

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thechy-fychannel · 6 months

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I saw a few other blogs doing this so I thought I'd share my input on what I think would happen in the House MD universe in 2024:

the constant jokes abt house and wilson's relationship turns into the fellows jokingly writing fanfic abt their boss and his boy best friend. somewhere along the way they all get very serious abt the quality of it and it turns into a Whole Thing, a 150k+ novel that they vow to take to their graves.

house discovers the fic by accident and sends it to wilson. wilson discovers things abt himself and then he and house discover each other shortly thereafter.

house purposefully posts the fic online and credits the fellows by their entire full names so it embarrasses them more than house and wilson. It's never spoken abt again but it gets way more online attention than any of them expected.

wilson doesn't get how the Cloud works and accidentally uploads his and house's nudes to the google nest hub on his desk. He doesn't notice it until one of his sweet little old lady cancer patients points it out to him during their appointment. He throws the google nest hub into his trash can until he can figure out how to get the naked pictures off of it.

house has an alexa and abuses the hell out of it. sometimes ppl hear him screaming at someone in his office, only to walk in and find a robotic voice replying with "sorry, I didn't get that" and house throws it off the balcony.

wilson gets addicted to online shopping. house has to stage an intervention bc they do not have enough room in their closet for another pair of prada loafers and their kitchen is full of shitty gadgets that wilson bought off temu or something.

some right wing social media influencer comes in with a mysterious illness and ends up getting castrated as part of the solution. 13 personally does the procedure herself and house watches like a proud dad.

a patient reveals chase's grindr by shoving his phone at him and asking "is this you?" abt the headless profile with the ripped abs that says Dr. Feel Good, 0 feet away, in front of the rest of the team.

foreman finds the team doing tiktok dances bc house told them to learn it in order to understand their 15 yr old patient better.

chase medically murders mitch mcconnel and the entire hospital celebrates ding dong the witch is dead style.

there's a whole episode where house faces his transphobia bc of a trans patient that he connects with. the patient tells him to fuck off and go face his own problems instead of pretending to make it right by being nice to one trans person. And house does, even if he's not perfect, he really tries to do better.

13 gets her medical marijuana card and accidentally becomes the team's plug. her main customer is wilson who still supplies it to certain terminal patients. She hears "hey, can I hit your pen?" at least four times a day.

foreman buys a tesla and it blows up in the parking lot. they spend the entire episode trying to figure out who tried to kill foreman, but it turns out that teslas just do that sometimes.

there's an episode where house finds out that netflix is removing his favorite obscure tv show that ran for 2 seasons in 2002 and wilson recruits the team to hunt down a dvd copy of it without house finding out. they somehow manage to find one and spend a ridiculous amount of money on it, only to open the dvd case and find a copy of the porno wilson starred in that one time instead of the dvd of the show. park saves the day at the last minute by finding a copy of it in a box of dvds in her parents house.

#might fuck around and add more later if i can think of some more #chyanne speaks #house md #hate crimes md #medical malpractice md #hilson #dr. gregory house #dr. james wilson #remy thirteen hadley #eric forman #chris taub #chi park #robert chase #house md headcanons

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sailoryooons · 8 months

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Bust | KTH | (m)

☾ Pairing: Heistman!Taehyung x f. Reader

☾ Summary: Seeing a beautiful man in the middle of a bank robbery is unusual. Seeing him again afterward is even more unlikely… and yet not unlucky.

☾ Word Count: 2,211

☾ Genre: Criminal, Smut, PWP

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Bank robbery, light depiction of fear/anxiety, mentions of poor financial situations and money-related stress, recreational drinking, ‘good girl’ petname, explicit language, sexually explicit content including oral (f. receiving), biting, spanking, implied body worship kind of, a hint of overstim, bodily fluids and cum-eating.

☾ Published: Monday, January 15, 2024

☾ A/N: This is an idea I randomly spoke about forever ago in a TikTok DM with @gimmethatagustd and this is strictly written to ruin their entire life tonight. I hope it works idk osifodigjoijg.

☾ A/N 2: Tonight is number four for my 100 Drabble Challenge and I rolled number 24 for criminals! I hope you enjoy my depraved thoughts of Taehyung in that GOD DAMN SQUID GAME OUTFIT AT PTD. MY MASK KINK DOESN’T MAKE AN APPEARANCE BUT BE FUCKING SURE IT WILL ONE DAY. HE MADE ME INSANE.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration ☾

Sweat beads down your back, the trickle of it slower than the clock ticking above your head. Time seems to slow as you sit on a carpet that hasn’t been steam cleaned since the 80s and push yourself against the wall, eyes glued to the open vault.

It had happened so fast and yet now, it’s like it can’t be over fast enough. Each second that ticks by feels like it takes a year. You cannot hear the chatter of the men inside the vault, but their harsh whispers raise goosebumps on your skin.

At least they haven’t noticed you. Not that you would do much, anyway. You have no intention of going over to push the alarm by the door, too afraid to alert the armed man who stands just outside the vault room on the other side, and far too underpaid to risk your life for a financial institution.

For a moment, you wish it were you robbing the damned bank. Maybe you could pay off the student loans on your degree you’re not using and run the heating in your apartment during the winter instead of bundling up in several layers.

Your momentary lapse of delusion passes as the men rush out of the vault, duffles in hand. They’re all dressed in red, black masks covering their faces with shapes on them. You’re vaguely aware that the costume belongs to some sort of show you saw online, but you can’t place them.

Perhaps you’ll watch it now.

“Hurry up,” one of the men barks toward the vault. There had been three inside, but only two came out. “Grab the last and let’s go. Two minutes left.”

They’re gone in an instant. Your eyes dart back to the vault where you can hear the last person inside. Glancing at the clock, you watch the seconds tick by.

Ten seconds. Fifteen. Thirty. A minute.

A man dressed in a red suit, hood pulled over his head comes out of the vault. As he slugs it shut with one arm, the bag on his shoulder droops, spilling the contents inside out onto the floor. Bands of cash fall out, thudding around his feet. He swears loudly and bends over, back slipping more to drop cash on the ground.

In his frustration, he crouches and tips the mask up a fraction, shielding his face from the camera above but not from you, huddled on the floor a few feet away.

Your heart skips. The thief is beautiful. Dark eyes focused on his task, a wide nose that fits perfectly on a symmetrical face with high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and a pursed mouth. There’s a flush in his face from the heat, the tip of his nose an endearing shade of rose.

As if sensing your gaze, his head snaps up. You cower against the wall, realizing now that you’ve seen his face, you’ve doomed yourself. He stalls completely, gloved hand hovering over the cash, eyes boring into you. He arches a brow as if to ask you a question and you respond by shaking your head.

The thief gives you a cocky grin, nodding before he finishes picking up the money and tossing it into the bag. He looks at you again, a smirk on full display before he winks and pulls the mask back down. “Good girl,” he purrs. “I like that.”

Despite the situation, your stomach flips. He stands and rushes out, lingering by the door for a second longer to stare at you through the black mask. You can’t see his face, but you know you’ll never forget it, pretty as an angel, dangerous as a devil.

When the group is gone, you wait in silence, only the pumping of your heart to keep you company. When the cops come and ply you with questions all you can do is shake your head repeatedly.

I was too scared. I can’t remember.

It is the same thing you tell investigators for nearly two months. Just when you think they won’t keep asking what the man looked like, they finally drop it, handing over the robbery details to the FBI. They were at least a little less callous, caring a little less about how many questions you answered.

If you had to guess, your unimpressive financial situation even after the robbery was significant enough that you weren’t involved with the robbery.

It’s hard not to wish you had been. The straw in your mouth belongs to a drink that is far too expensive for you to not wince and it barely tastes like anything. At this rate, you know you won’t get a buzz. You’d love alcohol to take the edge off of the loud club music or loosen you up a bit, but you’re resigned to being sober for the rest of your friend's birthday.

Around you is a gaggle of men and women, both people you know and new faces trying to pick up your friends. Anyone trying to hit on you has already decided you’re far too grumpy to waste time on, most of their backs facing you as people shout over the music about working in finance.

You wonder if they also rob banks in their spare time. It makes you grin, thinking fondly about the thief once again. You do that a lot.

Sipping the drink, you glance at your phone. It’s been an hour since you arrived, but you’re wondering if enough time has reasonably passed to excuse yourself. Tomorrow is one of your few days off and you intend to spend it lounging on the couch watching TV instead of nursing a headache.

Someone slides into the space at the bar next to you. You don’t glance up at them, spinning your skinny cocktail straw absently as you stare at the melted ice of your Long Island iced tea. You hoped that once it melted it would turn into a second drink, but it hasn’t. Cold, bitter water it is, then.

“Why the long face?” You frown at the vaguely familiar voice and glance up, freezing.

Mr. Bank Robber looks down at you, cocking his head to the side with a wolfish grin. Your mouth pops open in surprise, leaning back a little as you drink him in. This close, he is far more beautiful than you remember, the edges and shadows of his face like a carefully painted fresco. Michelangelo could hardly be talented enough to capture this.

“You,” you whisper, his grin spreading further.

“Have we met?” he leans on the bar, dressed in all black. You eye the three-piece suit and the glinting diamonds in the cuff links. His clothes are far finer than anything anyone else is wearing and when you breathe in sharply, you smell a hint of woody cologne. His dark hair is slicked back and you catch the dainty hoop earrings in his lobes. You like the juxtaposition.

“You know we have.” He tongues the inside of his cheek, turning his head to order with the bartender. His eyes stray to you, raising a brow. You supply him with your answer, “A long island.”

The bartender nods, momentarily stupefied by the heistman’s beauty before walking over to the POS, tapping the screen with the speed and aggression unique to bartenders.

“Kind of a shitty club,” he mentions, looking around over the top of your head. Sweat clings to your lower back, your mouth growing dry as you watch colors splash on his face. “Your face is too pretty for a place like this.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” The bartender puts the drinks on the counter and the man gives him cash, signaling to keep the change. The bartender raises a brow but says nothing, taking the money as he goes. “What’s your name?”

“You probably already know it.” He cocks his head to the side. “I’m sure you looked me up to see if I was a threat or watched me to see what I’d do.”

“You watch too many heist movies.”

“Maybe I watch just enough.”

He laughs at that and your lips twitch. It’s rich, making his face intimidating as he gives you a wide smile and shakes his head. “Alright, maybe you’re right.”

“Can I know your name?”

“For the right price.”

“My silence was a pretty petty, no?”

He bites his bottom lip, eyes dipping down and back up. You sip your drink, feeling a flush of warmth unfurl in your body, most notably between your legs. “I like you.”

“You have to like me. I know your secret.”

Leaning forward, he ducks down so that he’s murmuring into your ear, hot breath ghosting your skin and making you tremble. “Want to hear more?” Your eyelids flutter as he waits, skin buzzing at his sudden proximity. You nod, feeling lightheaded. “My name is Taehyung. Want to get out of here?”

“Fuck,” Taehyung growls, hands skimming your bare sides. You can’t keep still under his gaze, hips squirming and fingers twisting in the sheets. His mouth is swollen and covered in your spit, his eyes blown as a large hand scrapes down to your thigh where he gives you a good slap. “I knew you were a good girl.”

A moan trips out of your mouth. Your thigh stings where he slapped you but he soothes it with the easy back-and-forth motion of his hand, his fingers digging into your flesh. Taehyung is a man starved, having littered your body with harsh kisses and bites, nearly breaking the skin.

You don’t care. You’re feverish for him, room spinning as you sprawl on his soft sheets in a hotel room that is far nicer than anything you’ve ever been in. You burn up like a star, core raging as Taehyung leans back down, pressing your naked thighs open for him as he sucks the skin of your chest between his teeth.

Everything aches. You want him so bad that you feel a cry come out of your mouth, lips wobbling as he laughs against your skin, sinking lower and lower, mouth loud as he sucks at your skin, tongue brushing over the sting of his teeth.

“Does my good girl need her pussy eaten?” Taehyung rasps, looking up at you where he kneels between your legs. “Is that why you’re crying, hmm?”

Taehyung looks like something out of a thriller. His eyes are dark and hungry, his shadowed face becoming some sort of demon of lust. He’s what you would imagine a dark god. A bacchanal devil, a creature made for sin.

All you can do is nod in response, feeling Taehyung’s vicious grip on your thighs as he presses you further, your muscles stretching. The strain feels good, as does the slow drip of your cunt down the curve of your ass mixed with his breath.

“So messy,” he murmurs, leaning forward and blowing cool air on your sticky folds. You squirm, the sensation sending you into overdrive as you twist your head to the side, eyes squeezed shut. He’s barely done a thing and you’re worked up more than you can ever recall. “Pretty.”

The slow, soft press of Taehyung’s tongue through your pussy makes you sag. It’s the relief that you so desperately needed, eyes rolling back as he circles your clit and drags his tongue back down. Taehyung is slow as he eats you out, tongue savoring every drop you can give him.

He taps your thigh, drawing your attention to him. He smirks as his tongue dips into your entrance, dragging back up to swirl around your throbbing bud a few times.

It’s impossible to tear your eyes away once you’re watching. Taehyung keeps his razor-sharp gaze on you, bringing his mouth fully to your cunt as he sucks eagerly. There is a rhythm to the curl of his tongue and the sharp suck of his lips, the wet smack of his ministrations driving you crazy.

“Mmm,” he hums, pressing his face in further. He’s messy with it, his jaw and nose covered in shiny slick. He laughs throatily when your back comes off the bed, thighs shaking. “Such a good pussy, just like I knew it would be.”

It feels too hot in the room. Your breaths are coming in too fast and there’s nothing you can do to catch it, Taehyung working you up to a frenzied, frenetic orgasm. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, pumping so hard that you think you might need to stop.

And then you break.

Your body seizes as you come, a scream ripping through your mouth as Taehyung slurps hungrily at your mess, spurred by your release. You can’t stop shaking as he dives in, unwilling to stop until you’re babbling, nearly lifeless as the orgasm teeters into overstimulation.

Only then does Taehyung pull his mouth away, trailing wet, cum-spit kisses on your inner thigh, nipping your thigh here and there.

“Think you can take more?” he asks, slurring his words against your thigh. “Think you can take my cock.”

You nod eagerly, hand letting go of the sheets and reaching toward him. “Yes.”

“Mmm good. I’m about to bust.” He bites your knee. “And I don’t mean a bank, this time.”

#taehyung smut #kim taehyung smut #bts smut #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fic #bts fanfic #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #v smut #bts v

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longing-for-the-past-times · 1 year

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The four times you fell asleep on Ghost and the one time Ghost fell asleep on you - five.

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

word count: 9k (as you will see, a lot of stuff happens)

synopsis: When the mission goes south and you end up in the hands of the enemy, Ghost finds himself alone and angry, reflecting on what your presence actually means to him.

warnings: violence, graphic descriptions of torture, occasional swearing, mentions of smoking, hurt/comfort, slight happy-ending, Ghost being angry and tortured by his inner demons, military inaccuracies

notes: So this is it - the finale of a series that was initially meant to be a one shot consisting of several random fluff-filled scenes. I am actually quite satisfied with how the story turned out, although I have to warn you that this chapter is longer than usual because it consists of several pure narrative parts (background descriptions and such).

If you need therapy after reading this, just dm me the bills and I'll work something out :)

reader's callsign is Bambi (she/her)

find it on ao3 part one part two part three part four part five

masterlist

five.

To say Ghost was angry would have been an understatement. He was fuming, his heavy breathing being the only sound that filled the now-silent room. Even after half an hour had passed, the burning feeling in his chest did not fade away, serving instead as a reminder of his helplessness. He was angry at Laswell for pairing you up with the younger sniper team. He was furious with Price for his decision to not go after you the moment your radio stopped working...

But in the end, he was livid with himself for not being there to protect you in the first place.

He couldn’t shake the guilt that ate him from inside like a parasite, and as the seconds turned into minutes which would be bound to turn into hours, he felt the weight of his inaction suffocating him like he was the one under torture. Clenching his jaw, he began to stomp around the living room of the safe house. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife and, as he felt the concerned looks of the others on him, Ghost couldn’t help but replay the events of the past 36 hours in his mind.

He felt he had failed you when it mattered most, but he was determined to set things straight and bring you back unharmed.

Or at least alive and breathing.

--- 28 hours earlier

The sky was painted in golden hues by the time you left the briefing room, the morning air being a cold, yet comforting sensation that welcomed you when you got out of the main base building. Your mind was reeling with a plethora of classified intelligence and even more questions, but at least your adrenaline levels were high enough to chase any remnants of sleep away.

It had been almost a day since you left your apartment, but you weren't in a rush to go back. You would have to pack for the next mission anyway, and the given approximation of "an undefined amount of time" was an additional reason to delay the task. Instead, you went to the only place where you knew you'd find Ghost at this hour: the unofficial smoking spot of the base, named after the lack of security cameras in the area.

And there he was, perched on a plastic chair that made him look comically big and threatened to barely hold his weight. His mask was raised to his nose, highlighting a prominent jawline, peppered with faint scars and a hint of blonde stubble. Involuntarily, your eyes focused on his plump lips and the way they were wrapped around the cigarette, its burning tip glowing orange with each drag he took. His eyes were focused on a random point on the ground, but you knew he had heard you coming- his body had unconsciously shifted towards you, his legs adopting an open stance, almost as if to greet you.

"Thought you said you'd quit", you teased him in a soft tone, dragging a chair and sitting next to him. You opened your mouth to add something but were taken aback when you saw his lips curl up in a gentle smile, accompanied by a weak laugh.

There was no humour in it, but that did not stop you from relishing in the rare sight of Ghost's grin, your eyes once again focusing on the faint scar that rested on his lower lip. You didn't know the story behind it, nobody but Price did, yet that didn't stop you, Soap and Gaz to come up with scenarios of your own, one less likely than another.

"You're staring!", he remarked in a gravelly tone, blowing out a huff of smoke.

You knew it was wrong, but you secretly enjoyed second-hand smoking when he was around. He was too stubborn to let you try one of his cigarettes, always arguing about the negative impact on your health, but it was not like he could forbid you from keeping him company. The traces of smoke in his scent were an integral part of him and sometimes you just couldn't get enough of it, your lungs always begging for more.

"I'm not!", you eventually countered, taking a deep breath in. "And you did not answer the question!"

"It wasn't a question!", he argued back with a serious expression, his lips now forming a straight line.

"You know what I mean!"

You also knew that the banter you two had going on was meant to keep him away from the edge that would send Simon away and bring back Ghost. You'd already seen glimpses of him back in the briefing room when Laswell brought you up to date on the details of the mission. Just as you were witnessing Simon now, smoking half a pack of cigarettes in a desperate attempt to keep the deadly persona of the 141 Lieutenant away for as long as possible.

"Can I try one?", you went on with the distraction, already knowing his answer.

"No." - his answer was definitive, his clipped tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Huffing in annoyance, you crossed your arms over your chest and furrowed your brow, slightly scrunching your nose. He did not seem to be fazed by your childish outburst and instead, inhaled deeply, cheeks hollowing as he drew in the smoke. The exhale came shortly after, grey tendrils of smoke escaping his parted lips before he decided to speak again:

"Wanna hear something funny?"

You were already aware of Ghost's penchant for what he called "dad jokes", but what actually were just really bad puns, although, with him, they often had the tendency to turn out darker than expected. That was why you had to carefully pick your answer because you did not want to have Ghost on the bad side before going into mission - either because you refused to listen to a pun, or because of your reaction to it.

"I'm really not sure…", you shook your head, struggling to avoid eye contact.

As expected, he went on regardless of your answer.

"What do you call cigarettes you find in a thrift shop?"

A faint smirk was profiling on his lips again as he was clearly waiting for your reaction before delivering the pun.

"Go on, tell me", you eventually nudged him, rolling your eyes in fake pretence.

"Second hand smokes."

You struggled to suppress the smile that was threatening to spread on your face, but eventually, you ended up looking to the ground and shaking your head in defeat. Another low chuckle was heard from Simon, yet when you looked back at him, the cigarette butt was already in the ashtray and his balaclava was back on. You let out a deep sigh, your lips forming a pout, but you accepted his extended hand, allowing him to lift you from the chair.

"Come on, I'll drive you home. Price said the plane leaves at 1300 hours which leaves us with… exactly 6 hours and 45 minutes to get our things in order."

"Can't wait for it!", you let out an ironic huff, a shiver going down your spine upon hearing a hushed laugh in reply.

You and Ghost were in a good place. You could only hope this would last.

---

"Sergeant L/N, these are Privates Reynolds and Jones! They will be accompanying you on this mission as a sniper, respectively a spotter!"

From the instant you set eyes on him, you knew Captain Price had chosen the tarmac to make the introduction with a firm reason in mind. Perhaps it was the thunderous roar of the engines or the massive air currents caused by the propellers of the military aircraft you were about to board, but you could tell the atmosphere was intimidating enough for the two young men that they could only hold your gaze for so long before nodding their heads in acknowledgement.

"This is Sergeant L/N and she is going to be your mentor and leader for the duration of this mission", Price went on, his tone mercilessly cold.

The previous night he'd been a friendly face, "the dad of the group", as you drunkenly mentioned him in the toast, but that day he was the Captain of one of the most lethal Task forces there had been. And with that position came no room for mistakes or second thoughts.

"You will listen to her, no matter the situation. She tells you to shoot, you shoot. She tells you to hide, you hide. Hell, she tells you to come out and surrender, you do just that if you want to come home in one piece and not in a body bag!"

And he had a tendency to be slightly dramatic sometimes. Yet it was well-intended: you could only remember the "pep-talk" he'd given you before your first mission, after having placed you in the care of one of the most deadly operators you've ever seen, also known to others as "the big boy with a skull face"; that mission had gone sideways minutes after it had begun and you ended up saving yourself and the Lieutenant twice just by being high on energizers and adrenaline.

You and Ghost did not talk about that.

"Good to meet you, boys!", you shook their hands with a firm grip before nodding them into the direction of the aircraft. "You should go and buckle up. I'll be joining you soon!"

"Yes ma'am!", they answered in unison, shooting each other a cryptic look before heading in the direction of the plane.

You and Price caught that, but before being able to talk about it, you were interrupted by the big boy with the skull face himself:

"Those are the boys Y/N's supposed to be babysitting?"

Ghost was not one to mince words, even on a good day. Perhaps, at one point in the past, he had simply decided that hiding behind a wall of well-chosen words was not worth it, or he simply preferred to make himself understood from the beginning. And when opposing something, as he was at that moment, he did not bother to hide it:

"You're lucky they're not in your care!", you decided to steer the conversation in another direction. "I don't know where Laswell found them, but I bet at least one's dad has stars on his shoulders!"

Neither you, nor Ghost liked Price's lingering silence, but you didn't show it. You trusted Kate well enough to know she would have ensured they posed no real threat to your safety and the mission's success before having them join you on the field.

What actually bothered you was that it all happened on such short notice. You barely had time to bounce back from the previous assignment before having to start a new, high-risk, high-stakes one. You were aware of your limits and confident enough that you could pull this one off - but having to look after another two people you met a couple of hours before going into the field? Sure, you knew your limits, but did they know theirs?

"Stop it! Get it out of your mind, now!"

Ghost's deep Manchester accent pulled you out of your head and back into the present moment. You shot him what was meant to be a reassuring look, unaware that you actually looked like a deer caught in the headlights. It took you a moment to realise Price had left, leaving you two alone on the tarmac.

"They do anything you don't like, they act fishy - you report directly to me!"

He took a step forward, the tac vests you'd fastened on your bodies almost making contact. You pursed your lips in an attempt to hide the tremor that coursed through you and raised your eyes to take a better look at the skull plate, firmly attached to his black balaclava by messy stitches.

Just like Price, he was quick to bounce back into being the Lieutenant of Task Force 141. You were used to seeing him in full combat gear considering the big count of missions you went together into, but you couldn't help but furrow your brow at the sight of an additional Ka-Bar knife strapped in a detachable holster on his belt. And at the two fragmentation grenades attached to the same belt. But after all, he and Soap would drop out of the plane before you hit the landing zone - he would need all the additional equipment and ammunition he could get.

"Are you ready to go into the hornet's nest?", you tried to tease him in an attempt to mask the audible gulp you had to take as the adrenaline started to kick in.

"You'll have reduced it to half before I even take out my knife!", he hummed as an answer, a soft warmth glowing in his chocolate eyes.

You opened your mouth to talk back, but you were interrupted by the loud beeping that signalled you to board the aircraft. You knew you had to go, you had a tight schedule to follow after all, but neither of you seemed to want to be the first to leave.

"I'll meet you at the safehouse?"

This time you couldn't look him in the eye, pining your gaze to the ground as your voice trembled, a soft vibration that got lost in the brutal cacophony of sounds. A surprised sound left your lips when his tac vest came back into your sight, two gloved fingers resting on your chin and lifting it until your eyes made contact with his.

"I'll be there."

You maintained eye contact as his hand fumbled for something on his vest. His glance was soft and tender, just as reassuring as his words and the gloved fingers that still lingered above your helmet strap.

"And I'll want that back."

You shot him a quizzical look before feeling an unfamiliar weight in the pocket of your tac vest. Your eyes shot down to the place, catching a glimpse of his skeleton glove before setting on the crumpled, half-smoked pack of cigarettes, and a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

"That's an order, Sergeant!", he barked out before heading towards the aircraft. You couldn't help but roll your eyes and follow him, left hand resting over the smokes.

"Roger that, sir!"

--- 2 hours earlier

"Watcher 1 to Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

Laswell's voice could be heard through the radio, partially interrupting your watch. With mechanic moves, you pressed the communication button and brought the microphone closer to your chapped lips:

"Watcher 1, this is Bravo 4-7, solid copy! Go on for traffic."

"Interrogative, have you got eyes on the target?"

Shifting a bit under the dessert camouflage net, you peered down the scope of the rifle to check the gates of the compound. Two men with hunting dogs seemed to be on foot patrol, automatic guns swaying at their hips.

"Affirmative. Do you want me to take them down?"

It had been more than 20 hours since you got into position, yet all you were ordered to do was to keep watch and stand for future orders. Since it was not the first mission of this kind, you had expected that yet you could see the Privates getting jumpy and distracted, the two of them idly chatting between their own shared camo net.

"Negative, we expect the smugglers to arrive shortly after they switch patrols- we plan to infiltrate so hold your fire!"

"Copy, Watcher 1! Bravo 4-7 out!"

Taking one last look at the current patrol, you switched the communications on the channel you used to communicate with the two Privates. During your first mission, Ghost wasn't exactly the most talkative partner and not being able to entirely understand his intentions almost got you killed. After you got to know him better, you knew that he had been testing you and that he was always ready to step in if things went more south than expected, but nonetheless, you decided to do things differently with the two soon-to-be operators:

"Bravo 4-7-1, this is Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

You turned your eyes to the left, a frown on your face as you saw the camo net slightly shift as the radio began to crackle.

"Bravo 4-7, this is Bravo 4-7-1. Uhm… solid copy?"

"This is Bravo 0-7. Why the hell are you talking to your supervisor on the main channel?"

You couldn't help but giggle at Ghost's rough voice and you rolled your eyes at his antics. He was surely having the time of his life after having found a way to pick on the two men.

"Sorry sir… uhm, we were answering to Bravo 4-7-1 and…"

"Bravo 4-7-1, this is Bravo 4-7, switch to channel 4 and we'll continue our private chat there."

The quiet air was filled with even more crackling static and occasional mutters coming from who was probably Reynolds. Still keeping your eyes locked on the gates of the complex, you let out a sigh as you pressed the communication button again before Ghost could intervene:

"Bravo 4-7-1, use the red dial that is next to the communication button. All Bravos, sorry for the disturbance - though we could all use a small break!"

"You've got it, Bambi! How are you holding up there?"

You smiled hearing Kyle's reassuring tone, briefly accompanied by what must have been Price's laugh. Ghost and Soap would infiltrate the building from one side, while the Captain and Gaz would break in from the other- and you would keep watch and annihilate any unexpected threat, coming from the outside.

"It's all good, Gaz, all good. Just sitting my ass here and waiting for the moment I get to save yours!"

"Have you seen this ass though? Definitely worth killing for!"

Naturally, Soap couldn't help but intervene, his cocky reply being laced with a hint of playful arrogance. You opened your mouth to give him a well-chosen answer, but Ghost beat you to it. He was in full-combat mode, his stern voice being more than enough to make you bounce back into the harsh reality of the mission.

"Keep talking, MacTavish, and there'll be no rear-end left of you by the time the job is done! Party's over, get your asses back into the game!"

"Roger!"

But you still laughed after you made sure your radio was off, shaking your head in disbelief. Even when pent up on combat stress and adrenaline, you knew Ghost's pun was intentional. Involuntarily, your hand brushed over the crumpled pack of smokes, fishing it out of the pocket and bringing it closer to your face. Closing your eyes, you inhaled slowly, a deep sigh leaving your mouth. Even after a bumpy plane ride and 20 hours spent on a stakeout, Simon's scent was lingering, a silent sign of his presence.

"Bravo 4-7, this is Bravo 4-7-1, how copy?", Private John's voice could be heard through the radio, a tense silence settling in after his words. You had an inkling that they still had second thoughts on whether they were on the right channel or not.

"Solid copy, Private." You eventually decided to end their inner torment and reply, a grin forming at the corner of your lips when you heard a collective sigh from the two.

"Ma'am, we're sorry about before…"

"Mistakes happen- let that be your biggest and last one", you were prompt to cut them short, remembering how Ghost had tried to instil discipline through clipped, yet complete orders. "Now, Reynolds, tell me what you two are looking at!"

"Yes, ma'am! We're looking at two solid iron gates which are openly guarded by two mobile patrols, each one consisting of an armed man and a hunting dog. They haven't rotated in the past 5 hours, I think, so they are probably expecting to be changed soon-"

"Which also means that they might have got bored and should not be as attentive to their surroundings as-"

"Wrong, Private Johns, you are dead. Lesson number one on the battlefield, never underestimate your enemy!", you barked through the headset in a manner that would make Ghost proud. "You always need to uphold the enemy to the highest standard, not rely on their mistakes to succeed. Mistakes are occasional, but underestimating them is what will get you killed!"

The prolonged silence on their part was not a good sign and, for a moment, you wondered whether you'd been too harsh on them. But they must have known what they were signing up for temporarily joining the Task Force, so you sighed in defeat and pressed the communication button once more:

"I want you to move to the next ridge and keep watch from there. I expect detailed reports every 15 minutes from now on. Any questions?"

"No ma'am. Bravo 4-7-1 out."

"Bravo 4-7 out."

---

You started to realise something was wrong when another hour passed and the patrols were not switched, but instead doubled, with no signs of smugglers in sight. So far the main channel had been quiet and you divided your attention between the Privates' reports and being on the lookout for any signs that you've been compromised.

Your left hand was unconsciously fiddling with the cigarette pack, while your right one was adjusting the scope to focus on the road leading to the complex. Your breath hitched upon seeing a Humvee heading towards the gates and you fumbled for the communication button of the radio, bringing the mic closer to your mouth.

The sudden explosion of static coming from the radio had you almost ripping off the headset from your ears, a cold shiver running down your spine the moment you realised it.

Your radio was not working.

"All Bravos, this is Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

You could feel your heartbeat increasing at an alarming rate when no answer came and you turned to look at the place where Privates Reynolds and Johns should have been, keeping watch on the complex. Your heart dropped further in your chest when you realised the ridge was empty and there had been more than 15 minutes since their last report- still that didn't justify why they'd left their position without telling you. Were Price's orders not clear enough? Sure, your radio may have broken somehow, but they should have come and checked in with you in person as they must have been trained.

You let out a string of curses under your breath, the realisation of the imminent danger you were currently in hitting you like a bullet train. You must have been compromised, the same way the scouts Laswell mentioned had been - and your radio was not working because someone must have been using a signal jammer in the area. And judging by the absence of the two Privates, the order to retreat had already been given.

You needed to get out of there.

With rapid, but calculated movements, you disassembled the sniper and began to pack it into a camo warbag. You were slowly rolling up the camouflage net when multiple gunshots were fired on the road you had been watching. Your eyes widened in disbelief when you saw what must have been the convoy supposed to transport the weapons Laswell talked about, coming under heavy fire. There had been someone else who had known about the transport, and who must have done everything they could to get their hands on it.

And taking into consideration what they had done to the Special Forces scouts, you could easily rule out the saying that stated that the enemy of your enemy was your friend. So when you heard men hollering in what seemed to be Russian in your vicinity, you ripped out your dog tags and all the badges that identified you as a British Special Forces operator and buried them into a shallow mound, carefully placing one of Ghost's cigarettes on top of it. As the shouts grew closed, you took in a deep breath and your left hand gripped around the hilt of the extra Ka-Bar knife you kept in your boot.

With a small sigh of resignation, you accepted the fact that you couldn't outrun them without the high risk of getting killed. While the ridge you were stationed on was a good point of observation, it provided no proper cover outside of the camouflage net you've already packed and it only left you with the choice you've been trained to make and despised the most.

Surrender yourself and hope somebody will come to save you.

-- present time

"Why didn't she listen to the orders to retrea-.."

One of the Privates whose nametag read Johns tried to speak up, but his words faltered as the deadly gazes of the remaining Task Force 141 operators were set on him. And at that moment they resembled a pack of hound dogs, eager to be released on a hunt.

"Listen here, boy", Soap began in an unusually calm tone, although his tensed-up form spoke otherwise. "You and your friend here- you better pack up and make sure you board Laswell's ride, as soon as she touches ground here." His words were cold and calculated, his voice getting harsher as he went on. "See, right now we are all focused on getting back our comrade- to put it plainly, we do not have the time to deal with you leaving her behind deep in enemy territory."

He paused for better effect.

"But Lord save you once we find her because nothing will hold us back and we. Will. Be. Coming. For. You."

"That's enough, MacTavish!", Laswell curtly said as she entered the safe house. She was dressed plainly, if not for the bulletproof vest she'd donned and the usual stack of manilla folders she was usually carrying around had been replaced by a laptop she placed in front of Price and opened. "I take full responsibility for what happened to Miss L/N. As for now, she is declared as MIA."

"What do you mean, happened? I don't care what you're going to say, but I am sure as hell going to get her out of wherever she is!", Ghost couldn't contain his growl, his fingers turning white from his hard grip on the chair.

If any of his teammates noticed the sudden shift in his demeanour when Laswell declared you as missing in action, they had the common sense to keep their thoughts to themselves. All of them were stressed, angry and tired, but there was one more feeling that was bubbling in Ghost's chest, something that he hadn't felt in a long time, not since he'd been buried alive in a dead man's casket.

Simon Riley was scared. He was scared he wouldn't be able to get you in time, that he would fail to protect you when you needed it the most. He couldn't control the frantic way his heart hammered in his chest when his brain fabricated scenarios in which you were alone, cold and petrified, and it took him a great deal of what was left of his self-control not to throw caution out the window and run to find you.

Ghost was scared for you, but what terrified him the most was the thought of having to live in a world without you.

On the outside, he seemed still as a statue, his trained blank look not betraying the internal conflict that was raging inside. He saw Laswell's lips move and the laptop screen that was placed in front of him, but the lights were too bright and the colours, too saturated. He was supposed to watch a video, a drone footage, as his military-trained mind registered, but the voices in his head became too loud to ignore and the temperature in the room was too high for his liking. His breaths quickened and he felt the mask sticking to his face, suffocating him, as if he was in the coffin again, in the dark, and alone with a rotting corpse. Only it was not the body of the person who'd betrayed him, but your sleeping silhouette, gently resting your head on his chest and sighing every once in a while.

The footage from the drone zoomed in on a familiar figure who was encircled by armed men from all directions. The scene of you being taken as a hostage played in front of Ghost's eyes, but his mind did not register it as his sole focus was on your slumbering figure, the warmth of your body against his playing a big role in persuading Simon that you were actually there, with him, safe and sound.

Yet you weren't, and when he tried to brush a strand of hair away from your face he was met with the rough and cold surface of a skull plate, his fingers instantly jerking away in repulsion. A wave of nausea had him shot up from his chair and stumble to the bathroom, shaky hands fumbling with the thick mask before he could empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt as if he'd been dunked in a barrel of cold water. His mind was no longer muddled with what-ifs and second-guesses, but had a clear purpose in sight: one that would keep him going until the end of the earth just to see it done. His hands no longer trembled as he pulled the black balaclava on his face and headed back to the main room, paying no mind to Soap's concerned gaze.

His eyes were cold and determined as he laid his hands on the first assault rifle within reach, methodically assembling it and stuffing as many ammunition magazines as he could into the pockets of his tactical vest. His hands itched for a cigarette, but the urge only strengthened his resolve: he would find you, even if it meant it was the last thing he did.

---

You didn't even have the energy to flinch when the fist collided with your face, sending your head rolling backwards. The world was reduced to a blurry mess, blue stars dancing before your eyes. Out of instinct, you lolled your head to the side and spit on the ground, in an attempt to diminish the metallic tang of blood in your mouth. You could still feel the unpleasant stinging that overwhelmed the left half of your face where you'd been hit with the back of a gun but tried to ignore the blood that was trickling across your cheek, all too aware of the jagged line that started near the temple and stopped short of the jawline. The bastards knew how to do their job and they weren't ones to shy away from using you as a means to an end- the future facial scar they'd given you serving as solid proof for that.

"He asked you a question, filth!"

An angry conversation was taking place right in front of you, but you were too busy trying to alleviate the pain, to focus on your captors. Sometimes, familiar words would reach your ears: american, military, information; but it was clear that they were struggling to find a way to make you talk. The questions were always the same ones, similar to what you've been prepared for in interrogation training- who were you, who were you working for, what are the Americans planning? Why has everything had always something to do with the Americans?

And just as you'd been taught in interrogation training, your answers were short and clipped- revealing little to no information at that time. You were still in the phase where they saw you as an asset, a potential source of information, taking into consideration the fact that they didn't kill you on the spot, and it was up to you to dictate the rhythm of their game. Speak too fast and too soon, they will get everything they need and kill you. Say nothing for too much time, they will see you as a dead-end and kill you.

You were currently walking the tightrope, trying to keep the balance between the increasing pain you found yourself in and the amount and importance of the information you were giving them. All you had to do was to make sure you stayed alive long enough for your teammates to find you. You knew they would take care of the rest.

"We shall try a different question then, kotyonok…" You shot your captor a cold look full of spite, not sure what disgusted you more: the mocking nickname he gave you or the pressure his fingers applied on your face, so different from the calloused, yet gentle touch of Ghost. "You wouldn't tell us your name- at least give us your codename and we might get Boris here to clean up your cheek. I know you wouldn't like that cut to scar…"

Your hands were numb from the tight grip they used to tie you to the metal chair, but you could still feel them shake when a knife, your Ka-Bar knife, was pressed against your cheek. You bit your lip so hard it drew blood in an attempt to stifle the tears that were pooling in your eyes, and you couldn't help but whimper when the blade was lightly traced against your skin before being sheathed, a heartless laugh following the gesture soon after.

You closed your head and let your head hang low, the rhythmic drip of your blood being the only sound that filled the room for a while. You could only hope you would make it through the next hours and your teammates wouldn't have to be greeted by your still-warm body.

---

Ghost was quick to follow the sound of Gaz's voice, his steps leading him to what proved to be quite a strategic place to observe the complex. A brief look at his compass confirmed the coordinates registered along with the drone footage, and even if more than 4 hours had passed since you'd been captured, his eyes were frantically searching for any signs that might lead him to you.

"I found something! She must have been camped here, there are still traces in the ground from where she pinned the camo net!"

"There was something in the footage…", Gaz started to mutter to himself, starting to hit heaps of dirt at random. "She was crouched over the earth like.. she was trying to bury something, I think?"

Not bothering to reply, Ghost's eyes began to systematically scan the area. At first glance, it all seemed the same, the desert soil not providing much diversity in terms of landscape. But you had to leave a mark behind, something subtle, yet noticeable at the same time, something that you could find only if you knew what you were looking for…

"That's bloody good work, Gaz!"

Kyle stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening at the sudden praise coming from his usually cold-demeanoured Lieutenant. For a couple of seconds, he was too distracted to notice that Ghost had kneeled on the ground, his gloved hands digging through a heap of dirt, a white cigarette carefully placed away from the mound. By the time Price and Soap joined them, he managed to unearth your dog tags and Special Forces badges and put them on display:

"She knew she would be taken in… and that revealing her identity at a later point would buy her time…"

"That's basic interrogation training, Sergeant!", Ghost barked at Soap in an unusually aggressive way that made the Scot frown in his direction.

He opened his mouth to talk back, yet no words came out when he noticed your dog tags wrapped around Ghost's hand and the obsessive way he seemed to fiddle with them. Subtly sharing a knowing look with Price, who just raised his eyebrows in a silent suggestion to let it slide, Soap turned around and started scanning the perimeter for any sign that might point to your current whereabouts. Your sudden disappearance had a big impact on all of them, yet it seemed that it affected Ghost the most, his recent mood swings being strong proof of it.

"Bloody bastards… they smoked my cigarettes…"

Simon stomped the cigarette butts under his boot, turning his head to Price, but the Captain was already meters away, fishing another cigarette butt from the ground. Nodding his head in Ghost's direction, he brought the radio closer to his mouth and pressed the communication button:

"Kate, I think we have a lead. Well, at least a path of …smoked stubs?"

Yet before Price could give the order to spread out and start looking for more tracks, Simon already went ahead of others, pulling the automatic gun from his shoulder. Under all the layers comprising of the tactical vest and the rest of the military-issued gear, his heart was thundering in his chest. Second thoughts were already forming inside his tired mind: they really got you, they stole your cigarettes, the pack he gave you for safekeeping and that was supposed to be your lucky charm- somehow, he had thought that having a physical piece of him would keep you out of harm's way.

He could only hope he found you in time before the damage you'd sustained would become irreversible.

---

"I don't think you understand how this is working, milaya…"

He was so close to you, that you could feel his rancid breath on your face, a faint familiar smell lodging in your nostrils. Your head was throbbing, and you decided you were hallucinating- Russians didn't smoke the British cigarette brand Ghost did. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, subconsciously wishing for the masked Lieutenant to find you faster.

"So far we had a monologue…- but I still think you have potential."

Out of reflex, you flinched when someone gripped your shoulders, but the pain your mind was preparing for did not come. Instead, you were untied from the chair and violently shoved forward. Your hands were still tied behind your back and you ended up falling face first on the hard concrete, letting out a pathetic moan that raised a few laughs from your captors.

As you lay there, disoriented and struggling to regain composure, you felt a pair of arms hooking your shoulders, pulling you upright and dragging you out of the room. You were too exhausted to put up a fight, the pain dangerously dulling your senses, but that didn't stop you from thrashing around in your captor's grip and throwing curses at him. To your dismay, he didn't seem fazed by it, his grip never faltering as he hauled you through a deserted corridor, seemingly underground, judging by the lack of natural light. You maintained your aggressive facade, yet your eyes were carefully studying your surroundings, taking in every little detail that might prove crucial, should you be able to escape.

Before you realised it, you were thrown into a dark room, yet this time you were able to cushion the fall and land on your knees. Wincing at the brutal impact, you squinted in an attempt to make out your surroundings and any potential escape routes.

"See, little one, everyone has a breaking point.."

The harsh voice of your captor broke through the silence, followed, as if on cue, by the lights being turned on. The sudden brightness had you close your eyes in discomfort, your wrists starting to turn red and raw from your relentless efforts to free yourself from the tight ropes. You could feel blood trickling through the small abrasions where the rope had cut into your skin.

"It seems plain violence is not yours. Not even cresting your pretty little face… I will tell you a secret, you might not live long to keep it anyway, but that is the breaking point of many- ladies and men both."

As he went on with what you decided was a well-rehearsed discourse, he started walking in circles around the room, almost like a predator circling its prey. The intimidation technique was not foreign to you, yet you did your best to morph your face into a scared and hesitant expression, giving him what he wanted to see: a person who was on the verge of breaking, someone who should be kept alive for a little more.

"So I thought to myself- the doll does not work alone. Maybe we should bring one of her friends here and see who gives in first."

If you weren't busy maintaining the terrified mask, you might have laughed at his weak attempt to extract information about your teammates. He was trying so hard to be menacing, yet he didn't know that you had been trained by the Ghost himself, who had drilled all possible interrogation scenarios into your mind. You made a mental note to thank him if you ever got out of there.

"But then I remembered we had a special room we haven't been able to test yet."

His voice grew closer and closer. Keeping your eyes glued to the ground, you focused on the blood that was dripping from your face, staining the concrete floor crimson. When he exhaled in your direction, you could clearly feel the smoke of Ghost's cigarettes wafting towards you, your hands clenching in fists at the audacity he possessed. You opened your mouth for the first time, if only to give him a piece of your mind, yet you barely had time to register him roughly grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and violently dragging you to the middle of the room.

"And if this doesn't break you… do not worry, we will find something else!"

You could barely make sense of his words, his unveiled threat, before your head was forcefully shoved into what you made out to be a basin. Piercing-cold water enveloped you from all sides, and panic surged through every fiber of your being when you realised that there was a firm grip on the back of your head, preventing you from pulling out. Your throat burned with each passing second, and your vision gradually darkened as you struggled to stay conscious, your body going limp on the edge of the bathtub.

"After all, we have all the time in the world. No one will find us here… not when we are right under their noses."

---

It took them one hour under the scorching sun, but the members of Task Force 141 had managed to discover the Russians' hideout. Following the cigarette butts eventually led them to a camouflage net, one which Ghost almost ripped away when he recognized it as yours, and they ended up staring at the entrance of what was supposed to be an underground bunker. The few guards that were lingering around didn't know what hit them, a blood-splattered skull plate being the last thing they'd seen before collapsing to the ground.

As he carefully threaded through the dimly lit corridor, Ghost's demons had never been so loud. On the one hand, his feet were urging him to bolt, to sprint through every room and hallway and find you as quickly as he could, but on the other hand, he was still part of a team with whom he shared a common purpose. Ditching them would be highly dangerous and irresponsible and it would help no one in the end.

Yet all common sense jumped out of the window when the silence was shattered by a high-pitched scream followed by a loud string of curses, both in English and Russian. Simon barely waited for Price's curt order to go before he bolted in the direction of the commotion, swiftly incapacitating any man who was foolish enough to get in this way.

At that moment, he didn't even need the mask to become one with the Ghost- the primal need to protect you overtook his senses, the chaotic surroundings fading into the background as the singular purpose took hold of him. When the automatic gun ran out of ammunition he simply threw it away and lunged for the rifle strapped on his back. When he ran out of throwing knives, he openly jumped on anyone who got in his way. He did not hold back, being quick to send his opponents staggering backwards and crashing into walls or doors. His objective was clear - to create a diversion, a way to distract attention from you and put an end to the torment you must have been going through.

He didn't even bother to check if the door was unlocked before kicking it to the ground, unaware of the splinters that lodged themselves into his gear. When he registered the lower half of your limp body, beaten and bruised, he saw red. Dropping his rifle to the ground, he let out a feral growl as he launched himself at the man standing in the middle of the room, who was staring at him wide-eyed, fumbling with the safety of the gun he was holding. Blow after blow rained upon him, each strike being filled with a mix of madness and rage that Ghost had struggled to contain within himself throughout the day. The Russian, unable to defend himself from Ghost's fury, was crouched in a fetal position, whimpering and sobbing, just like you did hours ago, yet Simon's assault did not seem to falter. He was determined to make him feel at least a fraction of what you've been put through.

Until he realised that there was no other movement in the room, that you hadn't crept up to him and assured him you were fine like he secretly hoped you would. He was almost scared to look in the direction of your still-limp body, his blood running cold at the sight of you leaning against the edge of a water basin, your head still submerged in the water.

Simon had often fantasized about what kissing you for the first time would be like. It was a small comfort he liked to indulge in whenever he would try to go to bed and sleep wouldn't find him. Where would you be, how would your lips feel when pressed against his? Would it be gentle, or wild and passionate? What would you say to him afterwards? Would you regret or do it again in the following moments?

He definitely did not expect your first intimate contact to be on the cold, hard floor of the torture room, with your lifeless body hanging limp in his arms. He ripped his gloves away from his hands, searching for your pulse with trembling fingers and the relief he felt upon feeling an irregular, yet faint heartbeat, had him peel the mask from his face and discard it on the floor. Without wasting a second, he tilted your head back gently and sealed his chapped lips against yours, trying his best to breathe life into your still body. Your skin was cold against his fingers and he could almost feel his heart stop beating when he realised your condition was not improving.

Ghost was not a religious man, yet he started to recite the only prayer his mother ever taught him when he pressed his hands against your chest and started the compressions. Hot tears started rolling down his cheeks as he counted the compressions, lips trembling as he kept chanting your name again and again, urging you to open your eyes and wake up.

A choked sob left his mouth when you gasped and started coughing, your body twitching against your will. He was quick to roll you onto your side, gently patting your back in an attempt to help you expel the water lodged in your throat. His vision was still clouded from the tears, but that did not stop him from cradling your shaking figure in his arms, resting his head atop yours. He could feel your erratic breathing and your heartwrenching sobs, but all he could do was hug you tighter and try to reassure you, even though his voice was breaking:

'It's alright. They won't be hurting you again… I'll keep you safe!"

You didn't know how long you stayed in that position, but you were convinced you had been so deprived of oxygen that you started hallucinating. Somehow, you were absolutely convinced it was Ghost who was holding you tight in his arms, your cheek being squished against a tactical vest that could only be his, judging by its specific scent. Yet the sight of a head of dirty blonde hair made you scrunch your forehead in confusion. Why was he not wearing his mask? Your eyesight was still too blurred to make out the features of the person who was holding you, but you could trace the contours of his face in your sleep, even though you could count on your fingers the number of times you had seen them before.

Breathing heavily, you lifted a shaky hand towards his face, scared that if you moved too suddenly, the spell would break and you would be once again pulled out of the basin and asked the generic set of questions you've been asked for the past half an hour. But when your fingers made contact with Simon's cheek, softly threading through his stubble and tracing the deep scar that almost split his lip in two, you let out a breath of relief, a warm wave of comfort washing over you. Your tired mind took note of the foreign voices that were mixed with Simon's reassuring whispers: there was someone repeatedly asking whether you were okay, someone talking over the radio and someone asking for med-evac. Yet the sudden commotion only made you nuzzle your head against Ghost's chest, letting out a sigh of relief as you finally allowed your eyes to shut closed, the constant thought of finally being safe serving as a temporary balm to your wounds.

The base's hospital was no different in any of those regards, yet Simon had spent the last days inside its four walls, camped out on the armchair Price had arranged to be brought into your salon the moment you'd been transferred from the municipal hospital.

---

For someone who had spent a good part of his life in hospitals, Ghost hated them. He couldn't stand the pungent smell of chemicals or the hushed conversations that took place in the brightly lit corridors. The constant beeping of the monitoring devices would drive him insane and he detested the cheap food.

Ghost hated hospitals, but he hated being away from you even more.

So he had resorted to spending the last three days acting both as a makeshift nurse and a guard dog for any of the curious passers-by who would try and peek at the operator who had been captured by the enemy and survived torture. Soap, Gaz or Price would usually join him outside working hours, trying to make small talk or urging him to eat the take-out they bought him, but he would only leave your side for bathroom breaks and showers.

He spent the rest of the time next to your sleeping figure, lying still in the armchair and keeping his eyes glued to you. Every once in a while, he would zone out and find himself counting how many times your chest went up and down, totally unaware of the heart-rate monitor that was placed right next to him.

For the time being, Simon was grateful you'd been filled up with painkillers and still sleeping. He couldn't wait for you to wake up, but he wasn't mentally prepared for it: it wouldn't be like before when you fell asleep on him and woke up feeling slightly ashamed, but refreshed, a soft smile lighting up your face. This time, you would wake up to a body full of bruises and a new scar marking your face- and he had no idea what he could say to help you get through it.

Simon was not a man of words, so he decided to convey his feelings through actions and gestures. His moves were well-rehearsed as he emptied the glass of water he'd filled a couple of hours before and refilled it to the brim, placing it on a table next to your bed. His gloves had been long gone by the time he changed your blanket with a fresh and soft one that Soap had brought the last time he came in. After he ensured you were comfortably tucked in, Ghost busied himself with rearranging the flowers and the get-well-soon cards that had already been neatly arranged at the edge of your bed.

After there was nothing left for him to do, he eventually dragged the armchair close to your bedside, removing his mask with slow and weary movements. The dark circles that had formed under his eyes were a stark contrast against his pale complexion, and the stubble he'd neglected for the past few days threatened to turn into a full-grown beard. Yet that did not stop him from exposing his face in your presence, his tired mind arguing that perhaps the sight of him might pull you out of your head, at least temporarily.

A heavy sigh left his body as he laid his upper body on your bed, his head carefully resting on the top of your hand. Out of instinct, he nuzzled his cheek against the soft skin of your palm, relishing in the warmth of the contact, and draped one arm against your body, gently pulling you closer to him.

Minutes passed and his eyes gradually fluttered closed, his soft breaths slowly mingling with yours. He would never admit it out loud, but especially after the events of the last mission, the sole way he could fall asleep was in your proximity, only finding solace in the warm feeling of your touch. It may have taken him a while, but he eventually came to the realisation that it was in your arms that he felt safe, where the turmoil and chaos of the outside could temporarily be forgotten. And he was determined to keep it that way, no matter what it took.

---------------

more notes: do you guys would like a bonus part, say, an epilogue for this? I'm thinking of something like "the one where they finally get a bed" or something... let me know in the comments (or ask box if you'd like to remain anonymous)

taglist: @neoarchipelago, @thecorruptedlovely, @mitchlow, @fieldsofbats, @thaprilks, @stars-andfreckles, @that-napa-know-how, @preistinajamjar, @iamaliceinwonderland, @allaboutirem0, @lilpothoscuttings, @01trickster10, @yyiikes, @joanne-uwu, @dorck26, @wawuwe, @karagd13-blog, @rindulacre, @claibornc

#cod ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #call of duty imagine #ghost fluff #task force 141 #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #mw2 ghost

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strawbeerossi · 6 months

Text

August || Chapter Four

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid, fem!reader x Emily Prentiss

Description: After you and Emily leave the office for lunch together, you two enjoy each other’s company.

Content/Warnings: Pure fluff, flirting, developing feelings, kissing

WC: 1.6K

Chapter Five will come out whenever this one gets 450 notes, just like I did for this chapter!

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The elevator door was soon opening in front of you, the arguing in the bullpen being unheard as you and Emily were soon walking through the open doors. “I’m glad we’ve been hanging out a lot more.” You broke the silence, a smile gracing your features.

“Me too. I can’t believe it took us this long to spend time together like this. It’s been nice.” Emily smiled in return while letting an arm wrap around your shoulders.

For the first time in a while, you felt content. You didn’t feel the need to push everyone away and close yourself off from the world. All you needed was the extra support and reassurance.

“It’s gonna be nice to get out of the office. It’s a nice day out. Maybe we can find somewhere with an outside dining area?” She suggested while glancing in your direction once the doors of the elevator were opening up to the parking garage, the two of you heading to Emily’s car together.

“I think that sounds perfect. Be careful, Prentiss. I may get used to being spoiled.” You teased while looking in her direction.

“I think I can handle it if it comes down to that.” She teased in return. “It’ll just give me an excuse to take you out more.”

The words had your face flushing as you offered a smile. “You shouldn’t need an excuse!” You mused while getting into the passenger seat of her car. You felt so.. Cared for. Emily had done a great job at offering the utmost support for you in your endeavors to get over the loss of two friendships.

She never let you lose yourself in the process, offering a shoulder to cry on at any time. It was her kindness and affection that made you grow into the person you’d become.

The drive was peaceful, some light conversation over minor things going on around you, both accompanied with the soft music playing from the radio. It was comfortable, something that you’d grown accustomed to feeling with Emily. Part of you felt like she was doing it to be a good friend. The other part had you swooning over the possibility of her being interested in you.

You knew better than to just assume after the Spencer debacle that threw you in for a loop, but it was nice to just sit back and be able to think about the endless possibilities that could come from this. You didn’t need anyone to be happy, but you always liked the idea of settling with someone you cared for.

You knew you were thinking way too far ahead in this instance, however you didn’t let it deter you from continuing to dream over a possible love story.

The arrival at the small cafe in downtown Quantico was what pulled you from your thoughts, your eyes looking out the window to see the colorful umbrellas over a few tables outside. “It’s not fine dining but..” Emily began before you were shaking your head.

“I think it’s perfect.”

With a smile on your face, you were opening your door and getting out of the car. There was a sigh of content coming from you as you could feel the warmth of the sun hitting your skin. The weather was just yet another indicator that today was going to be a good day.

For the first time in a while, you weren’t thinking of Spencer. Instead, you were focused on Emily, on feeling appreciated by someone who was close to you.

Emily had pulled the door open for you, letting you walk in ahead of her as you approached the front desk. After requesting a table outside, the hostess was more than happy to walk you both into the patio section, placing two menus on the table.

“This feels too fancy. Sitting outside like this might’ve been too much.” Emily joked, the both of you chuckling. “How have you been feeling lately?” She then asked, picking up the menu in front of her to look over her options with a soft hum.

“I’ve been alright. Mostly focused on work. Oh! But I am thinking about getting a cat. Pen has been mentioning how lonely old man Sergio is so I might have to get a kitten to keep the old man on his toes.” You teased. “Plus, a cat playdate is probably the cutest thing I’ve thought about all year.”

“So you haven’t been thinking about me then? I’m hurt!” The woman let out a dramatic sigh as her hand rested against her chest. “I thought what we had was special.”

“You’ve always had a flair for the dramatics, haven’t you?” You commented, flashing an amused smile.

“Maybe.. It’s easier to get attention that way. Extra attention when it comes to you.” She teased as she was placing her menu on the table. “A cat will keep you busy though, trust me. I remember when I had Sergio home with me, he was a wild child. Still probably the only man I ever needed though.” She laughed.

“At least he didn’t talk back, right?” You added on, letting out a laugh of your own.

Talking with Emily eased your mind on a lot of things. You had assumed she had some verbal crack sprinkled into your conversations, making you want to talk with her all day and all night. You could’ve sworn you had withdrawals when you were apart for too long, like the weekends without cases.

Lunch went smoothly, just lighthearted conversation and some good laughs. Instead of feeling trapped in your own thoughts, you were sitting there talking and laughing, letting loose and growing increasingly more comfortable. It was a shame you had to go back to work after though.

Whenever the two of you were leaving the restaurant, you were getting settled into the passenger seat while Emily was starting the drive back to the office.

It made you wonder about what happened back in the bullpen, if there were any more snide comments made by either Spencer or JJ. Then again, it had been a while since they had even glanced in your direction, well; you thought that way. You knew you couldn’t hold on to that anger forever, but you had to admit; it was slipping away much slower than you would’ve liked.

In a way, you were just glad that you didn’t need to worry about it. On the other hand, you missed your friends. That’s what they were before all of this and now the title was stripped and you were left with two acquaintances.

You dreaded the idea of letting them go entirely. Even with anger for JJ and Spencer, you did still care about them. It was hard not to, especially after knowing them for so many years. You still thought about the inside jokes, stories, even poking fun at one another. The time spent along them made you into the person who you were. You just never expected for things to do a somersault in the way that they did.

“Are you alright over there?” Emily broke the silence, noticing the way you were deep in thought. “You know you can talk to me.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. Just thinking of how it’s gonna be back at the office. I really don’t want to go back and do paperwork.” You groaned, offering a smile.

Emily didn’t buy that excuse. “Are you sure? You looked pretty out of it and you’re not even like that on the hardest of cases. Talk to me.”

God damn it. You should’ve known that the profiler in the driver’s seat would know better.

“I’m just worried about my friendship with Spencer and JJ. I know I’ve acted like a fool for months over that whole situation but.. They are still my friends, well, they were. I don’t wanna lose them entirely, but what if I have to?”

“You don’t have to lose them. You’re a good person, that’s why you care. I think in time, friendships can be mended and things can go back to seminormal.” She assured, her hand reaching over to rest on your knee.

It was a simple touch, but it made your face feel hot as you looked out the passenger side window. “I’m sure it will, but it still scares me.” You sighed while placing one of your hands over Emily’s. “Thanks for listening and reassuring me.” You added, making the woman shrug as she was turning into the parking garage before approaching her spot, her hand pulling away from yours as she was pulling in.

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s what I’m here for, you know that. You’re not a baby for having feelings, remember that. Emotions make you human.” The words were further reassurance. She really knew just what to say.

The two of you were heading back to the elevator together, hopping on as you hit the button for the floor you needed. “Lunch today was fun. Definitely a great way to celebrate us finishing paperwork.” You teased as you turned back to Emily, the woman playfully nudging your arm.

“You’re getting it next time. I hope you know that.”

“Fine.” You groaned in a dramatic fashion, glancing at the woman with a smile.

There was a content silence between the both of you, although there was another presence in the elevator. A light tension that you couldn’t quite place.

While you were deep in your thoughts trying to figure out the warmth washing over the both of you, Emily was putting her hand gently against your cheek, the delicate touch making you blink back to reality. Before you knew it, that tension was dissolving as you felt a soft pair of lips pressing against yours. The kiss felt so right.

Although as soon as the doors were opening, you were both quickly pulling away from each other at the sounds of a mug shattering on the floor.

“What the fuck?” Spencer's voice echoed through the hall.

#strawbeerossi august series #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid series #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid au #emily prentiss fandom #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #

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hazelsmirrorball · 10 months

Text

Bad idea right? | Charles Leclerc

pairings: Ex! Charles Leclerc x Singer! FemReader Summary: After a drunken night, exes rekindle under the moonlight. Face claim: Olivia Rodrigo Warnings: suggested language, exes, english isn’t my main language so excuse any mistake. authors note: thank you so much for the love on the last one. I really appreciate it a lot.

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y/n just posted

liked by taylorswift, arthur_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 4,304,00 others

y/n new things, bad things coming real soon!

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lilymhe talented girl!

→ y/n i love you!!

username mother is mothering!

username the color red? is this like an Easter egg

→username Charles! this has to be about Charles

username girl what!

username how soon are we taking about?

username omg! this is sour all over again

→ username charles pr team are fighting for his life

username arthur liking? hell is breaking loose

...

Six months. It had been six months since y/n and charles had broken up. Six months since they decided to have no contact with each other, claiming that it was the best. Throughout the six months Y/n hadn’t heard a thing from Charles, the occasional stalk on instagram but that was about it. Both of them were stubborn to break the no contact.

Y/n knew Charles like the palm of her hand, when their relationship had hit the four year milestone she knew the relationship had run its course. It didn’t take her by surprise when he decided to break up a few after their anniversary. The couple didn’t end on bad terms, both deciding that it was a good idea to take a break, Charles was at his peak with F1 and Y/n had finally gotten the record deal she had been desperately searching for. Time would tell if they were actually good for each other.

What did take Y/n by surprise was her phone lighting up the dark room showing the text message Charles had left her. She was supposed to be having fun with her friends, she was out having the time of her life and all of a sudden Charles decided to break their no contact. Maybe it was the alcohol in her system or the euphoric feeling that was creeping up her system due to the party but she found her way pushing past the sweaty bodies. Her left hand gripped on the bottle of alcohol while the right one held onto the phone for dear life.

When she finally reached the exit of the bar, she quickly slipped out sitting on the edge of the sidewalk to process the text message Charles had sent her. Y/n sat her drink next to her while pressing on her phone to unlock it, her eyes quickly landing on the text message.

‘hey :)”

Lowercase hey and a smiley face. What does a lowercase hey and a smiley face mean? The alcohol on the Y/n system was driving her manic. There she was, sitting down on the dirty side walk over analyzing her ex boyfriend’s hey. If she were sober she would’ve been calm and probably would’ve reacted the same way but with the alcohol flowing in her body she wanted that hey to have another meaning. She didn’t know how long she stayed typing on her phone but when she snapped back to reality when her phone started ringing, before picking it up she drank the contents of the drink next to her to gain courage.

“Hey Y/n! I saw you were typing a lot and decided to call you. I guess it’s easier to talk than to write, right?” Charles responded with a small laugh. Y/n awkwardly followed his laugh embarrassment filling her body. She was forever grateful that Charles couldn’t see her.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I just didn’t know what to text you. You are really full of surprises, I thought we had said that we weren’t going to contact each other” as soon as the words left Y/n’s mouth she instantly cringed knowing that her choice or words and tone didn’t help her situation. Charles let out a sigh from the line making Y/n let out an inaudible scream hiding her face between her knees.

“I just wanted to see how things were. I was scrolling through instagram and saw that you were in Miami and I just thought it was a weird coincidence that both of us were in Miami at the same time. I’m actually staying at a hotel nearby. I’m all alone and… ” Charles hesitated thinking if it was a good idea to continue his ramble. “I wanted to see if you wanted to join me. Maybe we could catch up. I miss you” Charles slurred being in the same condition as Y/n, it went unnoticed by her.

As the words slipped out of Charles mouth, Y/n took her face from in between her knees looking at the phone this time covering her mouth not believing what Charles was implying. Y/n she hadn't known Charles well enough to know when he wanted her. Maybe it was the picture she had posted on her instagram story or the lack of intimacy he was feeling but Y/n could sense and undertone from the other line.

“I’m out with my friends right now, Charles. I can’t just ditch them.” Y/n sighed as she looked at Charles' contact picture. God, she could feel her body turning into mush. She needed to snap out of it, they were done, she knew that.

“They won’t even notice that you’re gone. Plus, I know for a fact that your friends do it to you all the time.” Charles replied as Y/n played with the end of her shirt thinning her options through.l

“What would we do if I go there? Because I can assure you I’m having fun right now and if I go to your hotel it can’t be to do boring things” Y/n asked innocently while playing with the rim of her cup. Charles let out what she could assume was a needy sigh making her smirk.

“We can do whatever you want, Y/n. But I can assure you, you’ll have the time of your life. So what do you say?” Charles said and Y/n can imagine the small desperate look on his face. She wanted to egg on the feeling waiting a few seconds as she was searching for an answer hearing Charles rough breathing from the other side of the phone.

Y/n could barely hear her thoughts. She knew if she was in Charles' room that she wouldn’t be able to think clearly. It was a good idea to see Charles at these hours of the night. It was a really bad idea right? Maybe tonight wasn’t the best idea. She shouldn’t.

“I don’t know, Charles. I should probably not go” She barely mumbled and Charles waited a few seconds before answering.

“I promise it won’t be a mistake. I’ll send you an uber to pick you up. My room’s 215.”

“Fuck it. It’s fine, I’ll go.’

She wasn’t going to hear the end of this. Her friends were going to talk so much shit when they found out about this. But right now, she shouldn’t care. After six months, she was going to see Charles. Yes, he was her ex. But can’t two people reconnect? Exe’s could be friendly, she didn't see the wrong in that. Y/n only saw him as a friend. This was just going to be a friendly encounter. Two friends having a late night hang out, nothing special.

Y/n regretted a lot of things in her lifetime, but as Y/n found herself in the back of the uber xl just outside of Charles hotel, she started to think. She tried to think of things she had regretted ever since she met Charles and the only things that came to mind were things she didn’t regret doing, one of them being standing outside of Charles' hotel.

She stumbled into the elevator pressing the second floor button while leaning against her side waiting to see the face she had been missing. As the elevator doors opened patiently slowly she watched the door numbers increase as she walked farther in the hallway. When the number she was looking for came into view, she smiled, her hand hovering over it to knock but before she had the chance to do so, the door quickly opened.

There he was. Charles Leclerc, in all his glory. He looked down at her smiling at her with the smile she had fallen deeply for. She could say she had seen hotter men but seeing him with some loose sweatpants laying on his hips made her feel things she couldn’t even explain. God, when she looked at him her brain just said nonsense and she couldn’t even read her thoughts. All she could think of was the things that were going to happen once she entered that room.

“It’s really nice seeing you again, Y/n. You look beautiful.” Charles said, breaking the intense staring between the two pulling Y/n into a tight hug. Y/n responded missing being between his arms. She hid her face on his neck sensing his strong cologne taking her into an intoxicating trance. Charles' hand slowly wandered Y/n’s back landing on her lower back, rubbing it softly. The pair didn’t want to break their loving embrace, both of them desperately needing it but they also didn’t want to make headlines. So after a few minutes Charles pulled away, leaning past the door letting her scoot past him. Y/n eyes scanned the room, noticing the empty bottles of alcohol around the small room made her finally realize that Charles was in the same state as her. Y/n sat on the edge of the bed resting her hand on her knees looking down at the floor. Charles quickly closed the door behind him, while Y/n moved herself side to side on the bed attempting to get comfortable.

“No need to get all flustered, Y/n. It’s me. Now, I’m really glad you came here Y/n. How’s things? How’s your family and your music career? How's it going?” Charles started looking forward, not daring to look at her. Y/n blinked several times, starting to regret her decision of coming in the first place.

“Stop with the small talk and kiss me already, Charlie

At the sound of the nickname that he missed hearing the past few months. And with that Charles softly pushed Y/n back straddling her. He wasted no time attaching their lips together. Hunger. That’s what it felt like kissing each other after six months. None of them wanted to lose each other. Both of them let out a moan against their lips getting used to the touch they had missed. Y/n flipped them over as she looked down at Jason, pulling away. Charles instantly grabbed her waist, probably leaving a finger marked on her waist. A smirk adorned her lips as she noticed Charles unsteady breathing. Charles sent her a loopy smile and all she could think about was that she didn’t regret being here. She only saw him as a friend, tripping and falling into his bed.

No, it wasn’t a bad idea.

…

Y/n let out a groan as she turned to the side searching for her ringing phone. When she finally got a hold of it she noticed Charles' strong grip on her. She hid a smile as Charles parted lips let out little snores, his eye furrowed unintentionally. For a second Y/n forgot the rigging phone in her hand as her eyes wandered on Charles’ bare chest. Her finger traced on top of the bare skin noticing the marks from the night before. Charles’ eyes fluttered open glaring at her playfully. Y/n snapped back to reality moving her phone towards her eyes answering quickly.

“Finally! Where the hell are you, girl?” Y/n’s friend exclaimed loudly as Y/n pulled the phone away trying not to hear her that loud.

“I decided to go to bed early. That’s all.” Y/n responded while hearing her friend letting out a sigh of relief. As she did that Charles let out a chuckle gaining her friends attention.

“Wait, is there someone with you? Y/n” she exclaimed once again before Charles could say anything Y/n covered his mouth.

Even if it wasn’t a bad idea, her friends didn’t have to know she was under Charles Leclerc sheets.

instagram

y/nxcharlesupdates just posted

liked by user10, user19 and 1,037 others

y/nxcharlesupdates Charles showed up to Y/n's Bad Idea Right release party! Glad to see that they are still supporting each other as friends. Stream Bad Idea Rightl!!

ps. the music video for bad idea is out right now!!!

view all 568 comments

username friends? friends don't look at each other like that!

username can't believe y/n is looking at charles like that. do remember that that is the same guys she wrote sour about?

→username I can't blame charles he's still hooked on a bad bitch

username what do you mean out now?!

username who's hairy hand is that?

username y/n is just like us

→ username y/n stand up

username a Charles and y/n the world is healing

username she is glowing

→ username obviously, she's getting that dick everyday

instagram

y/n just posted

liked by conangray, charles_leclerc, lilymhe and 5,678,897 others

y/n bad idea right? this friday <3. I had such a fun time making this song with @dan_nigro in miami last year. we wrote it as a joke and we loved it so much that we made it into a full song.

view all 2,467 comments

lilymhe on repeat

→ y/n i love you!!

username real music is back!

username y/n dropped a song about her sex life with Charles now that their exe's on their anniversary day

→username and? another song Charles can say it's about him

username what do you mean out now?!

username If I were Charles I would be so proud

username don't worry y/n! it wasn't a bad idea

→ username charles pr team are fighting for his life

charles_leclerc love the song!

...

thank you for reading!!

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tinycozycomfort · 11 months

Text

flowering

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x f!reader

day four of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: degradation -> read her day four here

summary: Always itching to be blamed for something, just so he can try and redeem himself; some kind of penance has sunk its teeth into the soft belly of his desire, staking its hold.

warnings/tags: degradation/humiliation kink, sub!joel, name calling (whore) + pet names (sweetheart, honey), misuse of underwear (i know), c*ck grinding, finger sucking, edging

word count: 1.4k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: yes this is late. yes i will beg for forgiveness.

main masterlist

“I didn’t even talk to her.”

“That’s exactly right—you did nothing. Just stood there with that stupid look on your face while she tried to touch you. And you let her.”

Joel is panting under the arch of your legs so hard that you have to readjust your body, rocking your hips back to allow his chest more space to swell. His cock catches on the downturn, the wet film of your still-attached underwear enveloping his head.

You stifle a laugh at the hiss that leaks through his teeth, leaning forward to compensate for the new position—a small mercy—thighs bracketing the knobs of his waistline, seam of your cunt aligned with the underside of his length, hot and slick and what has to be painful for him at this point.

The lip of cotton around your waist curls with resistance, tugging at where it’s wedged between his stomach and the mash of your joint movements, trapping him inside.

“I didn’t mean any of it, you know that.”

“I don’t care if you didn’t mean it, Joel. If you want to act like a whore, I’m going to treat you like one,” you tsk at him, stale, like you can’t believe you have to spell it out for him, “Falling over at the attention of any woman willing to look at you, even when I’m in the same room. You earned this—remember that.”

You careen yourself into a start again, little jostling thrusts that make the material holding you together peel and reattach with a wet slap on each pass. Your clit rubs against the ridge that separates his tip and you moan, light and sweet and selfish, your head thrown over your shoulder. You can hear the sheet stretch to accommodate his fist under you, the uptick of his whining; you beam.

“N-No, fuck, please–” He tries desperately to keep himself still, knowing better than to extend his punishment. He’s been at the edge of something he doesn’t deserve more than a few times over the last hour, the glide of your heat over him and cruel delivery of your words enough to have him on the verge of absent, dizzy with pleasure.

You almost feel a twinge of guilt until you peer down to find he’s squeezed his eyes shut to remain focused, to keep his release at bay; he likes this, asks for it, he’d much rather be good than come.

You hold a moment to just take him in—the soft haze of sweat that mists his face, the curl his hair takes in the presence of it, the twinkling sheen around his mouth of everything he couldn’t clean up with his tongue after he'd eaten you through two orgasms. He has the sweetest flush flowering across the flat of his cheeks, every bit as pretty as he insists he’s not, even more so when he finally allows himself to unfurl.

Joel knows you’re looking, rolls his neck like he can hide—always dipping into a place of embarrassment over your attention. His eyes blink open and beyond his squirming you can see a shimmering glaze—that need that demands a cruel hand. Always itching to be blamed for something, just so he can try and redeem himself; some kind of penance has sunk its teeth into the soft belly of his desire, staking its hold. They fall in tandem now, hand in hand—one can’t exist without the other.

Joel loses his words, mouth floundering open and shut, so you wrap a hand around the line of his jaw to center him, fingers dimpling the skin over his teeth until you can make out the shape of each hard lump.

“No what, honey? Try it again.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to be a whore. Let me make it up to you, please.” A fold of bone in his finger twitches at his side, the dragging motion rippling the bed near your ankle; his tell, he’s close. You are, too, the spool of liquid fire in your core unwinding, sloshing until it licks at your spine. You love to see him like this, so eager to do right by you after an offense he hadn’t even committed.

“So earlier when you said you didn’t do anything wrong, were you lying? Or are you lying now?”

“I was lying before. I was a whore, but I don’t want to be. I want to be good,” he breathes, and that’s what you’ve been waiting for, there’s that declaration—of better, of changing, of promise.

“Of course you do, sweetheart. It was a horrible thing you did, so I can’t just let you fuck me. What good would that do?” You pause the swing of your hips, bending at the waist so you can rub the crest of your nose against his neck, his jaw still gathered in your clutch.

Trained to answer, he doesn’t hesitate, “Nothing.”

“Right again,” you tap your longer fingers against his cheek and he preens, taking any reward he can get, “What should we do about this, then?” It’s as much a check-in as it is a threat, trying to gauge just how much more of this almost-there he can take—though you assume he’d toe this line until his body gave out, relishing in the feeling of being afforded repentance.

“Let me make you come again. Wanna taste you.” Joel’s voice is broken, hoarse, and as much as you want to allow him his atonement, the thick shape of his cock isn’t lost on you, the pulse from within it thrumming devastatingly hard on your clit. You want to feel him, want to be able to have him undo you once he’s accepted his scolding, just as desperate for his prize as he is.

For him, you see it through, keeping the routine intact—wrong-doing, judgment, penalty, reassurance, compromise, forgiveness, “I can’t just give you what you want, either. ‘M gonna have to make it a long night for you, baby. Think you can take it?”

He’s nodding before you even finish and you’re grinning again, so enamored with the pile of man beneath you, fierce and hard and soft and delicate, everything he told you he wasn’t sure he could be again.

“So polite. Come for me, then. This is just the start; gonna wear you out so good you couldn’t whore around even if you wanted to.”

“I don’t w—”

You shush him, little tuts of your teeth that tell him no, as you maneuver your hand to be able to slide two fingers between his lips, pressing down firmly on his tongue. He moans, curling the smooth muscle between them, face going slack.

Joel sets off immediately, canting his hips up into yours, heaving when he ruts into the strip of fabric encasing you both, the strung-up spots having run cold—no skin to steal warmth from during your lull.

You can feel yourself bridging the gap to completion but you refrain, wanting to see him apologize for finishing before you—he’ll thank you for it later.

He thrusts shallow enough to continuously notch against your opening—tight, purposeful dips that bring him right to the cusp.

“Come on, honey. Shouldn’t be that hard for you. You drool for all the other girls, what about me?”

That’s the last straw, apparently, hard intakes of air popping in his throat like gnarled cries, pieces of voice that sound like thank you, I’m sorry, I love you breaking the gulps between them. He spills everywhere, most of it getting caught in the halo of material still somehow propped on your waist, squelching when it drips back between you.

You coo at him to guide him through it, an inversion of everything you’ve accused him of, freeing yourself from his mouth to press kisses to the corner of his lips.

When he comes to, he looks small—sweet—the swath of color in his face running red. “Again,” he whispers, the bend of his mouth letting you know he’s giddy—unwound, “Please, again.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #joel miller/reader

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lurkingshan · 5 months

Text

10 Things I Love About Only Boo!

*kicks down the door* I'm a few weeks late but I have arrived and I am here to yell about this fucking adorable show. Have you heard that it's the cutest shit you've ever seen in a fresh new package of all your favorite silly old romance tropes? Besties, this is truly the Sunday Serotonin we need. Here are the top 10 things I love about it:

The main romance is between a confident sunshine protagonist and a kind older boy working through his grief and an artistic block. Mok (Moo) and Kang are such nice boys, two cinnamon rolls too sweet and pure for this world, and I loved them instantly. They have a nice crackly chemistry between them and really solid communication right from the start.

The setting is rural and refreshing. Moo moves to Nakhom Pathom to attend school for a semester because his mom wants him to focus on his studies before she will allow him to pursue a career as an idol. Little did she know she was delivering him to a cute boy who would become the new distraction.

The crushing and flirting starts immediately, and it's mutual. They just like each other, man. Kang is (slightly) older and trying to be responsible about keeping Moo focused on his studies so he's putting up some token resistance, but it's very very token. They both find excuses to keep seeing each other after they meet.

There's a side couple with a long-term pining friends to lovers arc. The way I squealed when they revealed that photo wall. I support you, Payos, you will get your boo. These two also have a lovely, easy chemistry and seem so comfortable around each other. Their characterization also gets a fun twist in the beginning of the story.

The writing is strong and assured. This was written by the same screenwriting team as Cooking Crush, aka the best written original Thai bl of last season. These folks know their way around a smart romcom. They know how to deploy classic tropes so they feel fresh, build authentic character arcs, and make all the beats of the story feel confident. We are in good hands and don't need to worry about any out of left field conflicts or weird plot turns with this one.

A fresh new cast brings a ton of energy. I really love all four of the main actors for this show. They're young and bright and breathing some new life into an old formula. And both pairs have solid chemistry and seem comfortable in their scenes together.

Some of our old favorites are here too. They've made the smart decision to bolster the young main cast by surrounding them with more experienced seniors like our lady Milk, here playing Kang's friend and neighbor who is all up in his crush on Moo. Louis and Book are also going to show up at some point.

The show incorporates music and dancing in such a charming way. Moo is one of those kids who just has to dance, and the show mines a lot of comedy around his efforts to stifle the impulse as his mom ordered. I don't think he'll hold out for long, though, because Payos and Tae are on him to train with them. And of course the music supervisor is having a great time working in some classic GMMTV music gags (yes, Love Score and Too Cute To Handle both make memorable appearances).

It's a high school story brimming with youthful energy without being mired in immaturity. The tone of this show reminds me of My School President in the best way, in that it has all the sweetness and innocence of a high school romance without making the characters so immature and bad at communication that it's annoying to watch. As expected from the CC writers, these characters may be inexperienced but they are going to talk to each other and honesty will prevail every time.

We are only three episodes in and the romance is already well underway. This is the kind of show where we will see the main pair flirt and date and face obstacles together. The swoony moments started immediately and Moo is already throwing around the faen title. We know from the synopsis that the core conflict will come when Moo is forced to choose between his relationship with Kang and his dream of being an idol, and I expect he will be finding a way around that choice. I'll be strapped in for the ride because I already believe in these two.

#only boo #only boo the series #thai bl #10 things #shan recommends #shan shouts into the void

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msbigredmachine · 3 months

Text

New To This - Chapter 8

A/N: So glad to be back and writing again. Thanks to every single wonderful one of you who checked on me and sent me well wishes! You all know who you are and I appreciate you all so much!

This is quite the chapter 😈Enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Three sets of workout gear for the week, one for each day of the tryout. Two extra t-shirts. One good pair of jeans. Three outfits for nights out, most likely with her fellow recruits. Deodorant. Makeup bag. Skincare products. Certain that she had everything, she zipped her carry-on luggage closed. She checked her watch. 6.30am. Her Uber would be arriving any moment from now to drive her to the airport.

“Babe?”

The sound of Andre’s voice turned Delilah’s head towards the bedroom door, where he stood holding something in his hands.

“You forgot somethin',” he whispered, a hint of mirth struggling with the sadness in his voice as he held out what looked like a denim jacket. And not just any denim jacket. It was her favorite one, with the back embroidered with the words “Dee & Dre Forever”. She’d had that jacket since she was a teenager and had worn it through many milestones in her life so far; her high school graduation, her first job, Andre’s proposal. Despite her annoyance with him, she allowed herself to smile as she went to take it from him. “Thanks,” she murmured.

For a moment, the couple stood there, regarding each other silently. Then, he extended his hand to her, which she took, letting him pull her in for a big hug. Her heart began to thaw as his arms tightened around her waist, his face nuzzling her neck before lifting to press his lips to hers. Her blood still simmered because he was making her take this trip alone, but he seemed to be trying. Plus, she couldn’t resist responding to his sweet kisses, and she found herself missing him already.

The buzz of her phone broke their embrace, as well as the honk of a car horn blaring through the quiet of the morning. “I gotta go. My Uber’s here,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly misty at the thought of leaving him alone for an entire week, the longest they’d ever been apart.

With his arm around her shoulders, Andre escorted her through the front door and helped her stow her luggage in the trunk. He kissed her one more time. “I love you, baby. Good luck out there,” he said.

“Thanks.”

---------------

Four days later

The final day of tryouts arrived with a bittersweet feeling as Delilah joined the assembly of her fellow recruits around the ring. It was almost eight in the morning and they should have gotten started by now, but she appreciated the little break in transmission.

She thought Tank was a tough trainer, but he was a teddy bear compared to the coaches of the world-renowned Performance Center. Their drills were brutal and the promo classes were intense. She was sore and strained, but she could honestly say she had never felt stronger. She was hanging with D1 athletes and former pros, ranking among the top ten women in all the combines. Her promo skills needed some more work but she was in the perfect place to improve. She was getting encouragement from people who were experts at spotting talent, and she was eating up all their advice with a spoon.

The head coach, Matt Bloom, clapped his hands and called for everyone to settle down before making his announcement. “So guys, for our last day, we got a special guest coach who will be overseeing your progress today.” He paused to absorb the curious chatter among the recruits. “Without wasting any time, please join me in welcoming one half of the greatest tag team in WWE history, Main Event Jey Uso!”

Goosebumps sprouted on Delilah’s arms before Coach Bloom even finished saying his name. Sure enough, there he was, strutting through the door to the recruits’ rapturous applause. They had talked just yesterday and not once did he mention that he was coming. The star power oozed from him even from across the room. He was dressed for a workout, showing off that fabulous body of his, and Delilah couldn’t help but stare. She wasn’t the only one, as she could hear a number of the girls fawning over him, stirring an emotion inside her that had no business being stirred.

The recruits stood on the apron surrounding the ring, watching him demonstrate the perfect Samoan drop. He looked good. Really good. Throughout, she kept her distance, not wanting to rouse any suspicions. He stayed out of reach too, but that didn’t stop the electricity from crackling when he was near her, or the jealousy that simmered inside her when females flirted with him, a few of them laying their desperation on thick with their flirty gestures and hushed, lewd comments about getting him in their beds. To Josh’s credit, he seemed unfazed by it all and Delilah wanted to believe his aloofness had something to do with her. No matter what those bitches tried, none of them had any chance with her m–…him.

At the end of the tryout, the prospects got to mingle with Josh and all the other trainers for one last time. Delilah remained at arm’s length as she watched him work the room, keeping her cool when he finally made his way over to her.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she smiled, elbowing him in the ribs and making him chuckle.

“Wanted to surprise you. You ain’t miss me too much, did you?” he joked, his eyes drifting down her body for a split second before meeting hers again. A blush crept up Delilah’s neck.

“Consider me surprised. But I’m glad you came,” she said sincerely.

“Me too. You killed it out there, girl. All your hard work is payin’ off.”

“I know. It’s been a dream and then some,” Delilah sighed happily, looking around in awe at the place that had been her classroom for the last three days. “I still can’t believe I’m here, this is so surreal,” she gushed.

Josh laughed at her dreamy expression. “Aw, you so cute. Tell you what, how about dinner with me tonight,” he offered.

Delilah’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”

“I ain’t stutter,” he smiled. “You’ve had a long week. You should celebrate in style. Come kick it with ya boy.”

Wow. Was he seriously asking her out? Was that what this was? “There’s a party tonight for all the recruits and we’re all gonna be there. Won’t it look weird if I’m not there?” she asked, acutely aware that it sounded like an excuse.

“You can stay at your party for a bit and then come to me,” Josh replied smoothly. “The hotel I’m staying at got a great steakhouse. You’ll love it. I’ll get you a ride for eight-thirty. Sound good?”

The confident tone of his voice left no room for any protest. Not that she was going to. The lure of free fancy food and his company was too great. “Okay. Eight-thirty it is,” she answered.

---------------

The atmosphere inside the hookah lounge was great. Everyone was in a mellow and good mood. Laughter and drinks were plentiful as the recruits let loose and enjoyed the night. Delilah was on cloud nine. This was the kind of camaraderie she had imagined when she first embarked on this wild dream of hers, to bond with elite competitors and become friends over a shared dream they all hoped would come true.

But she looked forward to seeing Josh too, and she was counting down the seconds to eight-thirty. Her heart leapt when his text came in informing her that a car was outside waiting for her. Sneaking away was quite easy and as she slipped inside the Chevy Suburban to head to his hotel, a million thoughts ran through her head as to what else was in store tonight.

Josh was waiting in the lobby for her, his eyes lighting up when they landed on her. Delilah forced herself to close her mouth as quickly as it dropped. Words couldn't quite describe how delicious he looked.

Dressed in all black, his tattoos glistening on his skin and the jeweled gold Cuban link glittering under the collar of his short-sleeved dress shirt. He wore a devastating smile while clutching a bouquet of red roses in his hands. That visual alone made her glad that she'd chosen to wear a bodysuit instead of a dress.

“You look beautiful, baby girl. These are for you,” he murmured before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

Delilah blushed, holding the bouquet to her bosom as she inhaled their scent. She let him take her smaller hand in his and led her into the fancy restaurant. The maitre’d was waiting for them already, ushering the pair to a private corner table. The little lanterns above were soothing and illuminated the elegant space. After Josh helped Delilah into her seat and took his place next to her, the waiter handed them their menus and left to give them some privacy.

“This place is really nice. I get why you wanted us to come here,” Delilah smiled at Josh.

“Only the best for you, baby girl. Order whatever you want,” he told her simply.

The food was delicious - steak for him, lobster for her - and conversation was fun. There was always such an easy, natural flow between them, and as the night wore on they seemed to grow closer, their laughter softer and their gazes more intent and intimate. They sat side by side, with their shoulders pressed close together. She was soon leaning into him, feeling nice and warm from a mix of Daiquiri and white wine and his bigger muscular body warming hers. It wasn’t the wisest move on her part, but she felt so cozy just being in his presence and she was genuinely enjoying his attention.

It had been a while since she did something like this with Andre.

“I’m lookin’ for a new place in P-cola,” Josh informed her as he took a sip of his champagne. “You said your man’s a landscaper, right?”

With her dessert fork, Delilah cut up a piece of her red velvet ganache cake slice. “Yeah.”

Josh felt his body flush with desire as he watched her slide the cake into her mouth, licking the fork with long leisurely swipes of her tongue as she relished every delicious crumb. Clearing his throat, he soldiered on. “A’ight, cool. I might hit him up to do some stuff for me.”

Delilah scoffed and took another bite. “Yeah, let’s not do that.”

“Why? What’s the problem? You don’t want him to find out about us or somethin’?” he joked. Or at least he hoped it sounded like one.

She rolled her eyes. “Um, what ‘us’? I’m engaged and you’re married. Remember?”

“Separated,” Josh corrected.

“Right. Not divorced. Big difference.”

“So if I was divorced, would things be different?” Josh inquired.

“With who?”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “With you and me, duh.”

There he went again. ‘Us’. ‘You and me’. Why did she feel like she was being put on the spot? More importantly, why did she feel guilty for not giving him the answers he wanted? Putting her fork down, her shrug was shy and half-hearted. “I dunno,” she mumbled.

Josh kissed his teeth with a wry smile. “Damn. Way to break a man’s heart, baby girl.”

Delilah shook her head and sipped her drink. “You been sayin’ some wild shit lately.”

“Maybe. But in my defense, I can’t help myself around you sometimes,” he said in a voice so husky that she had to turn her head to face him. His arm had circled her shoulders, bringing her just a little closer to him. The weight of his stare was crushing, and she tried to focus on something else, struggling to steer away from the path she’d thought she could manage venturing down.

“Gee, this is some good cake,” she breathed and picked up the plate of cake a little too aggressively, cursing to herself when some frosting smeared her index finger.

“Let me get that.” Josh reached out to capture her wrist, bringing her finger to his mouth and sucking off the frosting slowly, teasing her, testing her willpower. She sat still, wide eyes locking with his own hypnotic and mesmerizing irises, the color of hot coffee on a cold winter's day. He was such a beautiful man, so sexy that she felt paralyzed, her heart thrumming with a familiar warmth that rushed down south to make her slick between her thighs. The restaurant seemed to shrink around them in the minutes that they stared at each other, that simmering tension finally boiling over to the point of no return.

Josh released her hand to caress her cheek, his tongue snaking out to moisten his lips as he stared her down with a bone-melting intensity.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, dipping his head and brushing his lips over her own.

It was as if an unstoppable force collided with an immovable object when their mouths met. The first taste of each other only served to heighten the suffocating lust between them. Her fingers raked through his short hair, a low moan escaping her throat when their tongues tangled, her heart thumping rapidly from his sweet taste. This kiss awakened her body in ways only one other man in her lifetime had, burning her from the inside out, burning away all memories of him and leaving her famished for someone else.

Without breaking the kiss, Josh wrapped his arms around Delilah’s waist and pulled her on top of him. Instantly, she felt his dick, hard and persistent, through his pants and it rubbed against the thin material of her romper, right on her clit. His erection felt big and she instinctively rolled her ass on it, making them both moan. Her lithe, smooth body grinded intimately against his, driving their arousal up another notch. The temperature ratcheted up by several degrees as he gripped her backside in his big hands and moved her back and forth on him, making her ride him like they were naked. In an even bolder move, his fingers weaved under the hem of her bodysuit, spreading her ass cheeks open to tease her pussy from behind.

The feel of his fingertips grazing her entrance snapped Delilah out of her trance, and she jumped as if she’d been burned. She pulled away abruptly and clambered off him, breathing hard like she’d just run a marathon.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry I can’t,” she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes. “I have to go.” Without another word, she snatched her purse and rushed away from their table and out the door. Josh watched her flee, bewildered by her reaction.

-----------------

Ooooh. Thoughts?

Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.

🏷️: @jxtina-86 @wrestlingprincess80 @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @harmshake @alyyaanna @squishyguishy @jstarr86 @murrylove @thewarlordsworld @mzv11 @cozyaliensuperstar7 @nayys-world @hunnidmilly @cyberdejos2 @papireigns-05 @harmshake @niknakbucks92 @captainwithoutmakingitlove @sovereigngoth @aisharmi @kennedi0818 @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @herwickedlittlesins @questionable-behaviour @tribalchiefreigns @2-muchsauce @thatbxtchsblog @raya-hunter01 @marchi36753 @lovelysuccess @christinabae @wooahmiri @thatonecarebear @tabletheofhead @rheaanddamianfan @vebner37 @hanley1577 @princessesareforsuckers @-naturally @joannasteez @bbygirlky18 @lilucey @theninthwonder @melaninsugababy @chocovibesonly @msbluehaz3 @scarlettnoir01 @heerah34 @empressdede @tbmotw @darkangelchronicles @visionarymode @marasdeathnote @aintnorainbows @meggylynnloves @shantinextdoor @harlemblipster @trc-punzel @afterdarkprincess @nbanenefrmdao @sassginaswanmills @purplehairgawdess @holisticcoach @girlwhogaf @royalkay23 @heyitsnajabrinee @stoner2k @reci1996 @catxo @iamimanim @lookmais @ts1mp0ne @lizzyd1ish @m3llowww @skyesthebomb @final1miya @kia1996 @randomuser0711 @yourtribalqueen @caramelcleopatraa @katymae12344 @that-one-anxious-mango @yana3sworld @ajenae @truefant4sy @thetribalqueen @bhjszsdxc @paigereeder @christinabae @justazzi @maknaehyucks @mindairy @headoftheetable @truefant4sy @mscarter213 @ariiaeltheedonn @sageispunk

#jey uso #main event jey uso #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso smut #jey uso imagines #jey uso fanfic #jey uso x black reader #jey uso x oc

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casterousaudrey · 1 year

Text

Healing Touch

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: Astarion/Cleric!Tav!reader

Theme: tooth rotting fluff, some religious themes due to reader being a cleric.

Note: I think I made the reader and Astarion too obsessed with each other.. but in a good way!! Also this was inspired by the time I gave offerings in the stromshore tabernacle and I just see the 'Astarion disapproves', what the flip man! Sorry to those who were waiting for this, It took a while because of my busy sched!

"I’m never going to accept any kind of healing that doesn't end with a kiss after"

Fighting with Astarion never escalated far. It was usually just small jabs at each other or teasing gone too far but then there are times like these when neither one of you would back down it just kept making the fight more heated.

"I bring you once. One time to the stormshore tabernacle, and you can't even hold your tongue when I'm trying to commune with my God!"

"I just thought that you weren't the type to bow down to anyone, my dear."

"I'm a cleric, Astarion! Yes, I'm a devoted worshiper to my God and they give me strength! Apparently, strength I need to deal with you!"

Astarion sneers and crosses his arms at you. Worshipping another being doesn't exactly sit well with him, he feels that it controls you and makes you too dependent on them. It was probably due to how Cazador treated him but in his mind, any being asking for worship was self-admiring.

"You have your own strength, darling. So pardon me if I don't think you need some God for that."

"It's not that I don't trust my skills, Astarion. I worship my God because I choose to. Was it too much of me to ask my lover to respect that holy place? If not for the Gods then at least for me!"

At this point, you were screaming your lungs out not caring that the others in camp were glancing at the commotion. This wasn't the first Astarion had expressed his distaste for your faith, it never escalated this far because you tried to understand his situation with Cazador and all. But the constant disapproving stare and look of disgust, whenever you would pray to your God or gather some offerings to bring to the stormshore Tabernacle slowly, got to you.

After all the times you saved him from life-threatening wounds, you thought that maybe he'd warm up to your faith- but he remained unshaken.

"I'm going to take a walk... It's better if you don't follow me for now....., dearest" Your heart jumps a little at the nickname but then anger eventually pops your lovesick bubble. Astarion gets up and leaves camp, his definition of laying off steam was to walk through the woods and terrorize whatever animal crosses his path. You were about to say something about how you were the one who was supposed to storm off but instead, you held your tongue and went back to your tent making sure to close the opening.

You loved Astarion- and there is no doubt in your heart that he loves you too, but you didn't want to have to choose between faith and love because you believed that they are the main pillars that keep your spirit strong.

~~~

As Astarion was walking through the woods he reminisced about the argument you both had, he couldn't understand why anyone would worship a being without being sure that they'd get a reward in return. The only thing close to God he had in his life was Cazador- oh and how much he wanted to rip his face apart.

Astarion ponders all of this unaware he is dangerously close to enemy territory and suddenly senses another presence- maybe four around the trees. "If you're going to spy on me all day at least make it less obvious" Just then two goblins jump down from the tree, their weapons craving for blood.

"Hells, there must be quite a bounty on my head" Astarion smiles as he brings his weapons out. He strikes at the first goblin. "You fiends are making this stress reliever way easier for me. I can do this all day!" Astarion did occasionally love the thrill of the hunt, especially when he gets something in return. A thought comes across his mind that he feels rather... alone in this fight, although he could handle this on his own he couldn't help but crave your helping hand and your smile that shines when he saves you from danger.

Unfortunately, Astarion didn't realize how distracted he was until one of the goblins blew a horn, a signal for backup.

"Well, shit.."

Astarion killed the first two goblins but he sees backup quickly replacing them. The grip on his dagger tightened, this was supposed to be a nice relaxing walk to calm down or even hunt for other creatures. He guesses that trouble always did find a way to follow him.

The goblins fall one by one but not after Astarion gets injured by their bows, axes, and maces. As the last goblin loses, Astarion clutches his side. He was hurt and it's been so long since he's felt hurt in combat, his mind jumps again to your hands that always healed him at an instant or your ability to heal the entire team within seconds. God, he really missed you- he didn't even feel angry anymore, he just wanted to be in your arms as you kiss every part of his injuries after you healed it.

Just then he hears a footstep, and he groans in annoyance, more of this and he'd actually collapse- either from his injuries or his need to hold you again, he isn't sure.

"Look if you're looking for gold, you're out of luck..."

"Oh Gods.. what happened?"

He quickly glances to his side where the figure had approached from where he was sitting. Astarion half expected it to be you, The thought of you running after him made him smile but then it quickly disappeared when he realized the fact that the female human in front of him may be a cleric but it wasn't his beloved cleric.

"We should get you back to the church! They'll help heal your wounds!"

"As kind as your offer is, I'm afraid I have to decline. I can't these injuries for myse-" Just as Astarion tries to stand up, he feels pain in his side. He now just felt annoyed that he was displaying this kind of weakness to some stranger.

"Nonsense! I'll help bring you there!" The cleric smiles as she wraps Astarions arm across her shoulder. Astarion couldn't protest as much because of his condition but he'd be damned if he'll let himself get healed by some cleric.

~~~

The sun was about to set and Astarion still hadn't come back to camp. You were getting worried, you weren't even mad at him anymore you just wanted him safe and back in your arms. You really did fall hard for this man.

"Hey soldier... are you okay?" Karlach has seen you pacing back and forth all over camp, fiddling your weapon nervously, and even stress-eating your favorite sweets.

"Yeah, sorry if I'm being all jittery today it's just.."

"Astarion, yeah I know how much you care about each other. I'm sure he'll come back safe!"

"Thank you, Karlach. You're the best"

You softly smile at her as she waves and walks back to her tent. Just then you hear Gale laughing walking towards you, he just came back from town to fetch new ingredients for tonight's meal. He always loved cooking for the group.

"Ok you won't believe what happened"

"Spit it out, Gale. What's gotten into you?"

"Ok, so I was walking around the city and I stopped by the church. Guess who I saw there sneering at every cleric on-site..."

"No..."

"Astarion! Gods, if you saw the furrowed brows of the clerics trying to help him you'd laugh too"

"He's hurt?!"

"Not badly, I came to tell you about it. Figured the only cleric he'd let touch him was you"

You started to flush but quickly remembered that your partner was hurt. "Oh Gods, I need to go there Gale before he loses his mind. We'll be back for dinner!" You grabbed a few of your belongings, as well as some healing ingredients, and sprinted out. You wave quickly at the others before reaching the path to the church.

You have no idea why you were nervous to see Astarion, you see each other every day and sometimes even every night. You were scared if you got there and he was still mad at you. You push those thoughts away because all you wanted was to see and help him (maybe to also give him a little smooch but you won't tell him that).

As you open the door you hear the clatter of equipment being thrown to the ground, You greet the other people you know at church as you hear another glass breaking. You already know who would be acting hysterical in a church so you followed the sound and opened the door to reveal your one and only lover sitting up on a bed and a cleric who had been trying to help him.

"Oh sorry ma'am but this section is strictly forbidden to outsiders"

"It's ok I'm a cleric, and he's my husband"

"Oh well... if that's the case I can hand his case to you!"

The female cleric quickly picked up her equipment and left the room, she seemed a little too eager to finally leave. You turn to face Astarion whose eyes are already on you, his lips curled to a smile- at least you know he isn't mad.

"Husband? You could at least take me out for dinner first, darling"

"Oh hush, that was one of the only peaceful to get her to leave us alone"

The other beds in the room were surprisingly empty, leaving the both of you alone. You walked towards his bed as you set your bag on the side table. You place yourself in between his legs as you softly caress his face with your hands.

"How's my favorite vampire doing"

"Better now that you're here.... look darling, I just wanted to apologize for my actions earlier. It was completely uncalled for. The closest thing to a God I knew was Cazador... you saw firsthand how much I hate the beast.. but I also understand that it wasn't like that for you, I can live with you being faithful to a God and it also makes you kind, sometimes too kind"

"Too kind, eh? Maybe I should just leave your injuries unattended then"

"I would appreciate it if you won't"

You laugh softly at him as you place a kiss on his lips and at his lashes. You've always loved his eyes and how easily you could get lost in them. Astarions hands were on your waist as you lifted his shirt to finally tend to his wounds.

"I'm also sorry for screaming at you. Wasn't very kind of me to do... but also you were an ass"

"What an apology, my dear"

"Only the best for you"

Still in his hold, you grab a few medicines in your bag and quickly healed him with your magic. In no time Astarion was all healed, all that was left was to clean his bloodied clothing. You loved times like this- intimate and calm, You thank your God for the power to help him because he does get into trouble quite often.

"And there, you're all set. We can go back to camp now if you want"

"It still hurts right here, love"

You glanced at where his fingers were pointing only for it to be pointed at his lips. "Want me to kiss it better?"

"I wouldn't want nothing more, my sweet"

You chuckle as you kiss him on his lips. Even before you got together he always had this flirtatious attitude, you could argue that it only became more frequent when you got together. Always the charmer.

"Now let's go home before the others get worried" He released his hold on your hips as he stood up and stretched a bit. "Anything you say, darling"

"Why didn't you want to get healed by the other clerics?"

"Oh well they aren't as attractive, strong, smart, and quick-witted as you.... besides"

Astarion turns to you holding both of your hands in his as you look him in the eye.

"You're my one and only cleric. I’m never going to accept any kind of healing that doesn't end with a kiss after"

"You could ask Shadowheart next time"

"Ughh don't even get me started, I was trying to be romantic..."

Taglist: @severusminerva, @sarahskywalker-amadala, @ghostinvenus, @veethewriter. Hope you guys enjoyed this!! xoxo

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion #astarion x mc #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #bg3 tav #baldurs gate iii #astarion x tav

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milkypompon · 4 months

Text

Chapter 3 | Pick Up

pairing: Marc Spector x Reader (implied Steven Grant x Reader, implied Jake Lockley x Reader)

summary: Even after a year living with Steven and Jake in the headspace, Marc struggles to quiet the buzzing chatter. He finds himself frequenting Coffee for Two, a place where brewing roasts fill the air and the cookies are as sweet as the barista.

this chapter: you finally receive a phone call...?

content: Mentions of Marc's past, plotty plot plot

wc: 2k+

a/n: I'm exploring the dynamic between the moon boys! Specifically on Steven and Jake's understanding of the system.

Moon Knight Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Coffee Doodles Masterlist

< Previous || Next >

–

Take it out of that pile of shit, Stevie.

“I won’t.”

Ay, do it before I sit your ass to the back.

Steven stares into the rubbish, listening to Jake’s half-hearted threats.

It didn’t matter if he tossed it into a trash compactor and cast it into the open sea, they both memorized the number on the cup.

How else could they have survived as Khonshu’s avatar?

The god spouted astronomical coordinate systems during missions, instead of cardinal directions. It was disrespectful of his domain to merely water down the night sky into four words or their combinations, according to the squawking bird.

Regardless, no point of direction from his alter or the moon god could shift his moral compass.

“I dare you, mate.”

Jake grumbles under his breath.

Neither of them liked to tug on the string that forced control over the body. They wouldn’t be any better than Khonshu rattling his wrapped talons over their lifeforce — a puppet at the hands of its master.

We’re allowed to live our own lives. Isn’t that what you wanted?

“This isn’t just about me anymore. Or just you for that matter.”

Once, Steven wanted nothing more than to free himself of the sleep-deprived nights and taste a drip of normalcy. He thought the only way to do that was to overcome whatever was going on in his head.

Egypt.

Khonshu.

The happenings in the Duat with Marc and Jake.

But now, his life, their life was more than that.

Steven was more than elated to discover support from a place he couldn’t even begin to fathom.

Finding a way for each of them to front was a balancing act through understanding. It isn’t created by compartmentalizing the week into color-coded days or agreeing to a first come first serve basis. Their system was far from perfect, but it was their’s.

Restraint was the seed of their problems, among other things, but the anxiousness of being confined (like they were in the sarcophagus) was something they couldn’t stomach.

An attempt to claw himself out would forego the delicate trust built on an unsteady foundation.

No more lies.

No more secrets.

And definitely, no more double duties.

“Besides, you said it yourself. We should live our own life. If either of us rings up the barista, despite all her loveliness, you’d be pretending to be Marc.”

Jake knew what was coming next. Don’t tell that story again–

Steven turns up his nose toward the reflection on the toaster. “Need I remind you, the last time you filled in my shoes, I ended up at a steakhouse for a date?”

You’re never gonna let me live that down, eh? At least it got you outta the stuffy museum for the night.

“Hmph, I’m never take dating advice from you, no matter how desperate I get.”

Well, desperate times call for desperate measures.

How about you take those pretty little fingers and pick up that damn cup! And use your other set of five to press the numbers into your phone.

Jake tended to spear-head ways to bring the out of their shell, it stemmed from years of hiding away. His actions came from good intentions, though the sentiments among the three weren’t always shared.

“Not gonna be late for my first day, you twat.”

Steven tugs the handles of the trash bag into a neat bow, double-knotting it to emphasize the point.

He chews the inside of his cheek. It’s been a day, but he still couldn’t feel Marc’s presence after retreating into the recesses of their mind. He’d be lying to himself if he said that things were a little easier this time around.

Despite going through hell and back (almost quite literally), maybe there would be a shared bonding experience that would lead them on the right track. But it always seemed like something veered them a little bit off-center. This time it wasn't a life-threatening mission...

Steven shrugs on his jacket and tinkers with the doorknob.

–

Since the last time Steven worked at the gift shop, he swears the British Museum didn’t sell the stone statues of the Ennead. (He wonders what else popped up during his absence). At least nine deities are behind the display case, instead of the misprinted eight on the poster.

How the toymakers laid their hands on strangely accurate models of the ushabtis is beyond him. It isn’t his problem anymore, the days of working inventory are over.

Whoever is responsible for the new figurines must be the same person who sorted out his new job. After the loo and jackal incident, he swore up and down that he blew the opportunity to become a tour guide.

He shoulders his bag and heads to the information desk, where a familiar blond sifts through papers.

Steven clears his throat. “Morning, Donna!”

“Stevie.” She peers up, a strained smile splitting her face, and hands him his nametag.

It doesn’t matter if she calls him the wrong name, nothing could take away the bubbling joy in his heart. He holds it in his two hands as if cradling a duckling.

Steven marvels at it briefly and smiles, noticing the engraved designs. He runs his thumb over it.

A scarab and a moon.

Layla must’ve put a good word in for him before she left for Egypt.

He clips it onto his breast pocket.

Steven Grant Tour Guide

Donna pipes up, “After you’re done ogling, group A is waiting up front. Speak up a bit for that bunch. Mostly grandparents looking for a day out.”

Steven weaves between visitors meandering through the halls before standing in front of about ten people. A few wandering eyes behind a pair of thick glasses are already looking past him and at the exhibit. Others are fidgeting with their canes.

“Hiya, there everyone! I’m Steven with V and’ll be your tour guide for the day.” He claps his hands with a bright smile.

Steven walks backward to face the group while explaining each artifact with animated hand gestures and fluctuating voice impressions. There are tidbits of information he sprinkles in pulled from personal encounters with the gods. But, he skirts around how the unfriendly croc wanted to consume the souls of the living.

The tour ends in a little under an hour, leaving enough wiggle room for a q and a portion. He rounds them up in front of a sectioned-off hall where they are free to discuss the pieces without the usual prattling of sugar-infested children.

“Anything you’d like to know more about off the top of your noggin?”

A shaky hand raises, a paper bracelet decorating the granny’s wrist.

People rarely asked questions, so Steven beams at the prospect of going off into another tangent with someone as captivated as he is in Egyptology.

“Yes, please! Go ahead.”

She smiles curiously and points to the unopened area of the museum. “What’s in there?”

“Ah, your guess is as good as mine. It’s my first day here so the curators haven’t filled me in on what’s going.”

“Could we take a peek?”

The hall isn’t open to the public for various reasons – there are fragile steles, brittle canopic jars, and parchment that resemble closer to dust than paper. Still, it tickled his fancy to be one of the first few people to check out the unearthed pieces.

He scratches the back of his neck. “The guided tour has ended, but feel free to stick around with me and the missus here if you’d like to look in.”

The group is seemingly uninterested, except for her. They disperse with an appreciative nod and head toward the exit.

“Well, aren’t you a sponge for knowledge!” Steven unclips the rope from the pole and ushers her inside. “Watch your step, might be bits and pieces of packing stuffs.”

Wooden crates line the walls along the respective categories of tools, ceremonial weapons, and non-utilitarian objects. The last are Steven’s particular favorite.

His eyes land on a slab of stone with carefully carved hieroglyphs. “This poem is dedicated to Hathor, the Goddess of Love. How lovely!”

It’s set inside a glass case, Marc stares back at him on the reflection with a slight frown, but it isn’t directed toward him.

Her hand sidles up to the barrier, Steven glances at the strip of paper around her wrist… it’s a hospital bracelet.

“Can the other two read this like you can?”

Steven’s mouth gapes open and before he can reply she recites the hieroglyphs to his (and Marc’s) surprise.

One plus one Equals two One for me And one for you

Frantic footsteps near them, J.B. sets the rope back in place and tuts. “Oy! That’s where you went off to. I couldn’t find you on the cams. Off you go, you two.”

Steven tucks his chin down, voice going into a low whisper. “Think the missus here got lost.”

“What’re you going on about–” J.B.’s gaze flits over to her.

He rolls his wrist to emphasize his point.

“Gotcha, I’ll call security. Can’t believe she’s back.”

“Back?” He whispers to himself, just barely catching J.B.’s last sentence.

Steven adds, “Heya, no need for a big fiasco. She’s a nice one.”

–

The chime of the entrance bell hasn’t rung all morning at Coffee for Two.

You gnaw at the end of your pencil in deep contemplation. Your decision darts between opening the shop to kill the boredom or listening to Nan about joining her for a break after she was given strict doctor’s orders for bed rest. Years of baking sweets and brewing coffee weren’t easy on her knees or head for that matter.

Either way, you were supposed to be on vacation, yet here you were working on a new bread recipe.

You worked around the clock before she practically forced you to hit the pause button. Even with the help of your part-timer, she couldn’t hold a candle to Nan’s experience with folding dough, piping frosting, and roasting beans.

Though sitting behind the counter were moments few and far between, you missed the daily hustle and bustle of serving the regulars who were often in pairs.

The gray hairs of a Mister and Missus would peek from the velvet couch as they dipped a biscotti into a dark roast. Or a budding romance between a young couple would lead to sharing an affogato by the wooden stools. You’d smile to yourself and throw in extra cookies for them, claiming that you miscalculated the measurements and made more than usual.

You aren’t a stranger to the coffee shop meet-cute. It happens often enough to warrant the thought of writing a collection of romance novels.

Between work… and work, there wasn’t much time to do anything else.

The tangents meet when Marc showed up.

At the right moment and time.

You flinch when your phone plays a jingle, fumbling to grab it and pressing the green button.

“Hello?”

–

When you prayed to any god listening about receiving a call out of sheer boredom, you didn’t expect a call from the Royal London Hospital. You gripped your phone waiting for the nurse’s message.

“This is the number we had on file in case of emergencies.”

“Yeah, yes. That’s me, I’m her granddaughter.”

“We’d like to inform you that she’s left the premises… again”

“Left the– Bloody hell! You could’ve started with that! You would think after the first time, you’d keep a closer eye on her, eh?” You accidentally bite your tongue after hurtling word after word at the nurse.

“We’re not responsible for the patient who’s left the area. But, we–”

“Tried?” You make your way out of the coffee shop, nudging the door close with your hip. “Yeah, like the first two times? Third time’s a fucking charm. You better hope she’s at the same place as last time.”

A call from another line intercepts your current one.

“Uh, hello, Miss!” A light voice chirps from the other side. “We’ve got a bit of a situation at the British Museum.”

You groan inwardly, she was there again. No wonder why the incoming number was familiar. (Not that you were expecting an unknown one from a particular curly-haired regular...)

“Did you find Nan?”

“If you mean the nice granny with the dangly bracelet, then it’s safe to say, yes.”

“Did she– Is she okay?”

He chirps, “Oh yes, mhm! No need to worry, we’re sat down together.”

“Good, okay. Thank you, by the way, uh…”

“Oh bollocks, forgot to introduce myself. It’s Steven. Steven Grant.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

I'd love to hear your thoughts and my inbox is always open for requests or if you want to chat!

Taglist: Open (let me know if you'd like to be added)

@rachelsnows @basicalyrandom @cleothegoldfish @batsycline69 @lonelyisamyw-0love @thhriller @navs-bhat @darknessandbooks @abeatrizcv

Tags for fun! (let me know if you'd like to be added on the official taglist or removed, no worries!!)

@ominoose @ivystoryweaver @reallyrallyauthor

#moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #marc spector #marc spector fluff #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #moon knight fluff #moon knight angst #moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant fluff #steven grant smut #steven grant x you #moon knight fic

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worlds-worst-ships · 3 months

Text

Welcome to the home of the world's worst ships!

Hello there, I'm Jack Goodwin and this absolute affront to the natural order that I call a blog is where I take a break from the insane content I normally make where you only have one job... to have fun.

Wanna stay up to date on my video/.streaming content? Go follow @maji-man. Same handle on Twitch just with an underscore (this_) instead, @/Maji_Man_VT on Twitter, if thats your cup of tea.

Here's a post where I explain the point of the blog. I highly suggest you read it twice or more to make sure you understand.

Now then, down to business.

Are there two characters that absolutely should not be anywhere near each other, to the point where one should be getting a restraining order? Are there pairings in fiction that you couldn't be paid a quadrillion rubles to come up with on your own? Are you sick of all these picket-fence, vanilla pudding, ERENxMIKASA snoozefests that plague the internet? If so, you've come to the right place. Get your kissy-kissy lips on, find a slightly uncomfortable chair and LETS GET SHIPPING!!!

I have only FOUR RULES HERE:

You can say whatever you want here, so long as;

1. Its not discriminatory

Any sort of phobia/ism here is not welcome. This blog is for everyone, regardless of ethnicity, orientation or gender identity.

2. Its a joke,

and clearly a joke. We poke fun at each other here. Lets keep it fun.

3. Its true.

I have the power of google, and any misinformation will be swiftly corrected. When you are corrected, either accept it or be blocked. Misinformation and straight up lies are not welcome here.

4: You speak with the understanding that these characters aren't real people, nor do they represent them

These are cartoons. Works of fiction. They're not real. Please keep any deep-seated obsession with character's ethnicity, sexuality, age, background etc to yourself. Acting holier-than-thou and making that the subject of your personal issue with my posts doesn't make you a hero, nor is that the groundbreaking opinion you think it is, it just makes the jokes awkward and uncomfortable for many people here.

Aaaaanyways, now we've got that out of the way (and yes, I will add more rules as the need arises, don't test me)

I'll mostly be using the absolute maelstrom of doodoo I call a brain to come up with ideas, but if you'd like to submit some ideas of your own, feel free. Send it to my ASK box. Nothing illegal, past a certain point, please.

Oh, and the ask criteria/format is in the linked post below. (Anonymous asks are and will always be turned off, cuz I know that this site is full of pussies who can't talk shit on main)

JUST IN CASE YOU DIDN'T READ THAT POST, AS I KNOW MOST OF YOU WON'T: If you do not follow that exact format, I WILL DELETE YOUR ASKS ON SIGHT.

I REPEAT: I will not even CONSIDER posting them.

FUN FACT: After having this blog for multiple months with anonymous asks turned off, I haven't gotten a single hate message (other than that one kid who got made a fool out of). This is why they're off, in case you wondered.

Its also worth mentioning, some of you are new to the concept of comedy, so I'll write it nice and big for you (if you know what a crackship/joke is, then skip this paragraph): THIS IS A JOKE BLOG. A GIMMICK BLOG. A COMEDY BLOG. I DO NOT CARE EVEN SLIGHTLY ABOUT SHIPPING AS A CONCEPT MUCH LESS DO I EVEN KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT 9/10 OF THE CHARACTERS YOU'LL SEE HERE, SO IM JUST MAKING J O K E S. IF YOU ARE OFFENDED, THEN YOU HAVE KNOWINGLY CHOSEN TO BE OFFENDED WHICH IS ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT. THANK YOU :)

I REPEAT this is a CRACKSHIP BLOG, so if you're deeply hurt by any of my polls, just know that nothing here reflects me as a person because none of what I post is serious. If anything you see after reading that causes you any emotional distress, it IS NOT my fault. Its funny, but its not my fault.

#shipping #crackship #crossover #gimmick account #gimmick blog #rarepair #rare ship #crack ship #pinned post #pinned intro #read pinned #intro #intro post #introduction post #pinned info

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 7 months

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𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 🎃💦 ∘₊✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟙𝟠 ✧₊

|| ︶꒦꒷𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥꒷꒦︶ | main masterlist ||

@absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 Prompts

day 18: Sensory Deprivation Gags, Service Top/Power Bottom, Bloodplay

𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

| PAIRING(s): Javi G x menstruating!reader | RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 1.9k | CONTENT: menstruation-centered erotic acts, Javi G is a cinnamon roll freak-a-leek, lots of blood (obviously), romantic fingerpainting, cumplay bc it felt spiritually correct | SYNOPSIS: Your period pains have sidelined you, but Javi finds a way to make things better.

Not even the gentle sounds of crystal blue waters rocking against stone just beyond your bedroom could distract you from the gnawing pain in your lower belly. The balmy breeze drifting through the open doors and windows does little to bring solace, either. Here you are, smack dab in the middle of paradise with the most generous lover and adoring companion you’d ever had in your life, and you’ve spent the better half of the day balled up into the fetal position, completely miserable.

Right on cue, the soft padding of Javi’s feet against the floor draws closer. “Bebita?” His voice is soft, so gentle and attentive it makes your heart want to burst a thousand times over every time you hear it. You groan, a glum little sound from the back of your throat, and hug yourself tighter. “Bebita, are you feeling any better after the medicine?”

“Not really,” you admit. You’d love to tell him that the pill he’d brought you earlier worked its miracle and that all of his efforts have been for something. But, you and Javi don’t lie to each other. It’s one of the many refreshing things that being with Javi has offered. Another freeing aspect of your dynamic was that Javi never seemed to be shaken or deterred by things not going to plan or as you would’ve liked them to.

It wasn’t the obnoxious, compulsive positivity that you see in self-help “gurus” peddling their latest creed in the form of a 16 chapter book for only $23.95 that promises to address all your shortcomings that their last three offerings hadn’t touched upon. Javi had that beautiful sort of determination to make the best of things, no matter the circumstances. It was a sort of infectious sincerity and buoyancy that you couldn’t help but to lean into.

“Agh, I was hoping it would help,” he sighs. “Maybe a change of scenery?”

“Javi, I really don’t want to move. Everything hurts,” you whine.

“What if I stay with you? What about some more blankets? A massage?”

You perk up as he rattles off suggestions, particularly at the offer of a massage. “You really want to massage me right now? I’m all gross and bloated.”

His face breaks into a gentle censure, a soft grin that stalls the breath in your chest. “You keep saying crazy things like you don’t know me,” he chuckles. He crawls onto the mattress and slips a warm hand underneath the sheets and your waistband, the heat and pressure of his palm against your belly offering an immediate palliative effect. A weak whimper escapes your lips the moment he begins kneading firm circles.

“How’s that, bebita?”

“Feels good. Can you push harder?”

He answers by way of applying deeper pressure to his kneading motions, eventually curling his hand into a fist for firmer impact. His hands, always so gentle and attentive, feel much more like the eager and sure ones that grace your body when he’s got you on all fours and crying out his name. The parallel sends a new sensation to your lower belly, something more familiar to the response it yields under those toe curling, mind bending explorations of one another.

Without a word, Javi pulls the covers away from your body and tugs away the lower half of your clothing. When you start to protest, he shushes you and reminds you how much better you’ll feel without all the elastic and waistbands pressing against your tender, swollen belly. When you start with how gross you feel and about him seeing you so disheveled, he all but hauls you out of the bed towards the bathroom.

“Let me take care of you,” he pouts. “A hot shower and more of my massage will make you feel better. Please, bebita.”

You heave a weighted sigh when he frees you from the rest of your clothing and discards it into a pile on the floor. “Fine. It’s time to take out my cup anyway,” you grumble. You wince as you settle onto the toilet, your lower back now joining the EVERYTHING HURTS! party.

You’re focused enough on the discomfort and the task at hand that you nearly miss Javi’s eyes glued to the movements to retrieve your cup. The rise and fall of his chest is easier to clock when he’s standing there in nothing but sweatpants that leave little to the imagination. He’s so frustratingly handsome and broad and tanned – and, you’ve just noticed, cupping a tempering palm against his crotch.

Just as you start to realize there’s something about all of this he clearly enjoys, the menstrual cup gives to your efforts and pops out of your entrance. You fumble with it for a moment, cursing under your breath as you try to keep it from plunging into the toilet water, and manage to catch it. It didn’t go into the toilet water, but it did tip all over your hand and inner thigh.

“Fuck!” you hiss, scurrying to the sink and dropping the cup into it. You can feel the pulse of blood dripping out of you as you walk, and you pray that most of it has landed on the tile. You barely let go of it before Javi is down on the floor, bracing your thighs – no, spreading them – and saying something urgently about how he’ll get it and let him help you.

“I made a fucking mess,” you gripe. You gesture to the smears and droplets that mark your frantic trek to the sink, but Javi’s gaze doesn’t follow.

“Yes, you did make quite the mess,” he husks.

Your head snaps back to attention and meets his eyes, flickering up to yours. His cheeks are doused in splotches of heat. His tongue flits nervously over his bottom lip. There’s a supplicant, almost pained frown curving his mouth. Before you can get a firm grasp on whatever the fuck is going on, a sharp cramping sensation suddenly builds and constricts in your abdomen.

You lean over the sink to steady yourself through the cramping, face pulling tight with the discomfort of it. Javi pushes his way through until his head is wedged between the countertop and your mound. The first swipe of his wet tongue against your clit is such a sharp contrast of pleasure to the pain of your cramps that your legs nearly give.

“Let me, let me, let me,” he practically chants as he begins tonguing and licking into you in earnest, two fat fingers sliding in with the ease and slip your blood gives. Not only have you never had a partner show interest in any sort of intimacy when you were on your cycle, but you’ve never quite found any appeal in it yourself — until right about now.

Your cramping has ebbed away once more, and the only thing you can feel in its place are Javi’s thick digits pressing and stroking against your already swollen and sensitive walls. You’re not prepared for the sight of it all when you look down. His face is smeared with claret and crimson. It runs down his hand and snakes along his wrist as he works you faster. He looks almost manic in the way his eyes lock with yours.

“Let it spill out, please.”

You can’t make much sense of what he’s asking for, but the heady urgency of his energy is enough to send you over the edge. Just as your climax has you spasming a third time, he removes his hand and holds it just below the cradle of your thighs, mesmerized by the thin red string of blood that connects from his fingertips to your entrance. Another spasm sends a fresh gush of blood to follow the natural gravity of the wet trail.

Javi audibly whimpers at this and haphazardly shoves his sweatpants down far enough to free his cock and start stroking it with your fresh supply of bloody lubricant. His needy moan flips a switch in your brain, and you’re pushing him against the cabinets and straddling his legs before your brain quite configures what the driving force is behind all of this magnetic, sensuous energy.

He holds his cock steady long enough for you to sink down onto it fully, and you both gasp at the feel of it parting you, splitting you open to take him hard and fast. You roll your hips and chase the sounds of Javi losing himself in it all. His hands grip your breasts, your thighs, your neck – all leaving a trail of your own blood scattered over your body. You don’t even care about the sticky drying feel of it like you normally would, not with Javi making such deliciously pitiful sounds.

“Come on, Javi, fuck it out of me,” comes your stilted plea. You aren’t sure why you say it, only somewhat conscious of the fact that it’s the right thing to get him even more wrapped up in all of this.

He has your back pressed against the cold tile within seconds, thrusting into you with such fervor that you slide back a few times from the force of it. “So fucking wet, bebita.” He sounds wrecked and even more so looks it.

“Fucking messy just how you like, right, baby?” you goad him, trying to latch onto whatever bits of this new thing is that’s happening that you’ve already picked up on. “Making a mess everywhere.”

He scrunches his eyes shut as if pained at the words, a whiny sigh slinking up his throat at your instigation. A frantic chain of Spanish that you catch and decipher out of order – something bebita, something torrente, something fuente.

“What, Javi? Tell me. I wanna know how I make you feel, baby. Tell me.”

His eyes tear open, jaw slack for a moment, before answering. “My little fountain, yeah? You’re going to spill all over me? I want it, bebita, please.”

The desperation in his plea stirs another orgasm in your gut. He nods, a little hectic and compelling, and rubs the pad of his thumb against your clit. Your entire body seizes up with the force of it, eyes slamming into the back of your skull as you’re taken completely off guard. The wet sound of your blood pushing out with each thrust serves as the backdrop to Javi’s guttural moans while he erupts inside you.

“Feel so good. You feel so good,” he grits out as his thrusts slow to a sloppy circuit.

You grab hold of him as tight as he’ll allow and pull his full weight onto you. It pushes the air right out of your lungs, but you don’t care. You only want to stay with him like this, keep in this little hazy, blissed out bubble. He eventually glides out of you, groaning at the blood weeping from your spent cunt as he extricates himself.

He watches in unabashed infatuation as the mixture of it and his cum leaks onto the floor. The corner of his mouth tugs up just before he strokes a finger flat against your folds, collecting bits of fluid along the way.

“What’re you–”

He grins broader with his fingertip tracing a pattern onto your already stained torso. “There. For you, bebita.” He looks up at you with eager anticipation and flashes that million kilowatt smile that makes your heart thrum wild. You crane your head to see what he’s crudely fingerpainted onto your abdomen.

“It’s a heart,” you breathe out in a laugh. “You drew me a heart with my period blood and your jizz. Wow. So romantic, Javi.”

He lets out a deep belly laugh and snatches you up into a fond embrace. “Only for you, my little fountain. Only for you.”

paging my Javi G freak-a-leek kink bitches:@burntheedges @joelmillerisapunk @electriclasso @umnitsa @noxturnalpascal @jupiter-soups @drunk-and-capable @sheepdogchick3 @pop-sugar102 @angiewatson @sweetercalypso @lumoverheaven @5oh5 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @ghostofaboy @dilfspitdrinker @miss-mistinguett @deci3t @janaispunk @ghoulettesinspace

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x reader #pedro pascal characters

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