#just a bunch of fucking roaches

[kitkatcadillac]

one time my partner mentioned not hearing a song for years and yet having some little notion of it stuck in their head and the lyrics had something to do with snow and in like three seconds flat i had a link for the devil wears prada - louder than thunder sent to them and they were like THATS FUCKING IT HOW DID YOU KNOW

[priestofberath]

If mosquitos and/or cockroaches went extinct would this have a notable negative effect on the ecosystem? And if not: Why haven’t we as a species just formally declared war on the bastards? Like sure people still kill them, but like I don’t feel like we’re trying hard enough. I bet if we all got together we could do it.

Also: Do you think we could weaponize spiders to this end? Like gather a bunch of spiders and figure out how to train them to just hunt cockroaches down like the terminator?

[krypticcafe]

Can you do a part 2 of the platonic reader and the 141+Alejandro where reader gets kidnapped and comes back? I love your writing!

No One Can Hurt You

Sequel to As Long as I'm Here

rating: mature

pairing(s): platonic gn!reader x task force 141 + alejandro + rodolfo

warning(s): language, canon-typical violence, torture, blood, military inaccuracies, mild gore descriptions for a hot second, implied ghost zapping a guy's balls, reader is lowkey traumatized, comfort, no use of y/n, no beta read, possible ooc?

a/n: I did NOT expect to get such an overwhelmingly positive response on the first part?? I was worried that the writing felt bland, but you guys seemed to love it, so here's the highly demanded part two!

synopsis: the 141 and Los Vaqueros weren't going to stand for what happened to you. No one would.

alternative title— fuck around and find out

"We found the guys your sources claimed to be the men that were there, Captain. But they're refusing to say anything to us. Honestly, it looks like they're just another pair of lackeys." Gaz was speaking over comms with Price after locating a suspect with Roach. The two had found the pair in a dingy old building, a safehouse conveniently placed far from heavily populated civilian areas.

"Should we-"

He was cut off by a series of loud thuds and glass crashing, immediately grabbing his handgun and running into the room where Roach was keeping an eye on their suspects.

Roach had one of the men pinned to the ground, repeatedly decking him in the face whilst letting out frustrated yells and broken cries. Blood splattered across the floor and on his visor, but he could've cared less, it wasn't his anyways.

"Roach, get off of him, that's enough!" Gaz practically had to tear his teammate away from the man with how Roach flailed, grunting and clawing at Gaz's arms to let him go. "Roach, we can't do anything if you bloody kill them!"

Pushing off Gaz, Roach seethed with pained eyes, nearly tearing up out of sheer frustration. "He's hiding something, I know he is! That sadistic fuck started bragging about what they did to the sergeant and- and the smug shit look he had! These are the guys, but they're not telling us everything!"

He knew it was a terrible excuse, but his own gut feelings about reading people's expressions had never proved him wrong before, not when he had an eye for reading people through their body language. Gaz hesitated. He understood why Roach lashed out and didn't blame him for losing his temper, hell, he rarely did, and Gaz would've done the same in all honesty. You meant as much to him as you did to Roach. They were the first friends you made when joining the 141, the ones who helped acclimate you to the team, and the ones who trained under Price alongside you like you were their sibling. But it didn't help that they nearly broke protocol, which would've compromised the mission and made your sacrifice and suffering for nothing.

Looking down at the unconscious yet still-breathing man, Gaz then noticed how the blood pooled around him. It seemed to stop spreading at some point in the floorboards and spilled into an unusually large crack in the wood that looked suspiciously intentional.

"Roach, take the other one and call for exfil but don't tell them to leave just yet." Once his partner left, Gaz kneeled down to the floor and knocked on the wood. It was hollow.

Seems they would definitely need them alive now more than ever.

"I don't know who supplies us, I just work for them! Just ask-" The man let out a cry as Soap held his shoulder, digging his fingers into it and balling his other hand into a fist before landing a solid punch into his gut. A moment passed he choked on air, the wind knocked from him, his mouth painfully dry except for the tears that dripped from his eyes.

"Tell us who you work for or things are about to get real nasty for you like they did for your friend."

"You're in it if you think I'm gonna say shit! The 141 is just a freak show, ain't it? Bunch of you cowards hiding behind stupid callsigns, what the fuck kind of name is—" That earned him another beating. He wailed, writhing in pain against the tight restraints, but ultimately wasting his energy. He only stopped when he heard screams and crackles of what was undoubtedly electricity coming from behind one of the walls of the room.

"So you do know," Soap growled, beating him once more and backing up when he retched from pain. Blood dripped from Soap's knuckles, to which he scowled in disgust and irritation, his accent growing thick, "No, you just had to make things a fuckin' mess, dinnae you?"

Normally, it was Ghost who took care of interrogations, at least the more painful parts of it. But Soap needed to let out his anger in a useful way, he needed to hear the sickening crunch of ribs so that he could remind himself of what you went through and erase any sliver of doubt or sympathy in his mind for the enemy. Every splatter of blood that'd spill when he'd throw a fist across the guy's face was just another testament to how much he despised what happened and how desperately he needed to let it all out.

The man, in his bleary-eyed haze, made out another figure that entered the room. It was Ghost, with a box of electrical clamps in hand. "What is he doing here?"

Soap and Ghost made a silent exchange of words, nodding to one another in confirmation and speaking purely through eye contact. It only created more fear when Soap left the room and the man was all alone with the lieutenant.

"Hey hey hey where are you going you can't leave me with him! I did what I had to do, it's not my fault your friend was collateral—" The man choked on his words when Ghost pulled out two clamps and tested them, both emitting a spark and loud crackles that echoed off the walls. "—fuck! Oh god, no no no—what the fuck are you gonna use that for?!"

The lieutenant was a different situation. Sure, he wanted nothing more than to dig his hands into the man's open wounds, curl his fingers until flesh separated from bone, make them feel just exactly how much they got 'under his skin'. He wanted to hear the satisfying pop! of bones and cartilage. He wanted them to writhe like worms on a scalding sidewalk, pathetic and left for dead. But that wasn't enough, they didn't deserve the time, the effort, nor did they deserve the pleasure of a quick death. No, he needed to make them suffer.

Ghost brought one clamp up to the man's crotch with one hand and held a rusty knife with the other, lowering himself to look directly at his target. It was at that moment the man came to the realization that he wasn't captured, no, he fucked around, pulling off the stubborn shit act until they'd inevitably grow bored of him and move on, maybe put him out of his misery if he was lucky enough. But there was no moving on, there was no luck in this ring of hell. No, not with what had already been done and what couldn't be taken back even if he begged. The 141 was revered for their soldiers and their work, but it was a myth all at the same time. They were said to be efficient and ruthless, better to surrender to than to suffer at the hands of. Since they were off the books, it was a mystery as to what lengths they would go to, just how far they would push the limits.

He had fucked around, and now he'd find out.

They locked eyes, one pair filled with fear, the other devoid of any emotion. There wasn't the sympathy the man prayed for, nor the anger or violence of Soap, not even a hint of mercy or hatred. It was so empty of feeling that it almost felt dismissive, as if the man wasn't a human held hostage but an object, a book to be torn open for answers, then tossed aside. If Soap had been his judge and jury, then Ghost would surely be his executioner. He felt small, insignificant, and hopeless under the gaze as the man he truly believed was death incarnate responded to his question.

"Last. Chance."

One by one, Price and his crew had cleared the facility, evacuating workers and eliminating guards and cartel. After bringing their "guest informants" to the brink of delirium, wrenching them like wet towels to get every drop of info. Along with the intel Gaz gathered from a hidden basement where hard drives of transactions were being kept, they found the main supplier and other bases. If they took down the heart of the operation, it would cause a domino effect, shutting things down to a point where the Los Vaqueros would be able to handle them on their own. With every bullet shot, they were closer to their goal and closer to making up for what they considered a personal failure to protect one of their own and many more.

Maybe it was crazy that their primary motivation beyond recovering the drugs was to seek justice for a single soldier. But it was to prove a point. To prove that they weren't just a team of highly skilled and trained soldiers, to prove that they were a force to be reckoned with, and to prove that you were no less valuable of a member than the others, all of whom would lay their lives on the line for one another. After all,

The 141 was not to be messed with.

Making his way through the rooms and getting closer to the center of it all, Price was interrupted when a door to his side busted open from a man toppling back into it, falling to the ground. He tried to scramble back, a boot quickly stomping onto his chest. Alejandro towered before him, pressing a rifle to his head, growling in Spanish, "Where is your leader?"

The man responded, and without hesitation, the colonel gave him a quick and painless death for his obedience. Looking up, Alejandro nodded in acknowledgment at Price, "I'm not the only one that owes your sergeant, they protected my men, and I owed them a favor even before that."

That caused Price to chuckle, even despite their current circumstances. There was no denying how much of an unnecessarily reckless saint you could be with those you worked with. "I suppose you got a location from that poor bastard?"

"Yes. Have our teams regroup, it's going to be a long night for us all, my friend. But it's worth the trouble for Las Almas and the kid, no?"

"Yes, indeed." Price hummed, the two making their way out and on to finally settle the score.

You woke up blinded by a bright light, briefly contemplating if you were dead and if heaven was actually real all along. But after some time passed, your eyes adjusted to the all-too-familiar setting of the infirmary with its barren walls and sickly sanitized scent. With a groan, you tried to prop yourself up on your elbows until a hand gently pressed you back. Puzzled by the motion, you rubbed your eyes and found your captain looking back at you.

"Easy there, soldier." Price cautioned, and you kept your eyes on him as you laid back down. He had a small smile on his lips, but the way he looked at you signified that he was still concerned for your state, "You alright? Need the nurse or anything?"

"No," You shook your head, wincing at how hoarse your throat was. Price laughed softly and handed you a cup of water he had prepared at the side of your bed, and you started to wonder if he had always kept one there for you and if he even regularly changed it for you. You wouldn't put it past him to, the ol' sap.

Gulping the cool liquid down heartily, you took a few breaths before continuing, "How- how long was I out?"

"About a few days, no longer than a week." He shrugged, your eyes widening in response, "Cut yourself some slack. When you came back, you were bleeding out all over base and in hysterics. Doctor told us that if you got back any later, we would've lost you from the blood loss alone."

"Just the blood loss? Not the drugs? I would've figured the latter would be the end of me." You chuckled until you saw Price's expression, muttering a sheepish 'sorry, too soon?' and sipping your water cup, "I didn't hurt anyone, did I?"

"Well, you did punch Garrick square in the chest, but he's been through worse. Wouldn't stop making puppy eyes at you the entire time after, I think you wounded his heart. Ghost had to restrain you afterward, and you were too weak to do any real damage at that point, just kept screaming your head off until you passed out."

"Shit," You cringed, your face burning hot with shame, "I'm sorry, Captain. I should've been more careful, I could've compromised the mission and-"

"Don't be. Sure, you made a bloody fool of yourself, but you saved your team in the process. And that's got to count for something, yeah?" He nudged you gently, "So don't beat yourself up, especially after you fought your way out of hell."

The sympathetic look he gave you held unspoken words, No one could've known. You couldn't have known. The urge to tear up right then and there was strong, but you didn't want to embarrass yourself more than you already apparently had. Biting back the sting in your eyes, you only quietly nodded in response.

"Good. I'm proud of you, got that?" Price stood from his seat, giving your head a firm pat, "Rest up after they're done with you, alright? Can't have one of my finest on the sidelines for too long, now can I?"

"Honored to be one, Captain." You faltered for a moment, "Wait, 'they'?"

Price only gave you a sly shrug and left the room. You remained to wonder what he meant for approximately ten seconds until Gaz and Roach burst in, the latter immediately glued to your side. So this is who he meant by "they", why were you even surprised?

"Feeling alright there?" Gaz smiled, taking a seat at your other side.

"I should be asking you that, didn't you get all heartbroken after I punched you?"

"I shouldn't have asked," Gaz groaned, shaking his head despite his smile, "Cheeky as ever, huh? Can't even be sympathetic without you trying to make fun of me."

"Well, I for one was pissed!" Roach interjected, "Right after you got here, we got to work on finding the assholes who hurt you and made them eat shit for dinner. Man, I wish I could've been in the interrogation room with Ghost and Soap but Price said I'm only finding an excuse to beat them up more."

Gaz raised a brow, "You were finding an excuse to."

"Well yeah, but I was only gonna mess with them a little bit, not zap their balls like Ghost—"

"I'm sorry, what?" You coughed, stunned by all the information coming out of them and hardly able to keep up. "What happened when I was knocked out?"

"Price didn't tell you? Oh, well," The two began to give you a run-down of events, from how Roach nearly beat the living hell out of your torturers, to the hidden basement, Ghost and Soap's whole interrogation (with great detail via Roach intel), and how both Price and Alejandro held a whole operation and shut down the suppliers.

Gaz shrugged, "Of course, it was mostly to shut it down and for the sake of Las Almas-"

"-but I mean, we also had to defend your honor!" Roach huffed, passionately signing to emphasize his point, "At least I wanted to. Seriously, how fucked up is it that they drugged you? It wasn't even helpful, they're just sickos that-"

Before Roach could further rant, Gaz tugged at the back of his uniform collar and glanced at his watch. "C'mon Roach, we've been here for a good hour and Price has us on duty right now." Roach only whined at Gaz in response but he ignored it, giving you one last glance, "Get some rest and get well soon, mate. I can't babysit all on my own after all."

"Hey!"

You broke out in laughter, watching the two leave and waving them goodbye. While you wished they could've stayed longer, your heart still warmed at the thought of how they cared, waiting for you to wake up and immediately being at your side. It reminded you of how you stayed at their side when they got sick from a mission in the rain and you didn't, so you felt somewhat obligated to help them as the 'survivor'. Perhaps they felt the same way too, that as your friends, they felt obligated and willing to stay by your side in return.

Hours passed since Gaz and Roach had visited, morning turning to late afternoon. The only ones who did pass by were either other soldiers on base needing medical attention or the nurses themselves, who regularly checked up on you. It wasn't exactly the company you wanted, but it was better than agonizing silence and isolation, which you quickly found to be the worst of it all. Not the scars, not the stiff bandages, not even the sickly clean smell, but just when things were silent. When things were silent, your mind went back to the time you spent, the hours you waited in between questions and beatings with nothing but you in your own head fighting for your consciousness. The buzz of the fluorescent lights in the infirmary drilled a hole in your skull the same way that singular overhead light had, drowning out your thoughts in an uncanny way. The IV drip was no better, it kept you awake the same way the rhythm of your own blood dripping had. You hadn't even noticed the way your breathing suddenly turned ragged just like it did when—no, you had noticed, but you didn't want to.

It shouldn't have bothered you as much as it did, it was only a few hours, you've been through worse, others have been through worse.

But god, the silence.

"You doing okay there, uh-" A nurse walked in through the curtains, pulling up the clipboard at the end of your bed and reading your name, "I'm just going to administer some painkillers real quick, okay?"

Unconsciously, you nodded and watched in a slight daze as she pulled up a cart of medical supplies. Your hands balled into fists to stop the trembling you weren't even aware of but somehow knew you had to hide. It hadn't quite registered to you what was going on or what she had said, even as you watched her fill up the syringe and flick it. But the moment you felt the needle against your skin, you roughly grabbed her wrist, causing her to yelp and drop it.

Your hands began to tremble again, growing clammy. You became all too aware of how muffled the nurse's panicked words were but how sharp the ringing in your ears was, piercing your brain. Words wouldn't come out of your mouth, replaced with small, quick breaths while your eyes darted around to find something, anything to focus on with your blurred vision.

"At ease, sergeant." A heavily accented voice spoke, ripping you from your haze and you turned to find that familiar skull mask standing by the curtains.

"I... I'm sorry," You mumbled, letting go of the poor woman's wrist and hanging your head apologetically. Your breaths returned to normal, the lights were less bright, and the noise was gone for now.

"I think it's best if you ask the doctor to try other kinds of painkillers with our friend here, miss. They aren't too fond of needles, ain't that right?" Soap appeared behind Ghost, trying to keep things lighthearted with how tension in the air was thick enough to suffocate in. The nurse nervously nodded her head before walking away with the cart, understandably still shaken by what had happened.

"I'd ask if you're doin' okay, but it seems a bit obvious now, ain't it, Ghost?"

The other grunted in response, sitting down at one of the chairs by your side. "You'd think they'd know better with these kinds of things."

"Don't be mean now, they're just doing their jobs," The scotsman chuckled, turning back to you, "Now, aren't you quite the sight for sore eyes? Sorry we couldn't make it earlier, we got tied down with paperwork after the whole fiasco, you know about that yet?"

"Yeah, I didn't expect you guys to get the job done so fast."

"Aw, did you want us to leave you some left over? If I'd known, I would've told Ghost to go a little easier on the lads." Soap was the only one trying to make any conversation out of this visit and you already knew the reason for Ghost's silence. It was just like in the helicopter after you took the blow for him, though you were pretty sure a pun wouldn't be enough to break him from "brooding" like last time.

"Sure. Would've loved to get a few punches back on them," You teased back, "But thank you guys. Really. I know it wasn't the main purpose, but I really appreciate that you guys had my safety in mind. Never figured joining the 141 would come with vengeance perks, or am I just that special to you guys?"

"You little shite, you," Soap cackled, ruffling your hair.

"Looks like they beat us here, Rudy." Alejandro's voice chimed out of the blue, appearing soon after.

"Too bad, I was hoping we'd have them to ourselves," Rodolfo hummed, followed behind with a gift basket in hand, "At least we bought something, eh?"

"Oi! We would've brought something too, we just wanted to get here as soon as we got back." Soap pouted, "Tell 'em Ghost."

"Actually I was hoping to get a 'get well' card on our way here." The masked man mumbled, ignoring his partner's offended gasp.

"You seein' this?" He whined, but you also ignored him, favoring the sweets that were in the gift basket.

"How'd you know this was my favorite?" You gasped, your reaction had the two Vaqueros looking at each other with proud faces.

"I have my sources."

"Ale, you just asked around base."

"That still counts as sources."

The whole lot of you started breaking into conversation, the boys exchanging their accounts of their ambush. In return, you shared what had happened when you were caught and how you escaped in a small summary of events, which led to them ranting about the men they interrogated and about the drugs themselves. Even Roach, Price, and Gaz popped in one last time for the day to visit you and join in on the discussion. Seeing them all like this, gathered around your bed, laughing and bantering, it almost made you forget all that had happened. You wanted to cherish this moment, keep a mental picture of it framed over the locked box in the back of your mind. Being in the military never allowed much room for friends gathering and all this chit-chatting outside of pubs, so it was a rare sight for sore eyes.

In a way, it made your life a little more meaningful. Reminded you that you weren't just a "good soldier", you were a teammate, a friend. You were important, someone worth fighting for. A purpose.

Although the job was harsh and you always felt like you had a gun to your head, that everyone wanted you dead on the battlefield, the 141 always showed you that someone out there still cared, still wanted you to fight and stay alive. Even if life tried to put you six feet under, they'd be there to pull you out without hesitation. You didn't have to doubt or question why, you already knew the answer.

You were family.

Unfortunately, the moment couldn't last for long, the poor nurse from before had been startled by the sheer volume of people around you, especially when most of them were high-ranking. Regardless, she chastised them for keeping you up when you needed your rest (you didn't) and began to shoo them all out. It was almost comedic how the group of giant, intimidating men left with little resistance in a pile of shame. Christ, they look like a pack of sad puppies, you humorously thought to yourself.

Ghost was the last to leave, hesitating to say something by the way he just stood there, curling his hands into fists. You had to force yourself not to laugh right then and there. For someone who was so silent and stoic for most conversations, he was easy to read. It wasn't hard to notice how his eyes kept flickering to your bandages the entire time he sat there, followed by the flashes of concern on his face every time you had coughed from laughing too hard or accidentally hurt yourself by shifting your body too quickly.

"I'll be alright, Simon." Giving him a reassuring smile, you hoped he'd take your words to heart, "Don't worry about it, I'll be on the field right as rain again in two days tops and you can kick my ass around all you want then. Promise."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and you began to worry that maybe your words were too cheap for him to believe, or maybe that he was more upset than you'd originally thought.

"You better be sure." He finally responded, "I take my promises pretty seriously, remember that, sergeant."

You stared at him all googly-eyed until your lips broke into a wide grin, beaming brightly at him and shouting as he left.

"Message received, L.T!"

a/n: AAAA I haven't written this much in so longgg. I had the first half already down from the last part because it went on for too long, but this one is nearly DOUBLE the word count. It's bound to have some grammar mistakes, but I hope that doesn't ruin the immersion too much. Let me know what you guys think!

[dilf-issues]

Your Eyes Tell: 2 | T.S

Synopsis: Tommy could never accept a whore to love. But he did anyways, however his ego and pride might be the death of him.

Chapter Summary: Brief glimpse of how they first met. Y/N woke up.

Warnings: Angst, grief, childloss.

A/N: I choose bear. I also plan to make this into a series.

PART 1 | PART 3

.

4 YEARS AGO

The streets of Birmingham were dark and cold. It was late at night and Tommy felt like he wanted to get some fresh air while driving around Small Heath. He found himself driving through the city, lost in thought. As he rounded a corner, he noticed a group of men surrounding a young woman, pushing her against a wall. Tommy’s first instinct was to keep driving, he didn’t care what the fuck would happen to anyone other than his family but when he realized the men were being more violent than he would expect, he pulled his car to the side of the road and stepped out, his presence immediately commanding attention. The men turned to see who had interrupted them, and their faces pales when they saw The Thomas Shelby approaching.

He truly wanted to drive away and leave her alone but the men were starting to rip her clothes apart, as she screamed for help.

“Oi! What the fuck are you doing?” It’s like all three of the men had caught in a headlight, they immediately went speechless as their throats became dry at the sight of Tommy standing before them. One of the men let the girl go as he tried to sprint away. However, Tommy quickly took out his gun and shot just a few centimeters away from his feet. He trembled, holding his arms in the air as he turned around. His eyes were filled with tears and it seemed like he might have just wee his pants.

Tommy gestured the man to come back with his gun as he ran towards his friends in fear.

The woman who was lightly bruised, her clothes torn, was confused however she could be nothing more than glad that someone had saved her. She had no idea who he was but it seemed to her that the men feared her saviour.

“Now, answer my fucking question” Tommy paused taking turns to look at all three of them, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, eh?”

“Mr. Shelby we were just fooling around! She’s a whore, she’s not worth your time, Sir!” The other exclaimed as if it had made the situation better.

Tommy glanced at the woman who silently sobbed, it seemed like she was cold but Tommy thought of how him saving her was already enough of being a good samaritan for a day.

“She’s screaming and I took it you didn’t pay her. If you want to be a fucking cunt at least fucking pay her” His voice was nonchalant and it was enough to keep the men trembling, “I suggest you lot fuck off and if I see you being cheap cunts again, I won’t let you go next time”

The men nodded violently as the three of them scurried off like a bunch of roaches. Once they disappeared, Tommy was about to leave her alone but was stopped when she had grabbed his forearm.

“Wait! I wanted to say thank you, Mr. Shelby?” It came out more as a question, and Tommy raised his brows.

“You don’t know who I am?” He asked as the woman shook her head. Not that he cared, it was just suprising.

The small interaction was enough for Tommy to properly take a look at her, “How old are you?”

“I-I’m 19, Mr. Shelby” His gaze was intense and it made shivers run down her spine, she looked at the ground, finding her shoes somewhat the most interesting thing in the world to look at.

Tommy furrowed his brows, “Aren’t you a little too young to be a whore?” Tommy took the time to study her, she looked... Different. In a way where she didn’t seem like she was from Birmingham. Her features were unique and she was pretty, too pretty to become something so... Dirty.

“I was fired from being a maid, and it seemed like my employer had told everybody in Small Heath not to hire me... I don’t have a choice” Tommy was now intrigued and since they were in the cold, he didn’t exactly mind but he knew she was freezing.

He hummed as he walked away from him and got inside his car. At first, the girl was evidently disappointed when Tommy left her but Tommy didn’t drive away.

“Get in. I’ll get you somewhere warm” Her eyes widened at his offer. The only thing she could think of was that Tommy probably wanted to be a customer. Despite her being happy Tommy got her off the pavement, she was disappointed at the thought that Tommy probably wanted to sleep with her. She hurriedly got in, her face full of awe as she studied the vehicle she was in. “You’ve never been in a car before?”

She shook her head in amazement. A huge smile on her face and if Tommy hadn’t been such a cold man, he would have been amused by her reaction.

“Mr. Shelby, if you desire my service I would be honored to offer you for free” She muttered, it was as if she was ashamed to say it out loud.

“I don’t want to fuck you” Thomas stated, as her eyes widened at the claim. She hadn’t had a lot of customers because she tried her best to avoid going on the streets but men rarely rejected her advances, “I’m taking you to my pub, I’ll buy you a drink”

Ever since she became a prostitute not long ago, she had never heard men approach her in a way that would be appropriate and polite. She couldn’t lie and say Mr. Shelby didn’t make her stomach flutter with butterflies when he offered her a drink. Not to mention how handsome he was and she had considered the night to be lucky, she was almost glad to be attacked.

When they arrived, the pub seemed closed but Tommy entered with ease. She was so impressed with everything about Tommy. He seemed like a kind man, he dressed well, and he also seemed important. She had wondered what he did to become so successful.

“Sit down, I’ll pour you a drink” She obliged without a question as Tommy walked behind the bar and poured her alcohol.

“Oh! Um... Can I just get orange juice? But if you don’t have that, I’ll just have water. I’m too young to drink...” Tommy almost laughed at her face but he just gave her a small smile, he couldn’t deny she was a strange girl.

“You work as a whore but won’t drink a glass of brandy?”

“I told you I had no choice, but I have a choice in this...” She muttered softly, Tommy almost felt bad for what he said.

“Orange juice it is...” He quietly poured her a glass as he slid the glass towards her, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Y/N... What’s yours, Mr. Shelby? Your first name I mean?” Thomas still couldn’t believe she had never known everything about her.

“Thomas, but people call me Tommy”

“Thank you for saving me again, Mr. Shelby. I have no idea what would happen to me if you didn’t come”

Tommy merely hummed, her grace didn’t really mean much to him. There was nothing she could offer that would benefit him. He could fuck her, but he wasn’t an animal, she was far too young for him. However, he wouldn’t deny that she is beautiful.

“I’m intrigued” Tommy addressed, “Tell me, how did you end up in the shitty streets of Small Heath? Because you don’t look like you belong here”

Y/N took a deep breath as she started to tell him her backstory. In some ways, she was excited to talk about it despite the sadness behind it. She hadn’t had anyone to talk to in such a long time, there was no one who would entertain her in such ways.

Tommy had learned her father was a native of Birmingham while her mother was from a foreign country and how they fell in love when he traveled the world. Both of her parents opened up a small restaurant downtown and it was quite successful but Tommy was surprised he had never seen it before.

Then... France happened. Her father had to be drafted which left her and her mum to keep the shop afloat. When the war ended, they received the news that her father had died.

Her mom couldn’t bear the loss of her husband, she went mad and killed herself.

Leaving her alone, an orphan.

Y/N was naturally gifted to be a great cook, so she became a housemaid for a wealthy couple in an estate outside of town. She was doing well until the woman of the house’s husband took a liking to her and tried to approach her inappropriately. The wife caught her husband harassing the poor girl however instead of punishing him, she banished Y/N to the streets and influenced every housewife that she was whore.

And a whore she became.

“You’re a great cook?” It seemed like Tommy had ignored everything she had told him, taking an interest in her skills.

“Well, I try... My mom and dad taught me ever since I was little”

“If I ask you to cook me a meal, would you do it?” Tommy asked, and she did nothing but nod eagerly, “If I like it, you stop being a whore and you become my housemaid”

“This is easy!” She giggled softly and she stood up, patting down her torn up dress, “Where should I cook?”

Tommy raised his eyebrows in surprise, the eagerness that she had was beyond endearing.

“Settle down, now… I’ll give you a place to clean yourself up and rest. You come meet me here tomorrow at the same time, you can cook when the pub is closed”

She nodded, excitement filled through her veins as she smiled widely at Tommy.

There was a brief silence in the air and Tommy only stared at her silently with an unreadable expression on his face.

Y/N didn’t say anything as well as her smile grows softer and softer.

Both of them weren’t speaking to each other but it was as if they had communicated telepathically as Tommy nodded, acknowledging her appreciation towards her.

“Let’s get you someplace to stay, eh?”

.

PRESENT DAY.

Obviously, Y/N had passed his test. Or else, she wouldn’t have been here right now, lying in his room on the verge of death, feeling nothing but pain coursing through her whole body.

People would wonder, ‘How the hell could she endure the consequences of being around Thomas Shelby?’

It sure as hell was not the first time she had been awfully mistreated by Tommy before. But this one was sure the worst.

She remembered the time when Tommy had asked her to be a whore and lure the men who were his enemies. He had promised to save her before anything turned sour, however, something else came up and he had totally forgotten about her. John was the only one who managed to save her before she got raped by those men. That doesn’t mean she left the battle unscathed. Tommy didn’t want to how sorry he felt but instead, to make himself feel better he had killed them with his bare hands.

Nobody knew who did that, Tommy had kept it a secret.

Waking up from what she had endured had traumatized her. She was so terrified of men to the point where she couldn’t even look Tommy in the eyes, screaming in his face whenever he entered the room to check on her or give her a meal. Polly had taken over, being the one who tended to her, fed her, and cleaned her wounds.

“Pol... Don’t you think I look skinny, nowadays?” Her voice was so hoarse, she had been screaming and wailing a lot. Pol had encouraged her to drink more water, however, it seemed like it wouldn’t heal too easily.

“I think you look better than when we first found you, my love. I feed you quite well, don’t I?” Polly remarked with a small smile.

Y/N shook her head, taking off the blanket as she stood up and walked towards the standing mirror Tommy had in the corner of his room.

“Pol, don’t you think I look different?” She asked as she studied her figure, her face full of confusion.

“Well, you’ve been to war, Y/N... I’m sure you’ll look as pretty as you are when you recover, yeah? Now why don’t you lay back down, you need to take your medicine” Polly didn’t have any idea what she was going on about, so she paid her no mind, separating her medicine and arranging them in ways that it would be easier for her to take.

Y/N, still stood in front of the mirror, her brows deeply furrowed as she studied herself.

That’s when she turned to the side, looking at her growing belly and realized--

Her stomach was flat.

“P-Pol...?” Her voice broke as her hand went down to her stomach to feel it, “Where’s my b-baby, Pol?”

Polly’s heart dropped, feeling dread and the sense of impending doom coursing through her body. It was as if time had stopped for her, her face going pale as she just stared at Y/N in deep sorrow.

“S-Sweetheart... I need to tell you something, why don’t you sit down, yeah?” Polly tried her best to speak to Y/N softly, approaching her with cautious steps as her figure started to shake in front of the mirror, “Come here, darling. Just sit down, alright?”

“No! No! It can’t be, maybe it’s just hungry? R-Right, Pol? If we feed them, they’ll grow back! Right? R-Right?!” Y/N's voice starts to raise louder and louder, the evident sense of panicking etched on her face as the tears start to well up in her eyes. “Pol, please! Just make them grow back, they need to be h-healthy!”

Pol had never felt so much sympathy for a person to the point where she had felt like she wanted to cry herself, and she was. She was crying, sobbing along with the poor girl who had never deserved something like this.

“The doctor said the baby didn’t make it, my love... I’m so sorry, Y/N...”

Her grief-stricken voice echoed through the room, a primal scream that cut through the air like a knife. Every line on her face seemed etched deeper by sorrow, her eyes wide and wild, tears streamed down her cheeks. Her body convulsed with each anguished cry, the sound of a mother's soul being torn apart, the loss of a child left an indelible mark on her very being.

She crumpled on the floor, her body wracked with heaving sobs, the pain too deep for words. Her fingers clenched at her chest, as if trying to grasp onto the fragment of the life that was gone. Her voice rose and fell in a desperate, mournful wail, the sheer intensity of her suffering echoing through the room, her face a contorted mask of agony and despair.

“M-My baby!” She wailed as she clutched her stomach, the screams came in ragged, labored gasps, each one a fresh wave of anguish tearing through her body. She clutched at her hair, pulling at it in a desperate attempt to find some release from the torment. Her eyes glazed over with disbelief, searching the empty air as if seeking the presence of her lost child.

Tommy, who was in his office where he had spent most of his time, sleeping, working, and everything in between. He heard the screams and wails echoing through the house as his eyes widened in panic because he recognized who’s voice it was.

He wasted no time running down the hall, storming inside the room. As Thomas entered the room, his eyes widened in shock at the sight before him. The woman he loved, the one who had carried their child within her, knelt amidst the ruined remnants of their shared hopes and dreams. The once-neat room now resembled a devastated battleground, the evidence of a storm of grief and despair laid bare in shattered glass and torn fabric. His heart ached as he gazed upon the woman, crumpled and broken, the stark reality of their loss mirrored in the shattered reflection of the broken mirror.

“Thomas, out!” When Polly noticed his presence, she quickly stormed towards him and tried to push him out of the room to leave both of them alone. Thomas didn’t budge, his strength clearly overpowering Polly as she tried her best to get the man out of Y/N’s side.

“My sweet girl...” Thomas called out softly, pushing Polly out of the way she sighed, her face full of worry. She was scared both of them might get hurt, it is not the best time for Thomas to see Y/N right now.

When Y/N had heard Tommy’s voice, she spun around to face him, her eyes filled with a searing look of fury. The sight of him, the cause of her anguish and despair, fueled the fire of her rage. With a snarl, she lunged at him, her hands lashing out in an attack fueled by a mixture of pain and anger. She scratched, clawed, and hit, every blow an outlet for the torment that consumed her. The room echoed with the sounds of their struggle, a desperate battle between love and bitterness.

Her body moved with a wild frenzy, her every move aimed to cause him harm. Each blow was a cry of anguish, a release of the pent-up pain that had consumed her. Tommy, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, stumbled backward, flinching at the unexpected attack from the woman he had loved. His own guilt and despair fought with his desire to defend himself, leaving him momentarily paralyzed by the bitter irony of their situation.

When Polly tried to pull her away from him, Tommy raised his hand at her, telling her it was okay and he... Deserved everything Y/N was doing to him.

“I’m so sorry, my love” Tommy choked out, not being able to contain his own emotions as the tears flowed out of his eyes, “It’s all my fucking fault. All my fault” Y/N paused for a brief moment as Tommy’s words pierced through her anger. The use of the term 'my love' seemed to pull at the heartstrings of her conflicted emotions. She froze for a moment, her eyes meeting his, and in that instant, the raw pain and grief that fueled her rage began to soften into a mix of hurt and vulnerability. Tommy continued, his voice choked with remorse and sorrow, "I'm so sorry, my love. Please, forgive me."

“Why didn’t you go after me...” She wasn’t hitting Tommy anymore, she wasn’t inflicting any sense of pain that she could on Tommy. However, out of all that happened, what she had just said had hurt him the most. “I t-thought you would go after me”

She sobbed into his chest, her tears staining the expensive cotton and that was the moment Tommy had embraced her figure, hugging her tightly but not enough to hurt her in any way. In his eyes now, she was his fragile love, holding his heart in a glass box. If he broke her again, he would break himself. Tommy doesn’t know what he would do to himself if something had happened to her again.

“Please... Please if you will have me again, I will spend the rest of my living days, every second... Trying to earn your forgiveness. I will show you how much I love you... Please Y/N, even if you can’t forgive me now, I hope you try. I am willing to wait for you until the end of my time”

[snootlestheangel]

The backburner idea I mentioned in my recent ask thing even though no one asked for more cause it's weighing on my brain today

Where the Riley family is still alive ft. Roach

This actually has self-harm mentions, some homophobia

Ghost who keeps a good relationship with his family, his brother especially. A lot of the people he knows outside of work and would consider his friends are people he met through Tommy. However, one of these people is Gary Sanderson, whom he went through many of his early military years with, and who was there to pull the Riley family from the house fire.

Roach, Ghost, and a third mutual friend of theirs named Jason all live together in a little place out in the middle of fucking nowhere. (Apparently there's a Jason guy in one of the black ops games and I did not know that until just now so these two are NOT correlated)

Ghost who practices semi healthy coping mechanisms: such as doing productive things rather than destructive. He's a damn good soldier and he uses that to his advantage: his therapist understands this and basically "ordered" he find different coping mechanisms. Every time he's home and feels the need for a cig, clean the floors or some shit. Baking is his way of coping with suicidal thoughts/self harm. Jason (goes by Jay) usually rats him out to Tommy when he sees Simon baking, and the three of them (Roach, Jay, Tommy) all hang out while Simon bakes. Mostly cause it makes him feel better about baking cause there are multiple people there to eat what he makes, and it helps him know he's not alone. Tommy doesn't leave until Simon starts washing all the dishes and utensils used.

Except Simon finds out he really loves baking, and Drunk!Simon especially loves showing off that yes despite his lack of sobriety he can make some killer brownies. And sometimes Jason makes the panicked call to Tommy before realizing it's only drunk Simon, and oh well, it won't hurt to have more eyes and ears to babysit his ass.

Ghost's little family is scuffed and they've been through some shit, but they're close and they love each other no matter what.

Soap isn't so lucky.

He knows his family would never approve of his sexuality, and he's kept that shit under lock and key for years, decades even. But after coming home from a particularly violent assignment, he's not in the mood to listen to his drunk uncle spout a bunch of his usual homophobic shit.

And he outs himself in the process.

And he's basically told to walk out and never look back.

He's in a real dark place, and makes the desperate decision to call Ghost in the middle of the night in hopes he doesn't do something stupid.

And Ghost has just finished up his last batch of cookies for the night, and has been rather enjoying himself this evening. He's drunk, he's with some of the people he loves most, and he's absolutely in love with the new recipe he's found.

Some shenanigans while Soap and Ghost are on the phone, of course.

I have a couple different ways to approach the rest but I'm cooking up something so I'm gonna keep it to myself for a bit longer

[girlbossblackbeard]

S2 TRAILER ANALYSIS WITH 1 BILLION SCREENSHOTS

obligatory warning that this post is gonna be SOOOOOOOOOOOOO foolishly long and rambling with all my silly little theories and thoughts and if you ALSO have silly little theories and thoughts you should ABSOLUTELY share them here please!!!! we can clown so much harder when our cacophonous honking harmonizes!!!!!!!

NOW ONTO THE POST (putting it under a read more so tumblr doesn't literally explode):

-the revenge looks BUSTED AF: i don't know if this is from general disrepair when ed is in his kraken era or if she was in a battle but her sails are all dirty in the opening shot of the trailer, and later we see stede on her deck with tattered sails and ropes everywhere, AND i'm like 99% sure that the shot of buttons ziplining from one ship to another is him going from the Chinese warfleet ship to the revenge, which i'm guessing is essentially stuck bc the sails are so torn they would never be able to catch the wind strongly enough to move her. I also wonder if the shot of roach shooting a canon at something is him shooting a canon at her since we had all those allusions to her exploding from samba, vico, and david on twitter all those months ago

-stede's earring: he DOES NOT HAVE THE EARRING when we see him lying on the deck next to roach and sighing dramatically nor does he have it during his conversation with Olu about stede dumping him, but he DOES have the earring in later shots like the beach english fight and when he's talking about being a failure his whole life which means WE WILL GET TO SEE STEDE GET HIS EAR PIERCED!!!!!!!!!! we'll get to see him make the decision to look even hotter and who knows who does the piercing for him idk!!!!!! @sluterastede had a dastardly beautiful thought in her brain about ed giving stede the piercing and stede making groaning noises and izzy once again thinking they're flapping their jacks right there on the deck in front of god and everybody!!!!!

-stede is spilling his heart out ("i let him down. i should've just told him how i feel") to susan on her ship (you can tell it's her by the long hair)

-interesting that there's a drawing of a donkey next to ed's wanted poster considering s1 had the line "a rich donkey is still a donkey". also i can't really read what the surrounding posters say other than "WANTED 20 GUINEAS". is this in the republic of pirates?

-stede says "i will find him" meaning ed may be actively avoiding stede at the beginning of the season???? (or the basic laws of travel physics have finally caught up to them)

-"look, captain, you know blackbeard's gonna murder you" i just think it's interesting that Olu is referring to him as blackbeard again even though ed told everyone in his pink robe era to call him ed. like it makes sense that he'd say blackbeard considering ed is on a rampage but it just made my brain wheels start spinning

-the Kraken crew are eating cake :)

-ed is holding a torch while letting the storm rain down on him: i don't think the laugh we hear is his because i don't think his mouth is even open during that slow-mo shot

-STEDE with a TEAR in his EYE as he says "i think i hurt him pretty bad"

-ed sobbing on the floor while the little bride cake topper is next to his head

-ed choking on the weed smoke i'm ACTUALLY crying, but also: where the fuck is ed when he's sitting in the chair smoking??? i thought it was on deck at first bc above his head is really dark and it looks like the lanterns we see on the deck of the revenge but there's a chandelier too?? it might be whatever shop Anne Bonny and her friend "you two know each other?" run bc behind ed in that chair is just a bunch of random furniture and a chandelier like we see when ed and stede are at the market. in fact, i think ed is smoking with Anne Bonny because I think that's her hand in the corner of that shot:

-"no more booze, no more drugs, and no more _____" not sure what the end of that sentence could be but we know that the "stede" that was put in there is NOT what he actually says!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-"you two know each other?" now hold on a sec because it kinda sounds like stede met Anne Bonny and Co. separately from Ed/before that market scene (maybe in the teaser clip of Anne on Stede's lap??) WHAT IF WE GET THE AITA SCENARIO WHERE ED AND STEDE TELL PEOPLE ABOUT THEIR VERSION OF EVENTS AND NO ONE REALIZES THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT EACH OTHER UNTIL THAT MOMENT BC THEY'RE BOTH SO BIASED ABOUT ONE ANOTHER

-the evil guy definitely got his nose sliced off by Jackie. good for her :D I also don't think the evil guy is Hornigold, i'm still holding onto my theory that the man in the white rags we saw in the teaser and this trailer is hornigold's "ghost" that ed needs to contend with to find his inner peace or whatever a la stede with nigel's "ghost". but i DO think the evil guy is the rich prince dude from that leaked audition tape from rhys's friend. if memory serves, the guy wants to buy his way into the pirate lifestyle but he's pompous and entitled which makes him reckless. based off the production stills we also got today, he still had a nose when he went into Spanish Jackie's...but i don't think he leaves with one. so because he gets butthurt over invading a space that was NOT meant for him and faces the consequences of purposely disobeying their customs, he defects to the english navy and goes on a rampage against all piracy, very MRA energy :/ also, later izzy says to him "you don't know the first thing about piracy" which would further support that this guy just tried to buy his way in

-izzy gets an honest-to-god pegleg but he doesn't start the season off with it because we see him in several shots with both legs, like the wedding raid and swordfighting stede on the beach. unsure if he loses it due to infection from the toe situation or if he gets shot in the knee like i've seen some posts talk about, but @sluterastede mentioned that one of the leaked audition tapes for archie included dialogue about an amputation so maybe that character has to uh. Get Her Roach On

-as i mentioned before with the teaser analysis, izzy is clearly training stede for something and now im guessing it's the english but like we kinda knew that !

-olu is in a bar fight??

-THE "ED GETS CAUGHT IN A BUCKET ON A ROPE DURING THE STORM AND GOES OVERBOARD" THEORY IS OUT. THE "ED TIES HIMSELF TO A MF BIG ASS ROCK AND JUMPS OFF A GOD DAMN CLIFF TO GO ON SOME SOUL-SEARCHING JOURNEY UNDER THE SEA" THEORY IS IN. and what the FUCK is the rag man doing with ed up on that cliff hello?????? if my theory is correct and that is in fact hornigold's ghost or whatever, what advice or harmful shit is he saying that makes ed do that?????????????????????? but do note the large rock with the rope around it in the first pic

-the revenge crew is blowing up SOMETHING on the side of a building. maybe to cause a distraction or gain access inside the building? is it the side of Spanish Jackie's?? also hiiiiiiii lucius <3

-"our entire escape relies on this" i'm just assuming they're trying to escape from the english bc that seems to be the Big Bad of the season??

-not plot related but during the rope swinging training session izzy slaps stede on the ass and makes this face (sir??????):

>he also has his pegleg here so their mentorship may ramp up after izzy is out of commission for hand-to-hand combat. maybe izzy was supposed to have a larger fighting role alongside ed in defeating the english but once he became incapacitated he realized he would need to train someone else up for the job so ed would be sufficiently protected. but it also had to be someone izzy knew would be willing to die for ed to save his life if it came to that, just like izzy would

-"i've been a failure my whole life. it's not so bad once you get used to it" is stede talking to ed here? is that ed's hair in the corner of the frame??

>side note: as mentioned above, stede also has his earring by this point!!

-"you're going through that 'if i was a regular dude' phase" first of all, SPANISH JACKIE AND EDWARD TEACH BEST FRIENDS TRUTHERS RISE UP. second, why would ed be considered a regular dude now?? how did he lose his reputation? did he willingly give it up or was it taken from him? is this permanent or just temporary? or did he fake his own death with the cliff and the rock thing so he could retire and live a more normal life?? the swede doesn't seem scared of him at all in the final clip from the trailer, straight up asking him if he's poor and going "back to basics". of course, that could just be a power trip from being one of Jackie's newest husbands (or at least her waitstaff)

-possibly totally minor/just a continuity error thing, but: ed has a red ring. we saw it in s1 as he picks up the rather fine cashmere and we see it as ed dramatically drapes himself across the ship's helm with his head on his hand. we do not see it in the scene where he's smoking (see above) or the scene where he's talking to the rabbit. now, if you'll allow me a little bit of clownery for a moment, red has been explicitly coded in this show to be a symbol of love/the heart, especially as it pertains to edward like his red silk scarf as a metaphor for his heart in s1. what if. what if he. gave the red ring (his heart) to. SomeOne. because.....................because his heart belongs to st--[GUNSHOTS]

-olu, jim, and archie with garlic around their necks and making a cross with their fingers - clearly they think someone is a vampire on the ship. @sluterastede proposed it could be izzy, especially if he's on the brink of death due to an infection and frenchie managed to spread his superstitions to other people on the ship!

-THIS FUCKIN GUY. WHO ARE YOU??? it seems like he kidnaps stede and his crew and throws a party on the ship and drugs the drinks which is why everyone is kinda tripping/laughing in some parts. but then everyone gets tied down (stede to the mast, wee john's hands get squished, olu and roach's heads get squished, and jim and archie's feet get secured to the ship's railing i think??). also that wide shot is definitely the rando dude hitting some shrill high note at the same moment the revenge crew cry out in pain from all the squishing (except maybe jim and archie - they might just be laughing at the others bc they're badasses and this pain is nothing). also don't know what the guy is looking at when we first see him but im thinking maybe it's a wanted poster of stede and he's looking at the description of the gentleman pirate to confirm it's the dude right in front of him/that he's captured?? also i think roach is wearing flowers from the drug party in his apron when he fires that canon, so maybe he's tripping too and shoots a canon?? i need a prayer circle for the revenge's safety at this time

-stede has a bullet hole???????????????? did ed fucking shoot him in the heart?????????????????????????? he also notably does NOT have the earring in this scene but he does have the sexy stiddies (blue) shirt like we see in the other shot where he DOES have the earring. maybe this weirdo dude pierces stede's ear bc he thinks stede needs to look more piratey?? or stede gets absolutely sloshed (or drugged) and gets his ear pierced idk !!! maybe jim does it bc they're effortlessly cool and has a bunch of ear piercings!!!

-idk if this is a coincidence or not but i'm pretty sure stede in his training scenes with izzy is wearing the clothes he wore in that final shot of s1 as he rows to find the crew on the island (white linen shirt, dark pants, brown belt and boots). so either costume changes are happening later in the season, they're reusing outfits like normal people do, or the training montage happens extremely early on in the season

-so originally with the teaser trailer i thought ed falling in the water was followed by the shot of ed coming out of the water on the beach. i don't know if i fully believe that anymore because ed is NOT wearing his jacket on the cliff (see above), but he IS wearing it as he comes up out of the water, so either it's two different events and ed just spends a lot of time in the water this season or he puts his jacket on before jumping off the cliff

-ed his holding his right side as he slashes that dude on the beach so he definitely got hurt in battle but i hope it's not him getting stabbed bc ur supposed to cleverly take the sword on the left where all the unimportant bits are :(((

-I VERY STRONGLY BELIEVE that the person in the scene where stede turns around and shoots his gun into the air and everyone else on deck suddenly draws their weapons against that person is our boy lucius!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! he's wearing a beret?????????? @sluterastede proposed that lucius got picked up by the english navy after getting thrown overboard and that's why we see him in the english navy garb (which we later see frenchie in too?? i believe an infiltration fuckery is afoot). also the fact that the shot immediately after this one is of Black Pete doing a happy little fist pump which i'm choosing to interpret as a cute little easter egg symbolizing Pete gets reunited with his love. i also also also believe lucius is in the shot of buttons about to zipline from one ship to the other. i missed him :')

-okay i know i said in an earlier post that stede running across the beach was romantic but i changed my mind and i think izzy is just making stede do cardio as part of his training lol. his outfit matches the one he's wearing when swordfighting izzy in that earlier wideshot and i think he even still has the scarf belt and the full beard in both scenes (explained at the end of this post via production stills) so maybe they have an honest to god training montage that takes course over several days and we get an incredible 80s powerballad to play on top of it while stede thinks of ed to motivate him or whatever. david jenkins hire me to help write season 3 i have ideas

-i think jim is behind stede as he breaks into the weirdly religious room we saw in the teaser when stede punches that guy??

-ed is pretty bloodied in the shot of stede leaning over him and saying VERY worriedly "ed????" so my theory is that ed got hurt in battle or he was taken captive by the Chinese warfleet and stede was worried he was grievously injured. however, once ed comes to and realizes who's kneeling over him, he gets pissed and headbutts stede because he's still mad at him for breaking his heart, and maybe his hands are restrained/his body is too weak so he can't push stede away. or maybe they had to begrudgingly work together on some mission and stede fucked it up and ed got hurt so he's mad about that idk!! ALSO HE'S WEARING THE CRAVAT HELLO

-ed in buttons's shirt looking so PEACEFUL what the HELL. obviously it's from the same general time as him being in Spanish Jackie's when she's talking to him about being a regular dude and later when the swede asks him if he's poor addkjfajdfhlkefh i fucking love this show and its writing so much. but ed says "no, i'm just trying something different man >:/" so i wonder if this is ed at the end of s2 or if this is more towards the middle as he's still in the thick of his healing journey. maybe buttons teaches ed about meditation and/or the tai chi he practiced with the Chinese warfleet crew??

-the BTS production still of ed with his "trust no one" tattoo also features what i believe is the treasure chest we see jim carrying off the ship in the shot where fang is smashing two dudes' heads together!

-i also think the BTS production still of stede with the beard is early on in ep 1 because he has a full beard (that im hoping someone on the revenge bullies him into shaving off to the scruff we see in the rest of the promo materials) and ALSO because he's wearing a long red scarf around his waist, which we never see again in any of the other promo material - except, however, around his neck as a makeshift cravat:

>it's the same exact material and everything! my guess is he gets his ass handed to him in a fight (maybe against izzy??) and his scarf belt gets destroyed, so he repurposes the shredded fabric into his necktie

-there's literal gold bars in the background of this production still lmao the kraken crew got BUSY during ed's goth era

>speaking of, the fucking hair dye dripping down izzy's forehead in this production still:

*sad clown noises*

in conclusion:

WE'RE BACK BABEYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

anyway that's my second dissertation on less than 2 minutes of content that turned out to be quite literally 6 pages long :)

[valscodblog]

"𝕷𝖊𝖙 𝖒𝖊 𝖇𝖊 𝖇𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖉 𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖊"

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader/ Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish

(im so sorry but this is angst-and nothing but heart breaking contents.)

WARNINGS: I rewrote some of the dialogue to fit Ghost trying to flirt with Johnny okay? death, mentions of blood, mentions of drinking,

this fic is for the one and the only: @katsudoodles 

"Simon-what if we switched dog tags? Just for like-a day or something?" you had randomly popped the question. Not knowing what that day would bring-or how horrible it would be.

Simon, who loved you with all his heart and then some, of course said yes to you. So you made the switch and would do horrible impressions of your husband. Made the guys laugh. Made Him laugh.

But it didn't last long. A last minuet call in was ordered by Shepard and so Price sent you, Ghost, and Roach.

"Why the hell did they havta send You? ...We had three damn days. Three!" Simon ranted as he loaded his rifle. You just sighed and loaded your pistol. "I don't know, Si. But it'll be alright-like always." But there seemed to be something Simon knew that you didn't. "Right?" you said, punching his shoulder softly and playfully. He just grunted.

"Simon, you were just perfectly fine! What the hell?" "I don't wantcha goin'! I need ya t'stay safe! And this isn't stayin' safe, now is it, Lovie?" You blinked and pulled his balaclava up, just enough for his lips to show. You held the thin fabric as you pressed a small kiss to his mouth and then you pulled it back down, whispering a soft promise of staying by his side.

Simon believed it.

And did you.

But the events of that day said otherwise.

"Simon! Look o-" you got cut off by getting shot in the head. And Simon saw red. In more ways than one. He saw your blood and the enemy's. He shot at the enemy. Ten times more he should've.

"Overkill," Roach choked out in pure fear of his closet friend. Ghost didn't hear, he didn't hear anything but your breaths getting quieter and coming in a shorter tempo. "Y/n-Lovie, open your eyes-Please."

Simon Riley wasn't one to beg for anything-but for his wife's life? He's killed, he's committed many crimes-unknown to everyone but him. Roach put a hand on his shoulder. Ghost watched as you opened your eyes and said, "I'm sorry-I fucked up. I promised-" "I don't care what you said-what matters is that you stay the fuck awake until Shepard gets here." You smiled before saying, "Yes sir, Lt."

And Simon nearly laughed. "You tryna be funny, Corp?" "Yes Sir, I am." "It's working. Keep it up for me-for the both of us." "Yes, Sir!" "Hm...Y'know I love y'right?" "I know, Simon." "...Well. I'm still wearin' yer tags, Birdie." "How cute..." and You shut your eyes and held his hand, slowly rubbing his thumb with your own. "Love'y'sim'n..."

"Love y'too, Lovie...Love ye too."

Your funeral came, and Simon was there, handing you a bunch of flowers-the same kind as he gave you on your first date-and your wedding. Sunflowers. Your favorite. He said a few words for you and that night when he went home-he cried. Because it dawned on him-really dawned on him, that you were trulyGone.

No. Not gone...you were still alive in his mind and heart, and he hoped that you would stay there.

Years came and went, Simon aged, and he never forgot you. Thank fuck. He lived on as he did as when you two were married...just, he was more silent. He slept only when he absolutely needed too. He became a part of task force 141 and Price-he of course knew about you and how you still affected Simon after years and years of being dead.

But then there was Johnny. Soap, they called him. Ghost liked him-though he never admit to it. Simon thought he was funny. Childish sure, but liked him all the same.

Liked him too much.

Liked him how Simon liked You.

Ghost caught himself staring at Soap for longer periods of time, found himself wishing that their conversations were longer-he liked hearing about Johnny family. Liked hearing about his past. Loved talking about what Soap liked and didn't like.

But it was during on certain mission that he finally let himself act on those feelings-Over the coms of course.

"Soap. Soap...Johnny!"

"I'm here."

"Thought we lost you for a second there, Sergeant...how copy?"

"I'm good."

"Don't lie, Johnny."

"Got shot in the shoulder...I'll be fine."

"Keep your blood in-you'll need every drop."

"Yes, Sir."

"Now, if you can stand, you can walk...can you stand?"

"Yes Sir."

"Then get the hell outta there! I'll be waiting for you by the shhkjk-"

"Sir?" "Did I cut out?"

"Yeah ye did, Lt..."

"...I'll guide ye. Get into a house for now. Don't matter what one-just find one, Soap."

and so Johnny did. He found one, infested with Shadows.

"I'm in the tub, Sir."

"Well-god t'know y'live up t'yer name, Soap."

"Haha, real funny, Lt...didja see the caged dog?"

"Big geezer. If he barks, shoot and repo quickly. Don't get compromised."

"You are stone cold, Simon..."

"What has to legs and bleeds?"

"Don't tell me."

"Half a dog."

"I told ye not ta tell me."

"Two fish were inna fish bowl."

"Go on..."

"One turns to the other and goes, You know how to drive this thing? ....Little army humor...another?"

"Please, no."

"Suit yourself..."

"I'm outside."

"Get to the coffee shop."

Soap did as he was told, and Simon talked to him through the whole thing, the need to hear his voice bigger than his urge to live through this thing. Johnny asked about Price-Simon shut it down.

"I trust the captain...if he knew, he'd be here."

"Be careful who you trust, Sargent...people you know can hurt you the most."

"Good advice Lt...I wanna be like you when I grow up."

You wanna be betta than me, Johnny."

"I will be."

"Good man."

"Think I'll live that long?"

"Probably not." But Simon hoped he did.

"You may get a brag rag for this..."

"A medal?"

"Chest candy."

"That's all rubbish..."

"You said you wanted a win...congratulations. Your a winner..."

"Away an' beil yer 'ead!"

"English, Mactavish."

"Sorry sir...let me translate..."Go fuck yourself."

"Much betta..."

And then, the subject of Y/n came about-and Simon answered, but his heart clenched at the thought of her again-buried with his tags...

"Hey-Lt. Who's tags d'ya wear? Cuz they aint yer's..."

"Me Lovie's...Y/n, her name was."

"...Was?"

"She's not here no mo', Johnny. She's gone-been gone f'a while now."

"...Sorry t'hear that, Lt."

"Let's be sorry about you, Soap...your not even at the coffee shop yet, are ye?"

"...Fuck. How'd ye know?"

"Don't worry about it-worry about yerself-like a said previously."

"Yes, Sir."

And Soap shut up-for a few seconds. He never really could dtay silent with Simon. Fuckin' yapper. Simon loved it though.

"I'm in the coffee shop, Lt."

"Get us a tea yeah, Johnny?"

"Fuuuckin' brits..."

"Find the bar, and then get outside to the fountain. I'll keep look out."

"Yes, Sir."

PART TWO????

[mythicalmisery]

Olympic Hockey AU: GhostxSoap

Ghost glared at the end of the table from which the obnoxious laughter was emanating. It had been a long week and a half; battling jet lag and enduring the light, but rigid, training schedule imposed on him and his team. The company was just the cherry on top. 

There, resting his foot on the bench at the end of the table was one John “Soap” MacTavish - the pain in Ghost’s ass for the past four years. 

Ghost and Soap had what would be considered a rivalry on a good day. On the bad days, it was a miracle they hadn’t killed each other yet. Their so-called feud wasn’t exactly a secret either, judging by the swarm of press and the number of articles published about them playing on the same team this Olympics. 

Ghost, a formidable center, and the Scot, a relentless defenseman, had clashed repeatedly during their careers. Ghost had lost count of how many times they’d dropped gloves over the years, their altercations often leading to multiple trips to the penalty box and a scolding from their coaches like the children they were. 

Ghost wouldn’t deny it, he acted without any sense when it came to the shorter man. One look at that stupid fucking mohawk and he was seconds away from putting his face through the ice. And to make things better, the other man knew it. Soap would never shut up, always running that mouth until Ghost finally snapped and saw red. It was never a matter of if, only when.

When Ghost had first heard that Soap would be joining the team, he nearly turned down the offer. But the news that John Price would be head coach had changed his mind. His regular season coach had a way of calming the storm, putting him in his place when he was one snarky comment away from ripping the Scot’s head off. If Price was here, he could find a way to manage somehow. He wasn’t going to let that bastard ruin this opportunity for him. 

It was a miracle they somehow managed to get through the preliminaries and quarterfinals without a murder charge. The knockout stage was coming to an end with the semifinals tomorrow meaning they either lose and get a shot at bronze, or win and get to advance to the finals. 

The only way he had made it this far was due to him avoiding Soap like the plague for his own mental sanity. Price had paired Ghost with his regular season teammate Roach to room with, providing somewhat of a semblance of normalcy. Roach was Ghost’s goalie and one of three selected for the Olympic team this year. It helped knowing he had someone in his corner while playing with a bunch of men who were typically his opponents. 

Ghost spent most of his time in the gym or his room, venturing out only to get food. Soap had surprisingly managed to leave him be off the ice, likely because Price had threatened to tear him a new one if he and Ghost couldn’t keep it together. That was until he decided to interrupt his once peaceful dinner. 

The sound of Soap’s laughter echoed through the cafeteria, grating on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. He was standing around a few of their teammates and that one snowboarder Garrick who always followed him around. 

As Ghost’s glare intensified, he felt Roach’s elbow nudge him in the ribs. 

“Ignore him,” Roach muttered, not even looking up from his meal. “He’s not worth it, so stop getting your panties in a twist and eat your dinner.”

Ghost grunted in response, tearing his gaze away from Soap and focusing on his own plate. God, he was infuriating. He may have been able to give credit where it was due, but that didn’t stop him from always showboating and bragging. Ghost thanked the heavens above that they were in different draft years, he wouldn’t have been able to handle it if Soap had been number one instead. He’d never hear the end of it. 

“Yeah well, tell him to shut the fuck up. Some people are trying to enjoy their meal,” he grumbled out before taking another bite. It was a shock the fork didn’t break with how tight his jaw was clenched. 

With a sudden burst of laughter that had both men’s attention drifting back to the opposite end of the table, Ghost watched as Soap and the Garrick guy portrayed some lewd acts much to everyone’s delight but his own. That’s it. He wasn’t going to sit around for this. 

Roach rolled his eyes as Ghost stood up and gathered his tray, waving off his comment that he’d see him back in their room later tonight. He needed to blow off some steam so he headed straight to the gym reserved for the hockey players. 

Ghost pushed through the doors, basking in the fading sounds of clinking utensils and hum of conversation the further he walked. Further away from him.  

Price may have been clear: they needed to work together if they were going to bring home the gold. But the task seemed impossible when the person you were supposed to rely on was the same one who had spent years making your professional life miserable. 

Ghost pushed through his workout, the rhythmic sound of his feet pounding against the treadmill a steady, grounding force. The gym was practically empty, just how he liked it. He only planned on doing some light cardio, not wanting to get sore before the game tomorrow. 

It hadn’t been thirty minutes before the door clicked open, breaking the solitude. Ghost didn’t bother looking up at first, hoping whoever it was would take the hint and leave him be. But when the sound of footsteps grew closer, he couldn’t ignore it any longer. He quickly glanced toward the door, his heart sinking in the process.

Of course. 

It had to be Soap. 

The Scot strolled in, a grin already plastered across his face. That cocky, infuriating grin that Ghost knew all too well. Soap’s eyes scanned the room, lighting up as they locked onto Ghost. Fuck. He made a beeline for the treadmill next to Ghost, his every step oozing with that infuriating confidence despite the death glare Ghost was sending his way. 

Ghost’s hands tightened around the treadmill handles, his knuckles turning white as Soap approached. The silent dare hung in the air between them as Ghost took a drink from his water bottle, waiting for the Scot to say something. So much for getting away from him. 

“Fancy seein’ ye here, Simon,” Soap drawled, his voice thick with amusement as he stopped beside Ghost’s treadmill, casually leaning against it like they were old friends. 

Ghost clenched his jaw, forcing himself to keep running, his eyes fixed straight ahead. “Mactavish.”

Soap’s grin widened at the curt reply. “What, no witty comeback? Don’t tell me I’ve finally worn ye out.”

Ghost didn’t respond, his breath coming in controlled, even bursts. Every word out of Soap’s mouth made his muscles twitch with the urge to throw a punch in that stupidly perfect smile, but he kept himself in check. Price’s warnings echoed his mind, he couldn’t afford any slip-ups no matter how much the other man taunted him. 

But Soap was relentless. “Ye know, I was thinkin’… maybe we should work out together. Team bonding, yeah? I promise I won’t make ye look too bad.”

Ghost finally turned his head at that, fixing Soap with a glare that could cut through steel. “I’m not interested. Now fuck off, MacTavish.”

Soap raised his hands in mock surrender, but the playful spark in his eyes never dimmed. “Suit yourself. Just try not to break the treadmill, yeah? Don’t want ye too knackered for the game tomorrow.”

Ghost bit back a retort, instead focusing on the numbers ticking up on the treadmill’s display. Each step felt heavier than the last, the proximity of Soap throwing off his concentration. 

Soap lingered a moment longer, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing, before finally backing off. He moved to the weights, still within Ghost’s line of sight, his movements casual and unhurried. 

Ghost focused on his workout, trying to drown out the sound of Soap’s presence with the steady rhythm of his breathing and the clanking of weights. But the blessed silence between them was short-lived.

“So, what’s got ye in such a hurry?” Soap asked, breaking the quiet as he worked through a set of curls. His tone was casual, but Ghost could hear the genuine curiosity beneath it. “Ye bolted out of the cafeteria like yer arse was on fire.”

Ghost didn’t look over, keep his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. He almost ignored him, desperate to just finish his workout but he knew the man wouldn’t relent. The silent treatment never worked on Soap. 

“Didn’t feel like sitting around and watching you and that Garrick guy dry hump each other while I ate,” he replied coolly, the words slipping out with a hint of irritation.

Soap’s laughter was instant, a loud, unabashed sound that filled the gym. He set the weights down and leaned against the rack, his grin wide as ever. “Didn’t know ye were such a prude, Ghostie.”

Ghost finally turned his head, leveling Soap with a deadpan stare. “I’m not. It’s just seeing you in those situations that makes me lose my appetite.” 

Soap chuckled, clearly amused by the retort. “Ye wound me Ghostie,” he stated with hands mockingly clasped to his chest. “Well, I can’t say I blame ye for that. But come on, yer actin’ like you’ve never seen a bit of friendly banter before.” 

Ghost shook his head, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “There’s a difference between banter and whatever the hell that was.”

Soap shrugged, still smiling. “Maybe, but at least ye got a free show out of it. Guess ye owe me one for that?”

Ghost let out a huff, slowing down the treadmill as he prepared to end his run. “The only thing I owe ya is a punch to the face if ya don’t leave me the fuck alone.”

Soap raised an eyebrow, that playful glint still in his eyes. “Now, now, no need to get violent, Simon. We’re on the same team, remember?”

Ghost stepped off the treadmill, grabbing a towel to wipe down his face. “I’m trying to forget.”

“Good luck with that, Ghostie,” Soap called out to him, a hint of laughter still in his voice despite being threatened. Everything was always a joke to him. 

Ghost was fucking sick of it. 

Tomorrow’s game was too important. They needed everyone on the ice, not stuck in the penalty box because Soap couldn’t keep his mouth shut or resist starting something. 

Without a word, Ghost walked over to the bench, standing over Soap as he began his reps. Soap’s eyes flicked up at him, curiosity and a hint of unease crossing his face as Ghost loomed above him. 

“Don’t be a shithead tomorrow,” Ghost said flatly, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t ruin it for everyone else. The team needs you on the ice, not the penalty box.”

Soap hesitated for a moment, mid-rep, before managing a smile, though Ghost could see the flicker of nervousness in his eyes. “Was that a compliment, Simon?”

Ghost didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned down, his hands pressing against the bar, adding just enough pressure to make Soap’s muscles strain under the added weight. The bar dipped closer to Soap’s chest, and Ghost watched as the smirk faded slightly from Soap’s face. 

“Like when people call ye a good boy, Johnny?” Ghost murmured, the words slipping out before he even had time to think them through.

The effect was immediate. Soap’s eyes widened in shock, his grip faltering slightly on the bar. For a split second, the ever-confident John MacTavish was at a loss for words. 

Satisfied, Ghost released the bar, stepping back as Soap quickly pushed it up and racked it, his breaths coming faster than before. Ghost didn’t bother sticking around to see the aftermath. He was tired, worn out from the day and from dealing with Soap’s antics. All he wanted was to get some rest and be ready for the game tomorrow. 

As Ghost walked away, he could feel Soap’s eyes burning into his back, the shock still palpable in the air. But Ghost didn’t care. He had said what needed to be said, and for once, he felt like he had the upper hand. 

And that was enough. 

— — —

The locker room was a cacophony of noise and energy, the air thick with the scent of sweat they were all nose blind to. Ghost leaned against the cool metal of his temporary locker, it felt good against his heated skin. He let the noise wash over him as he unlaced and peeled off his skates. The team had pulled off a win by the skin of their teeth, clinching the game 3-2 with a last-minute goal that had the entire bench erupting in cheers. Ghost could still feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins despite his exhausted body.

He was stripped down to his black base layers now, the tight fabric clinging to his sweaty body. The material felt almost suffocating, but he didn’t mind. It was a familiar sensation after a game like that, a strange way of reminding him of the effort he had put in. He could already feel a nasty bruise forming on his side from one particularly rough slam against the glass during the second period. 

As Ghost scanned the room, his gaze landed on Soap’s cubby station across the way. He was standing in front of two seated players, shirtless except for his compression leggings, his body still glistening with sweat. He was in his element, laughing and joking around with that arrogant attitude that only seemed to be enhanced by the recent win. Ghost mentally prepared himself before strolling over there. The other player’s attention suddenly shifted towards him as he stepped up behind the Scot, giving way to his presence. 

Soap turned around, his smile faltering slightly as he found himself face-to-face with Ghost. But the cockiness quickly returned, his smile growing as he straightened up, meeting Ghost’s gaze as head-on as he could manage. 

“What’s this, Ghostie? Come to congratulate me?” Soap’s tone was light and flippant.

Ghost crossed his arms, his expression impassive as he stared down at the man. “Ya played well out there,” he conceded, the words grudging but sincere. It wasn’t easy for Ghost to offer praise, especially to an asshole like Soap, but he couldn’t deny that the man had held his own in the game and given them the last-minute goal they needed. 

Soap’s smirk turned into a full-blown grin. “Aye, I did, didn’t I? Didn’t know you were such a fan of my work.” His eyes gleamed with a teasing edge that Ghost had become familiar with. God, he regretted this already. 

Ghost narrowed his eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. “Let’s not get too carried away MacTavish,” he warned. “Ya still racked up two penalties. Could’ve cost us the game if ya weren’t careful” 

“Minor infractions,” Soap shot back, leaning in just a little closer, his voice dropping an octave. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

“Still two more than we needed,” Ghost countered, his tone sharp. “Don’t get all cocky now.”

“Why are ye on my case, Simon?” Soap questioned. “Ye should worry about yerself. Not my fault ye can’t keep yer eyes off me when I’m on the ice. It’s normal to wanna watch the best.” 

There was a beat of silence, the locker room’s noise fading into the background as Ghost locked eyes with Soap. Both men were always on alert around the other, always waiting for the inevitable fight to begin. But before he could figure out what to say, Soap chuckled, breaking the tension. 

Ghost felt that familiar flicker of heat creep up the back of his neck, but he forced himself to stay cool. “Keep dreaming, MacTavish,” he muttered, turning to grab his towel. 

Soap’s laughter trailed after him as they headed to the communal showers, but it wasn’t his usual cocky, grating sound. There was something lighter in it, almost playful. Ghost tried to shake off the unsettling feeling in his gut. He could handle the annoying, antagonistic, egotistical Soap—that was familiar territory. But this version of Soap? This was something new, and Ghost didn’t like it. He didn’t like friendly Soap, being friends with Soap. 

The steam filled the shower area, the hot water soothing Ghost’s sore muscles. He deliberately chose a spot near the wall, hoping for some space, but of course, Soap took the one right next to him. Ghost said nothing, too tired to start an argument.

Yet, as they showered, the tension between them from earlier lingered, and it wasn’t the usual animosity Ghost was accustomed to. It was different, and that unfamiliarity was starting to piss him off so he did what he always did and tried to ignore the other man. 

It didn’t help when his eyes unconsciously glanced over as he turned around, just for a second, catching a glimpse of the water sliding over Soap’s sculpted body. He quickly looked away, telling himself that it was nothing more than a casual look. It was far from the first time he had seen a naked teammate and wouldn’t be his last. While Ghost was in his own head, trying desperately to act nonchalant he didn’t even realize that Soap had been subtly glancing his way as well. 

“Simon, hurry the hell up!” Roach’s voice cut through the sound of the heavy streams, jolting Ghost out of his thoughts. He turned to see Roach standing by the entrance to the showers, towel slung over his shoulder, looking impatient. “Let’s go get food before all the good stuff’s gone.”

Ghost finished rinsing off and turned off the water, grabbing his towel. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he muttered. Neither man said a word as Ghost padded his way out of the showers. 

As they made their way into the cafeteria, the locker room’s atmosphere had clearly transferred to the dining area. The guys were still riding the high from their win, their voices loud and boisterous as they rehashed the game and talked strategies for the final. 

Ghost and Roach found a quiet table toward the back, both of them content to sit and eat in relative peace. Or at least, that was the plan. 

They’d barely started eating when Soap appeared, dragging Kyle Garrick along with him. Without asking, he plopped down across from Ghost, flashing him that stupid, smug grin. 

“Mind if we join ye?”

Ghost glanced up, a faint frown pulling at his lips. The fucker wouldn’t leave him alone. “You’re already sitting, aren’t ya?”

“Couldn’t stay away from ye, Ghostie,” Soap teased, winking in a way that had Ghost’s grip on his fork tightening slightly.

Roach rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, digging into his food with a resigned sigh as he already knew how this was gonna end. Gaz, on the other hand, seemed to find the whole situation amusing, shooting Soap a grin as they all settled into a tense silence. 

It didn’t last long.

“So, Simon,” Soap started, leaning forward on his elbows, “Ye ever think about what ye’ll do when we win the gold? Bet ye’ll be all stoic and shit, trying not to smile like always.”

Ghost shot him a sidelong glance. “Ya think we’re guaranteed to win, huh? Thought I told ya not to get cocky.”

Soap’s smile only widened. “Just confident, mate. There’s a difference.”

Gaz chuckled, but before Ghost could respond, Soap’s attention shifted. He turned to his friend, the grin on his face taking on a different quality—one that Ghost could only describe as flirtatious. “Ye guys should really watch Gaz’s half-pipe run from earlier today. Silver in the bag, it was bloody impressive.”

Roach congratulated Gaz while Ghost continued eating his food. He was being a petty asshole right now but he didn’t really care. 

“Must feel good,” Soap continued, leaning closer to Gaz, “knowing you’ve got a medal hanging around yer neck. Hell, maybe I’ll switch sports, see if I can give ye a run for yer money.”

Gaz laughed at that, shaking his head. “Stick to hockey, mate. Don’t think you’ve got the balance for the half-pipe.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Soap said teasingly. “I’ve got pretty good balance for my size.”

Ghost’s chest tightened inexplicably, an odd discomfort settling in his stomach as Soap continued to flirt with Gaz. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why it bothered him, but the longer it went on, the more irritated he felt. He focused on his food, trying to drown out whatever the hell was happening right in front of him. 

“Oh I’m sure your size helps ya out in a lot of things,” Gaz responded. 

That’s it. Ghost finally pushed his plate away, the food suddenly unappetizing. “I’m tired,” he muttered, standing up. “I’m gonna head back to the room,” he said, aimed towards Roach. 

Soap’s teasing expression faltered, confusion flickering in his eyes as he watched Ghost leave. “What’s his problem?” Soap asked, trying to sound indifferent, but there was an edge to his voice that gave him away.

Roach shrugged, completely over their shit. “It’s been a long day, he needs his beauty sleep.”

But Soap wasn’t convinced. Something was off. Was he that upset he sat down at his table, or that he brought Gaz over to the table with him? He wasn’t even trying to piss the man off this time so what the fuck had made him so angry?

— — — 

Ghost was seething. His rage boiled over as he stormed his way back to the locker room for the final intermission. His eyes locked onto Soap, not thinking twice before shoving his way through the crowded hallway. He ignored the shouts of the other men, grabbing Soap by the back of his jersey and slamming him against the wall in one swift motion. 

The impact had Soap wincing, even through all his padding. The bloody nose he received earlier in the game still dripped down his face despite the haphazard tape trying to keep it under control. Another player had high-sticked him which set Soap spiraling the rest of the period. 

“Ya fuckin’ idiot!” Ghost hissed out. 

Soap tried to pull away, but Ghost wasn’t having it. “Ya let them get under your skin and play ya like a fuckin’ fiddle MacTavish!” Ghost’s grip tightened as he cursed out.

Soap, true to form, deflected with his usual attitude, shrugging off Ghost’s words. “What’s yer problem, Simon? I was just —’’

“Just being a fuckin’ liability!” Ghost’s voice rose, his grip on Soap’s jersey tightening. “Ya let them get to ya! They taunted ya, and ya snapped! Then your team paid for it. This isn’t the fuckin’ Soap show, be a team player!”

Soap’s eyes narrowed, that cocky defiance flickering in his gaze turning into his own shade of anger at Ghost’s words. “Team player? That’s rich coming from ye. Where the fuck were ye when I was gettin’ slammed over and over!”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t me slamming ya!” Ghost shouted back in frustration. 

Before Soap could retort to that, Price and Roach rushed over, shoving themselves between the two men. 

“Enough!” Price barked, his tone brooking no argument. “Both of ya, cool it!”

Ghost released Soap with a final shove, his hands trembling with barely suppressed fury. He stalked over to his spot in the locker room, trying to regain some semblance of control. The game was tied 3-3, and the tension was palpable as they had been neck and neck the entire time. Ghost couldn’t believe how reckless Soap had been, letting the other team’s attempts get under his skin.  

While Ghost had been grinding his teeth through the mumbled shit-talking during face-offs, Soap had let his emotions explode on the ice, spending the last five minutes of the period in the penalty box for a major infraction. He was one overzealous body check away from getting pulled from the game entirely. The rest of the team had been forced to scramble, covering for him, only to have the other team score a last-minute goal.

Ghost had seen red since then, his mind a whirlwind of anger and utter confusion. Soap was obnoxious, a showoff sure, but he wasn’t stupid. He was a damn good defenseman, and wouldn’t have made the Olympic team if otherwise. So why the hell was he acting so irrational and childish during the biggest game of his life? He’d be lucky if Price even let him back out on the ice for the final period. 

The locker room was filled with a tense silence, thick enough to cut with a knife. Price stood in the center, his expression dark as he fixed both Ghost and Soap with a glare that could make a lesser man crumble. 

“What the hell was that out there?” Price's voice was low but filled with controlled fury. 

“Ya think this is some backyard brawl?” he continued. “We’re here to win a gold medal, not indulge in petty vendettas!”

“Who do ya think scored the leading goal out there? It’s not my fault they keep targeting me!” Soap interrupted.

“Boy, you better sit down and keep that mouth of yours closed,” Price warned. 

Ghost sat on the bench, his head bowed, seething quietly as Roach placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. But the rage still simmered beneath the surface, a mix of frustration and guilt gnawing at him. He knew Price was right—this wasn’t the time to lose his cool, but damn it, Soap had been reckless. And now, everything hung by a thread.

“Get your heads out of your arses and back in the game,” Price continued, pacing back and forth. “We’ve got one period left. Ya need to focus, not on each other, but on that puck.” 

The rest of the break was spent in silence. Everyone chose to stay quiet as Price went over strategies and the uneasy energy lingered. Ghost did his best to pay attention but he found himself glancing towards Soap every once in a while to make sure he was listening. Thank god the fucker was, otherwise, Ghost would have sacked him right then and there.

As the break ended, the team stood and headed out onto the ice. They were smart enough to give their captain and Soap a wide berth. Ghost felt that tinge of guilt shooting through his body. He never wanted his shit with Soap to get in the way of the other men’s chances. Price didn’t deserve to deal with it either.

The crowd’s roar was a distant hum in Ghost’s ears, his focus narrowing on trying to not spiral. The final period kicked off as the puck hit the ice, and Ghost couldn’t help but keep an eye on Soap throughout. They both hated each other with everything they had, but something shifted as the game went on. 

Ghost noticed that the Scot was actually trying his damnedest to stay cool under the constant attacks. Despite repeated body checks that had him slamming against the glass, Soap didn’t lash out. He gritted his teeth and shook it off, ignoring the taunts thrown his way. 

Something in Ghost cracked at that sight. Soap was trying—really trying—not to let his emotions get the better of him. And for some reason that he couldn’t fathom, it had Ghost angry for him instead of at him. 

During the next face-off, Ghost locked eyes with the one player who had been gunning for Soap all game. Magnussen. He’d recognized the man early on, recalling that he and Soap had once played on the same team a few years ago. Whatever had happened between them was now being laid out on the ice and it was pissing Ghost off. The moment the puck dropped, Ghost charged forward, slamming the guy to the ice with a force that rattled through his own bones.

Soap’s stunned expression was just a flash in Ghost’s peripheral vision before he went right back to the game, pretending like nothing happened. The minutes ticked by, agonizingly slow, and the score remained tied. Roach was a force to be reckoned with, holding the line with a ferocity that had the entire team and crowd rallying behind him. Despite his efforts, Ghost knew his friend. He was getting tired and they needed this to end soon because he wasn’t going to last much longer at this level. 

The buzzer finally blared, signaling the end of the regulation period. 

Fuck.  

The sound echoed through the arena, the only thing Ghost could hear as he skated to the bench. Overtime. This was it. Everything came down to the next twenty minutes or until whoever scored first. 

Price was quick to make his decision. “Ghost, Soap, Brady - you’re up.”

Ghost hesitated, just for a moment, before nodding. It was the right choice on Price’s end, the three of them had been the main scorers for the past week. As Soap skated over to him, his expression was uncharacteristically serious, all traces of his usual attitude gone. It had warning bells going off in Ghost’s head.

“Truce?” Soap asked quietly, extending his forearm out in front of him. He almost had a meekness about him that had Ghost trying to suppress a grin. 

Of all the things he was expecting the man to say, that was not one of them. Ghost stared at it for a moment before raising his own forearm and tapping it against Soap’s. “Truce.”

They took their positions, and from the moment the puck dropped, it was a brutal battle. Neither trio let up, both were determined to leave it all on the ice. The clock ticked down and unlike the previous period, it seemed to fly by. Ghost and Soap moved in sync, pushing each other to the limit, feeding off each other's energy. They played like men possessed.

But the tension spiked again when Magnussen - who had high-sticked Soap earlier -  skated past, whispering insults right in Soap’s ear, ensuring the referees wouldn’t hear. Ghost caught the look in Soap’s eyes, saw the struggle to keep it together, to not snap.

Something swelled in Ghost’s chest—anger, determination, maybe something else he didn’t want to name. 

Two minutes remaining. 

As he gained control of the puck, he faked a charge at the goalie, drawing the defense toward him. In that split second, he saw Soap skating up beside him, in perfect position. Without hesitation, Ghost passed the puck.

One minute remaining. 

Soap didn’t miss a beat. He took the shot, the puck slyly slipping through the goalie’s legs and into the net.

For a moment, the world went silent. All Ghost could hear was the sound of the puck hitting the net, echoing through the rush of blood in his ears. 

They won. They won the fucking gold medal.

The arena exploded in cheers, the sound finally breaking through to Ghost as he turned to face Soap. Their eyes met, and for the first time, there was no animosity between them, just pure, unfiltered elation.

— — — 

The day of the medal ceremony had passed in a whirlwind of celebration and chaos. Ghost had gone through the motions—smiling for the cameras, shaking hands, and enduring the endless rounds of interviews and press events. He even managed a genuine smile or two, knowing his brother and family were watching back home, proud of what he’d accomplished. Soap’s energy and peacocking made up for his lack of excitement anyway. But as the adrenaline wore off and the exhaustion set in, all Ghost wanted was to retreat to his room and disappear for the night.

He had kept his distance from Soap throughout the day, giving the man a wide berth. The last thing he wanted was to ruin the good mood of the team by stirring up their usual shit. They made it through the game without killing each other and even managed to win together, but Ghost wasn’t ready to test how long that truce would actually last. 

He managed to sneak away after the last photo call of the day, grabbing a few snacks from the dining hall as his mind was already focused on packing and getting some much-needed sleep. But as he left the cafeteria doors and stepped into the hallway, something made him slow his pace. Leaning against the corner wall a couple of feet away was Soap, arms crossed, his posture tense. In front of him, one arm outstretched, stood Magnussen, boxing him in against the wall. His body language was too close, too invasive. Ghost’s instincts went on high alert, his body bristled as he assessed the situation. Price would skin them alive if they got in a fight with the other athletes in the village.

The conversation between the two didn’t seem overly hostile, but Soap’s expression was unsettling. The blank stare on his face reminded Ghost too much of the look Soap had worn during the game when he’d been trying to keep it together on the ice. Something about it made Ghost’s skin crawl, that tightness in his chest returning. 

Ghost couldn’t suppress the slight flinch when he felt hands on his shoulders, turning sharply only to see Roach standing behind him. He hadn’t even heard the man approach while being preoccupied with watching Soap like a total creep. 

“Hey, you okay?” Roach asked, a hint of concern in his voice. “We’re grabbing some dinner. You in?”

Ghost shook his head, his gaze drifting back to Soap and Magnussen. “Nah, I’m beat. Think I’ll head up and start packing.”

Roach followed his gaze, his brows furrowing. “What’s Soap doing with that prick?” 

Ghost shrugged, though his stomach still churned with unease. “No idea.”

Roach didn’t press further, giving Ghost a nod before heading back toward the cafeteria. Ghost lingered for a few more seconds before he turned and headed back to his room, missing the brief glance Soap shot his way after noticing the man. If he got into it with Magnussen, that was on Soap and didn’t concern Ghost in the slightest.

Nearly twenty minutes had passed with Ghost in his room, folding the last of his clothes into his bag, when a knock echoed through the quiet space. He sighed, setting down the sweatpants he’d been holding. He hadn’t had any visitors all week, so he could only assume it was Roach. 

He opened the door with a roll of his eyes. “How the fuck did ya lose your keycard again?”

But it wasn’t Roach standing there. It was Soap, grinning like he hadn’t a care in the world. But Ghost wasn’t impressed. Something ugly and unsettling was bubbling up inside him instead. Soap was acting all causal after just having a conversation with the man who had been trying to put him in the hospital for a week.

Ghost narrowed his eyes, his voice low and edged with something dark. “What do you want?”

“Well, aren’t ye a ray of sunshine tonight,” Soap quipped, leaning casually against the doorframe. “The lads are headin’ out to celebrate, thought I’d invite our resident shut-in to join the fun.”

Ghost’s jaw tightened. “Not interested,” he replied curtly, turning back towards his room.

Soap’s grin faltered, confusion flickering across his face. “Oi, what’s with the attitude? I thought we were good now, or at least better. What’s got ye all pissy?”

Ghost didn’t look back as he continued folding the clothes he had tossed on the bed. “I’m fine.”

Soap wasn’t buying it. He stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. “The fuck ye are. Yer pissed about something. Yer practically vibratin’ with it.”

“Drop it, Soap,” Ghost warned, his voice dangerous.

But Soap, being Soap, couldn’t let it go. He stepped up right next to Ghost nearly suffocating the man. “Nah, I’m not leavin’ until ye tell me what crawled up yer arse. We just won the bloody gold, mate! Why the fuck are ye being a little bitch?”

Ghost’s patience snapped. In one fluid motion, he turned and grabbed Soap by the throat, shoving him hard against the wall. Soap’s eyes widened, but he didn’t resist. He stared at Ghost with a mix of surprise and something else he didn’t want to acknowledge for his own sanity. 

“Ya need to learn when to quit, MacTavish,” Ghost hissed, squeezing Soap’s throat for emphasis. “And maybe ya should think twice before cozying up to the man who’s been gunning for ya all week. Have some fuckin’ self-respect.” 

Soap blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Who? Magnussen? What are ye—” he paused, realization dawning on him. A slow smile spread across his face, despite the situation. “Oh, I see what’s goin’ on here.”

“Enlighten me,” Ghost growled. His anger only intensifying at the sight of Soap’s smug grin. 

Soap chuckled, the sound strained but amused. “Magnussen and I… we used to fool around back when we were on the same team, and that’s putting it lightly. Didn’t end well since he was under the impression exclusivity only applied to me. I told him to fuck off and he made my life a livin’ hell after that. Guess they were right when they said don’t shag yer coworkers.”

Ghost’s grip loosened slightly, mind reeling at the admission. “And what’s that got to do with me? I don’t care where ya stick your prick.”

Soap’s voice softened, his tone flippant as he shrugged. “He’s been makin’ comments all week, never could get over the fact I left him. Likes to tell me how my ‘new boyfriend’ —” he said the word with a mocking lilt, “— couldn’t satisfy me like he used to.”

Ghost felt a flush of heat rise to his face, and he told himself it was just the anger, nothing more. “So, what? He thinks I’m your new boy toy or whatever? Why the hell would he think that?”

Soap’s smile grew, a teasing glint in his eyes. ‘Ye know, I’ve always been into the ones that play hard to get and our rivalry isn’t exactly private. And let’s face it, yer not as subtle as ye think, Ghostie. I can see where he connected the dots.” 

Ghost’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck are ya talkin’ about?”

Soap’s grin widened. “It didn’t click right away but now I can see it. I think ye do care where my prick ends up. You’ve been actin’ like a right jealous bastard for the past week.  First with Gaz, and now with Magnussen. Why don’t ye just admit it?” 

“Admit what?” Ghost demanded, his heart pounding in his chest. His pitiful attempt of denial was pointless against the Scot.  

Soap leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “That ye want to fuck me so bad it makes ye look stupid.”

Ghost’s breath caught in his chest. His grip on Soap’s throat tightened, but the man didn’t flinch, his eyes locked on Ghost’s, daring him to respond. 

“You’re fuckin’ insane, MacTavish.”

He shrugged once more as he attempted to pull away and take a step toward the door. “Guess I’ll go see what Magnussen is doin’ since I’m so wro—”

But Soap didn’t get to finish his sentence. Before he could think it through, before he could talk himself out of it, Ghost’s lips crashed against Soap’s in a rough, bruising kiss. It was more anger than anything else, a raw, violent need to shut Soap up, to wipe that smirk off his face. 

But as their mouths moved together, it became something else. The tension that had been simmering between them for so long ignited, exploding into a fire neither of them could control. Ghost’s hand slid up from Soap’s throat to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling in his stupid mohawk as he deepened the kiss, pouring all his frustration, all his confusion, into it.

Soap responded with just as much intensity, his hands gripping Ghost’s sides, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. The kiss was a battle for dominance, neither willing to back down, neither willing to let the other have the last word. 

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard. Hot and ragged on one another’s skin. Ghost’s eyes were dark, pupils blown and filled with a storm of emotions he wasn’t ready to face, but one thing was clear—there was no way they could come back from this. No way to uncross the line they just plummeted over head first. 

“Still think I’m insane?” Soap whispered, his voice hoarse. The teasing edge to his words remained despite the breathlessness.

Ghost’s response was a low growl as he pulled Soap back in, kissing him again, harder this time. He didn’t shy away when he felt Soap’s wandering hands, slowly inching their way down to the waistband of his joggers. His own hands had fallen to rest upon Soap’s hips at some point, occasionally lifting to splay up and down his abs. Relishing in the shivers it caused as he needed to touch every inch of the man’s skin. 

He hissed as he felt Soap grip him through his boxers and grind his palm. He was slightly pent up; spending a week sleeping five feet away from Roach hadn’t left him many options to take care of himself. Part of him wanted to take it slow, ease into it, and give each other time to adjust. But when Soap let a low moan escape his throat after touching him, it took every ounce of fleeting self-control Ghost had to not throw him on the bed and take him right then. 

That moan pissed Ghost off while turning him on altogether; every little feeling he felt toward Soap was conflicted with an opposing emotion. He wanted him so badly while wanting to put his face through the wall for making him want him that badly. What the fuck were they doing?

“Fuck,” Ghost groaned out, a mix of annoyance and desperation coating his voice. He loathed how out of control he felt at that moment, especially when it was John fuckin’ MacTavish who had the advantage. He pushed off of Soap’s chest giving himself some room to breathe, his lungs burning at the sudden intake of oxygen. Soap saw what must have been a flash of uncertainty in his eyes as he interrupted Ghost’s inner turmoil.

“Don’t tell me yer getting cold feet now? I can leave if ye want. Walk out that door and leave ye all alone to wank one out as ye think of me,” he goaded, leaning up to whisper directly in Ghost’s ear. “Or do ye wanna get out of yer head and be a good boy for me so I can take care of ye?” 

Ghost swallowed at that, even though all the moisture in his mouth had evaporated in a second. His lips parted to reply, but it was as if his brain had gone offline; he couldn’t string a sentence together to save his life. The glare he had trained on Soap didn’t deter him from what he wanted though. 

He grabbed the two pant strings of Ghost’s joggers and pulled him in where their foreheads now rested against each other. Ghost couldn’t help but shake his head, a whispered, “I hate you,” was all he could manage in the end. 

Soap grinned as his hand dove under Ghost’s waistband once again, only this time he included the boxers. “I know.”

Soap’s touch felt like a brand upon his skin. Ghost’s hips reflexively jerked back, but the man’s tight grip kept him in place. The slight burn of friction caused by dry skin was a welcome one. He started to slowly jerk him off, picking up the pace every few movements just to slow back down again. The bastard always keeping Ghost on edge while making sure he wasn’t able to cross it. He almost let a moan slip out when Soap leaned in and started sucking right on his pulse point. The repercussions of letting Soap mark up his neck were so far from his mind as he focused on the way the man flicked his wrist. 

Soap’s mouth moved in an upward pattern, eventually kissing his way back up to meet Ghost’s lips once again. He must have deemed Ghost ready as he pulled back, his gaze burning into Ghost’s skull as he searched for any uncertainty. With only desire remaining, Soap slid his thumbs under the waistband of Ghost’s pants and underwear, pulling them with him as he fell to his knees. 

He had that devilish look in his eyes as he leaned forward with no hesitation. He licked a stripe from the base to the tip of Ghost’s cock, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Ghost couldn’t contain the full body tremble as Soap’s tongue swirled his head once before he took the entirety of him down in one go. 

“Fuck, Johnny,” he hissed out.

Soap responded with a smirk as he pulled back, giving a few pumps before returning to his mouth. 

Ghost watched as Soap moved his head back and forth, taking him impossibly deeper each time. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. It felt too intimate to rest them on Soap’s head despite his dick currently halfway down the man’s throat. He settled on leaning them against the wall, the position completely blocking Soap in and angling himself even further till the other man gagged. That was a sound he could get used to. 

Ghost took in the man kneeling before him. Had he always felt like this? He never thought his emotions surpassed hatred when it came to Soap. But now that he was actually looking at him and he wasn’t running his mouth, he couldn’t deny anymore that there was something else there no matter how fucked up it was. It might have always been there. 

His gaze drifted to the bridge of Soap’s nose where it repeatedly brushed against his pelvis. The wound was still red and fresh where he had been hit by Magnussen. Ghost scowled the longer he stared. That ugly feeling inside him reared up again at the thought of that fucker making him bleed. Hell, maybe Soap was right. Maybe Ghost was jealous and his head was too far up his own ass to see it. 

He hadn’t even registered that his anger had escaped from inside his mind until he heard Soap — more like felt — groan around his cock. His eyes focused and he realized his hand had unconsciously moved to the man’s hair, gripping his mohawk tightly as he ground Soap’s face closer to deepthroat him. Of course he liked his hair pulled. No sane person would willingly choose that haircut unless the sole purpose was to bring attention to it like a neon sign that said ‘PULL ME.’

Ghost picked up his pace as he gave in and let his anger wash over him. What once was a blowjob had now turned into Ghost flat-out face-fucking Soap. Each slam of his hips had Soap choking on a gag, his hands desperately finding purchase on Ghost’s thighs. His throat reflexively swallowed around the tip of Ghost’s cock, the constriction having him see stars. 

The force of his thrusts had managed to jostle the medical tape on Soap’s nose at some point. The wound reopened as streams of hot blood ran down his face, mixing with the spit on his chin and dripping onto the floor between his knees.

The way he looked like a fucking painting right then had Ghost entranced. His eyes watery and blissed out just from getting his throat fucked, face flushed from the lack of oxygen and strain, and now the lower half of his face was streaked in red. Ghost could feel his own cock twitch where it rested on Soap’s tongue as he watched one particular drop run down and land where he and Soap’s lips met.

Fuck me.

He practically growled as he pulled out of Soap’s throat, using the other man’s surprise as a window to grab ahold of him and throw him on the bed. He opted for Roach’s as his own was currently covered in clothes and his suitcase. What the man didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. 

Ghost climbed on top of Soap, one hand splayed beside his head while the other pinned him to the mattress by his mohawk. Their combined weight pushed the limits of the fragile cardboard bed struggling to hold them up. Before Soap could make some smart-ass remark he leaned forward to take his mouth again in a feral kiss. He pulled the man’s lower lip between his teeth and bit down until his tongue was flooded with the taste of metal. 

He swallowed Soap’s curses and moans the same as he did his blood. His own fucked up attempt to wash away what was left behind by Magnussen with his own claim. If anyone was making John MacTavish bleed, it was going to be him alone. 

Ghost moved from Soap’s lips to the edge of his jawline, making his way down his neck while leaving behind a trail of bloody prints in his wake. While Soap was lost in the haze of pleasure, Ghost took the opportunity to slide his hand under the man’s shirt and pull it off. Soap gasped as he moved from his neck to his chest, paying extra attention to each nipple as he ran his tongue over them before dragging them between his teeth. Ghost wanted to leave his mark upon the man’s skin, and make sure he was reminded of this for weeks to come.

He hooked his fingers in Soap’s waistband, lifting the man’s lower half up as he pulled them off in one glide. He sat back to admire the man splayed out before him. Soap’s chest was slightly heaving as Ghost’s eyes danced across every inch of his skin, narrowing in on his newly exposed jockstrap straining against his hard cock. 

“Ya always wear that, ya slag?” he asked before leaning down to hover over the man. 

“Never had any complaints before,” Soap stated casually while looking into Ghost’s eyes, fully aware of the button he pushed.

Ghost’s jaw clenched as he dipped down to speak directly in his ear, “You should pick your words more wisely, Johnny.” 

That was all the warning he gave before he gripped onto the strap wrapped around Soap’s hip with both hands and pulled. The resounding tear of elastic in the otherwise quiet room was deafening. Ghost tossed the sad lump of fabric to the floor as Soap looked at him with bewilderment. 

“Yer buyin’ me a new fuckin’ pair ye bastard,” was all he said before grabbing the back of Ghost’s neck and pulling him into a heated kiss. Ghost greedily swallowed Soap’s moan as he took him in hand and started pumping him at a quick pace. He was still rock-hard himself and knew he wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer. But there was something so addicting about making the man under him fall apart with nothing but his hand that had Ghost chasing that rush and ignoring his own needs. 

He wanted to ruin Johnny. Ruin him for anyone that came after, and the memory of anyone who came before. That cloud of possessive need fogging up his brain had him missing the words leaving Soap’s mouth when he pulled away. 

“What?”

“I said lube, where’s yer lube?” Soap repeated breathlessly.

 Shit. “I don’t have any.”

Soap raised himself onto his elbows at that. “What do ye mean ye don’t have any?”

“I didn’t bring any. Some of us actually came here to do a job and not shag half the village,” Ghost pointedly stated.

“Oh my god, yer such a fuckin’ prude,” he groaned out in frustration.

“The bloody hell I am, your dick is literally in my hand right now.”

Ghost wasn’t expecting Soap to laugh at that. Their usual banter had the familiar flame of irritation flaring up inside him. God did he want to wipe that stupid smile off his face. The mineral oil he used to prevent his blades from rusting sitting in his gear bag probably wasn’t skin-safe. 

He panned to Roach’s toiletry bag sitting on the floor by his bed. That thought didn’t last long; there was no way he was about to risk his life using the man’s ridiculously priced moisturizer he had special ordered each month as makeshift lube. He was out of options and Soap’s incessant whining to hurry up was really starting to piss him off. Spit it was. He was lucky he was even giving the man that much. 

Soap let out a less than dignified yelp as Ghost suddenly flipped him over, stuffing a pillow beneath his hips and stomach. He maneuvered the man like a rag doll until he was in the position he wanted. He harshly slapped Soap’s ass when he tried to sit back up. It was as if every fiber of the Scot’s being was wired to be difficult and not follow orders. 

“Lay the fuck down, MacTavish,” Ghost warned. 

That was all the grace he was willing to give before his hands fell on Soap’s ass, thumbs spreading him open before he brought his face closer and dove in. He held on tightly as Soap bucked his hips forward, trying to escape Ghost’s invading mouth and tongue. The man only managed to get a few inches before Ghost pulled him back down once again, his hands tangling in the sheets as he cursed out. 

His moans were half-muffled as his face rubbed into Roach’s pillow. The once pristine white cotton now stained blood red and damp where he bit into it. Ghost wasn’t giving him a second of reprieve. Soap’s senses were overwhelmed by either the mouth at his rear or the hands that had moved back to his front to fondle and tease once again. 

Soap turned his head to the side to make sure Ghost heard him after one particular movement of his tongue almost had him losing it. “Fuck, Simon… I’m ready. I’m not gonnae last much longer so get the fuck in me,” he groaned out. 

If Ghost was a stronger man, he would’ve kept going just for the sake of torturing Soap and making him beg more. But in the end, he wasn’t a stronger man. Far from it. He needed in the Scot just as much as he wanted it. For once, the two were on the same page. 

He leaned back on his knees, lining himself up slowly. Soap didn’t let him get far enough into the preparation to add his fingers, but he was the one who claimed he was ready. If it hurt, that was on him and Ghost would gladly remind the cocky bastard of the fact. 

With a deep breath to try and gather some semblance of control, Ghost started to press forward using only a mix of spit and blood, precum, and a prayer to pave his way. He couldn’t contain the strained, “Fuckin’ hell, Johnny,” as the man’s tight heat engulfing Ghost’s cock made it nearly impossible to enter. “Relax before ya snap my prick in half,” he scolded. 

“If I could I would, It’d go a lot faster using it as a dildo than whatever the hell pace yer goin’ at,” he quipped back. 

Ghost glared at the small portion of the man’s face he could see resting on the pillow. He was such a fucking asshole, Ghost didn’t know if this was even worth it anymore. Yes, it was. 

He held onto Soap’s hips as he retreated the few inches he had managed to trek. Fuckin’ asshole. He slammed into the man in one harsh thrust, sheathing himself entirely despite the resistance. 

“Motherfu—!” Soap’s scream was quickly snuffed out as Ghost shoved his face into the pillow. He leaned down till his body draped over Soap’s, heavy and slick with sweat. “Ah ah, we have neighbors, Johnny,” he whispered in his ear before licking up the shell and biting down hard when he reached the top. Soap tried to flinch away from the sting, but the way he clamped down on Ghost’s dick gave him away. 

Ghost pulled back, leaving a trail of hickeys and bite marks down Soap’s neck and back in his wake. It was his own fault for having such a large canvas to work with, practically begging to be marked up. He returned to moving in and out of Soap, each thrust easier than the last. He had to reprimand him with a few slaps to his ass whenever a particular moan got too loud. It was only partly an excuse, he was actually worried about the paper-thin walls and that one of his teammates would complain to Price, or even worse— tell the whole team he had a ‘special visitor.’

Soap managed to lift himself up on shaky arms and knees, deciding he was no longer a passive member in this ordeal. He placed one arm on Ghost’s hip, the other sliding behind his neck and gripping onto the sweat-slicked hair. The new position had Ghost angling himself upwards, reaching further and deeper. He tried to stifle his own moans and grunts by latching onto Soap’s newly accessible throat, attacking it as he pounded into the man. 

“Quiet, MacTavish,” he groaned into his ear after one particularly harsh thrust had Soap crying out.

Soap leaned back, arching his back impossibly more as he rested his head on Ghost’s shoulder. The new angle had him pounding into that bundle of nerves inside the man repeatedly. Soap responded by cursing Ghost’s name so loudly that it practically reverberated through the whole village. He had to of done it on purpose just to piss him off. And it worked. 

Ghost grunted as he slammed into the man at a punishing pace. “Do ya ever shut the fuck up?” He didn’t give him much time to respond as he momentarily paused to lean over and grab something off the shared dresser between the two beds. Soap was off balance and overwhelmed, he didn’t quite register what Ghost was doing before something was being shoved in his mouth. It took him a second to figure out what it was. It was thin and slippery like silk, pulled tight where Ghost gripped it at the back of his head, keeping his tongue flat in his mouth so he couldn’t speak properly. 

Ghost just grinned as he continued to fuck the man below him, ignoring his muffled shouts and attempts at cursing him out when he realized what he was gagging him with. 

His gold medal dangled back and forth between Soap’s shoulder blades as the neck strap finally shut the man up.

The small victory wore off quickly, replaced by short breaths and electricity shooting up his spine in warning. He was getting close. It was a miracle he had even lasted this long. By the way Soap squeezed him every time he hit his prostate and let out a punched-out moan, he wasn’t too far behind himself. Ghost let the one hand that was gripping the medal keep them balanced as he reached around and started jerking Soap off with his other. His pace didn’t falter as he chased both of their releases. Sweat dripped down his nose and landed in the small space between them, right on the bloody marks he left trailing down Soap’s spine. The sight alone almost had him tipping over the edge, picking up speed right before disaster struck.

A slight crack was all the warning they got before the bed gave way and sent them tumbling to the floor. They both groaned at the impact, Soap more so as he bore the brunt of the fall. He should have stopped and made sure the man was okay, but that stubborn and selfish need inside him had him picking his movements back up without so much as a stutter. 

It only took a few more thrusts before that burning feeling deep in his stomach returned. He switched to a slow and deep rather than fast and shallow rhythm before ultimately falling over the edge. His hips stuttered as he pumped into Soap slowly, basking in the way the man had a death grip on him while practically milking him dry. 

When the fuzziness in his brain slowly retreated, he glanced down to where he was still inside the man. He took his time pulling out, unabashedly watching his own spend drip out of Soap. His returning moans had Ghost snapping out of his own reverie. He flipped the man over and resumed a quick pace as he jerked him off, giving extra attention to the head using his wrist. 

“Hand or mouth?,” he asked before ripping the now spit-soaked and blood-stained ribbon out of Soap’s mouth. 

“Mouth, fuckin’ mouth,” he breathed out.

Ghost didn’t hesitate, shimmying down the collapsed bed till his face hovered over Soap’s painfully hard dick. It only took about three strategic swallows before Soap was cursing and following him over the edge. His whole body trembled with the force of his orgasm. His massive thighs nearly crushed Ghost’s skull where he remained between them to swallow down all that Soap had to offer. It was only when the bastard swatted his face away from the overstimulation did he decide to pull off and attack his lips instead. 

When the exhaustion finally won out, Ghost rolled over to lay next to him. Shoulders touching as they both desperately sucked air into their heaving chests. He internally winced as he registered the amount of bodily fluids that covered them where they lay. Ghost had never felt so disgusting but so blissful at the same time in his life. 

The blissful silence didn’t last long as Soap turned to look at Ghost, that stupid shit-eating grin plastered onto his face. “Next time, don’t forget the lube.”

“Next time?” Ghost questioned with a raise of a dark blond brow. 

The Scot’s responding smile had him looking like a psychopath while covered in blood. “Ye didn’t think ye were gettin’ away without me havin’ a turn with yer arse now did ye?” he replied with a kiss to Ghost’s nose. 

Before Ghost could crush any of Soap’s hope that was going to happen anytime soon, their heads both flicked to the deafening whir of an electric gear unlocking the room door. They both sat up, desperately clinging to the massacred white sheet draped across their lap. 

It was as if they were two deers in the headlights as Roach stood in the threshold, sliding his keycard back into his pocket before freezing mid-step when he finally looked up. Neither of them dared to say anything as the man scanned over what was once his bed, now crumpled onto the floor along with his blood-stained sheets. If Soap wasn’t sitting up, Ghost wouldn’t put it past Roach to conclude he had finally snapped and murdered the man once and for all. When he scanned over their naked bodies, that’s when the final nail went into the coffin. They were so dead. 

“What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you two!?”

[whiskeyapologist]

was looking through my camera roll & realized i never posted about this?? but i did a check please theme in my bullet journal back in april & i am still beyond obsessed with how it turned out!

task list & cover page

april was all about finishing my fucking thesis (i earned my mfa in stage automation in may) & i used the task list to break down each section of my thesis & make it less intimidating. i still pulled a bitty & had to marathon write most of my thesis within a like 36 hour period. i slept so good once that draft was finished!

when i started planning this theme, i flipped through the comic & decided pretty quickly i wanted the cover to be this view of faber from 4.25 "faber". i filled the outside with some of my favorite details from throughout the comic, including (clockwise from top left) the "text from chowder: i'm shouting!" from 4.2 "nonstop celly", jack's "oh" moment from 2.17 "graduation", the jack lego (?) figure from 3.1 "wag", dex & nursey's background roach & house bubbles & (i think it's) ransom's "et tu lardo?" bubble from 2.12 "post i: roadie", one of my fave senor bun appearances that didn't make it into a weekly from 1.16 "linemates", & bitty's phone (i don't think there's a specific appearance of bitty's phone that looks like this, at least not that i'm finding in the flip-throughs i've done to write this post. i think i did a lil freehand moment with it, but if anyone happens to find it in the comic, let me know!), as well as my usual little calendar & monthly focuses section

monthly calendar & habit tracker

the monthly calendar & playlist is inspired by the smh team roster hanging on the bulletin board in the haus at the beginning of year 2

the habit tracker features a few other details from 2.1 “moved in”, namely the “haus sweet haus” rug & the sock pinned to the bulletin board. the shopping list bubble is a callback to the “jizz!” speech bubble also pinned to the bulletin board next to the sock

meal & time trackers

the breakfast, lunch, & dinner headers are a callback to the hockey puck taped to the bulletin board

not much to add here, but it’s a great time to mention the “it’s tough but you’re tougher” speech bubble from 4.20 “spotlight on eric bittle” which was the quote i used to decorate my grad cap ❤️

weekly #1 is modeled after y1 & features my favorite y1 senor bun appearance (1.18 “playoffs - i”) & line (1.8 “checking clinic”)

weekly #2 is modeled after y2 & features my favorite y2 senor bun (2.10 "shinny") & line (2.4 "hazeapalooza")

weekly #3 is modeled after y3 & features my favorite y3 senor bun (3.3 "meet the falconers") & line (3.26 "cup v - post")

weekly #4 is modeled after y4 (the layout of the top panel specifically is modeled after the first panel of 4.16 "christmas in madison - iii" which shows a bunch of the christmas pics/posts from the rest of smh & tater) & features my favorite y4 senor bun (4.17 "senior thesis") & line (also 4.17 "senior thesis"). i has some extra space, so i included some excerpts from bitty's y4 tweets

camp nanowrimo tracker, before the pen. the left is just a table for tracking time spent on & words written for my thesis & the novel i've been working on forever. my camp nanowrimo goal was to write 1 hour every weekend day & 2 hours every week day, for a grand total of 50 hours, which i am proud to say i achieved! the right is a visual tracker, where each pie was equal to an hour of writing. i included 50 pies for my 50 hour goal. the bubble near the top is from 1.4 "the haus" with 2 footnotes i added; one on "kitchens" that says "word docs", & one on "pies" that says "words". clearly i think i'm very clever lol

visual tracker, filled in. i surpassed my 50 hour goal with about a week left in the month, & i wanted to include that additional progress on my tracker. once the month was done & i knew how much i needed to add, i made a tip-in (although this might just be a fold-out lol) to tape in. on one side, i included the dialogue bubbles from a panel of 3.19 "keagster"

on the other side of the tip-in/flip-out, i included jam jars for the additional 10.25 hours of writing i did, plus "it's gonna be two trips" also from 3.19 "keagster"

& that's all the spreads! spreads were done in an archer & olive b5 notebook. supplies include: mildliners in the colors vermillion, dark blue, beige, & gray; a black papermate flair, a white gellyroll pen in size 08, and stabilo pens in gray and brown. oh, & a piece of masking tape, bc i couldn't find any clear tape lol

[greeneyedsigma]

*the team is about to do something dangerous*

Burns: Shouldn’t someone give a pep talk?

MacMillan: Go ahead.

Burns: Be careful.

Burns: Don’t die.

Walcroft: *Holds back a laugh*

MacMillan: Great. We’re all bloody inspired.

**

Walcroft, wearing shades: Rule one of destroying the world.

Walcroft: *does finger guns* You gotta look good while doing it.

**

Walcroft: Not gonna lie, I'm kind of afraid of Price...

MacMillan: As you should be.

Walcroft: No, for real, he’s kind of-

MacMillan: As. You. Should. Be.

**

Walcroft: I desire moisture.

Price: Please just say "I want water" like a normal person.

**

Burns: Hopefully Ghost has learned a lesson about respecting other people's feelings.

Ghost: Oh, shut up and die Burns.

**

Burns: Are you mad?

Price: No.

Burns: So sharpening your knives at 3 in the morning is just a hobby?

**

Ghost: How does one turn their emotions off?

Walcroft: Okay, so first go to settings.

Walcroft: I'm a fucking idiot, I thought that said emojis at first.

Ghost: No, I'm still willing to try this, go ahead. I'm at settings, what do I do next?

**

Price: And I’d love to be sorry for that, but we all know I’ve done much, much worse.

**

Burns: Don’t say a word.

Roach: Fergalicious.

Burns: Roach, I said no words.

Roach: Oh, I see how it works. Two weeks ago, we’re playing Scrabble, it’s not a word, now suddenly it is a word because it’s convenient for you.

**

Roach: Reverse tooth fairy where you leave money under your pillow and the tooth fairy comes and leaves you a bunch of teeth.

Price: Why?

Roach, shaking a bag of teeth: Just because.

[multiwreckedmess]

Seonghwa Syndrome

Pairing: Robber!Seonghwa x fem!reader WC: 11k Summary: The joke that you’ll only meet a man if he breaks into your apartment suddenly becomes all too real.  Warnings: Starts rough, ends bittersweet. More detail under the cut. Seonghwa is really bad at being a bad guy but he’s not a good one either.

As usual this does not claim to represent Seonghwa or any member of Ateez. This is just silly fantasy. Please do not interact with my work if you are under the age of eighteen. This is for my comfort thank you!

TW/CW: Seonghwa is bad at being a bad guy, nearly suffocates the reader. Noncon restrainment, strangers who fuck, unrealistic. P in V sex, oral (fem receiving). Pet names (babe, baby) unprotected sex. ALL SEX IS CONSENTED TO PRETTY LOUDLY THOUGH HE’S NOT ALL BAD. I’m sorry if i missed something, i’ve been writing this for two years and just need it out of my drafts.

Sirens. Every night there were sirens. Sirens were a package deal with the roaches in the shoebox of a studio apartment you were able to afford. The city was so full of sirens their frequencies almost canceled each other out. An app pinged your phone resting on the nightstand, “ACTIVE ROBBERY 1 MILE AWAY Do you want to alert your neighbors?” It wasn’t even worth swiping to see the location. A friend had urged you to get the app after hearing the location of your apartment. Her reasoning was sound, if you knew a fight was happening you could avoid it. It made sense. A single woman in the city, just another tool, you argued with yourself. The semi constant pings only added to your notification clutter and numbed you to the violence surrounding you. Unless it was happening on your side of the block, you could ignore it.

Slowly the traffic sounds lulled you into a half sleep, sinking into your bed in your dark apartment. A wonderful dreamless black abyss of rest curled around your heavy arms and legs. Down down down, falling and tumbling. You jolt suddenly, soul smacking into your body as you return down to the waking world with a thud. A hand is pressed to your mouth.

Not your hand. Your brain desperately tries to understand the phrase. Not your hand, you repeat, mulling over each word. Not. Your. Hand.

Your first instinct is to fight. This is how you discover your hands have been tied in front of you, slip knots around your ankles. You throw the full weight of your body against the unknown perpetrator’s grasp, thrashing and wriggling to free yourself from it. Anything to get a good breath in, a strong yell. Maybe if you could just yell your neighbor’s name they’d hear it through the joining wall. His shoulder lands somewhere in the middle of your torso, knocking the wind from you slightly, forcing your limbs to quiet.

“Please. Please. Stop. Please. I don’t want to do this.” A man’s voice whispers urgently in the dark. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

It’s disarming. The pleading as if he is the one held captive by you. Your body is tired, chest heaving with every labored breath through your nose. As your eyes adjust to the lack of light you can barely make him out. All black, leather gloves, long black hair, black bandana covering half of his face.

Sirens.

Ducking close down to you his eyes lock with yours and flash with fear, a cornered animal. Both of you breathe together waiting. The pitch changes as the cops blaze down the main street toward the end of the neighborhood grid until you can no longer hear them. Fuck. As if they would’ve stopped anyway.

A long rip of cloth.

“Sorry.”

You worm under him as his grip shifts. Fabric presses to your mouth.

“I’m so sorry.”

Suddenly you are fighting to keep your mouth closed as his hand pinches the sides of your cheeks. Bunched cotton, almost overflowing, forced between your lips, gagging you.

“I really fucking hate this too you know.” He clamps his hand down again, you can hear the distinct tugging noise of duct tape being ripped from the roll, confirmed as he pulls his bandana down to bite and tear the piece off, replacing his hand with it with a sigh. “I’m not just saying that. I really do hate this.”

Handsome, you shake your head in revolt. How can you think that at a time like this? How quickly can stockholm syndrome occur? You chide yourself. But really, you’d have to google it when this was over. Assuming this would be over. Assuming you’d be able to google when it was all over. Assuming.

The man has busied himself with something at your window. A black duffle bag, of course. He bends down with a groan and tosses something back towards you. A brick is your first thought. You start plotting how to prevent him from bashing your skull in, itemizing all the things in your apartment that might be of value to him, appraising their approximate worth monetarily and emotionally. But the object lands too lightly on your bed to be a brick.

“Sorry, I had to use your bedsheet. I can at least pay for that, if not the therapy you’ll need.”

A wad of cash? You shift around and squint, knot tightening at your ankle. Sure enough a band of bills sits near your shin. What the fuck, you repeat over and over as he sidles up next to you, bed shifting slightly from his weight. You want to fight harder, fling your arms up at his head with a side swipe, but your body seemingly has accepted its fate with a whimper. The man is jittery with leftover adrenaline, leg bouncing uncontrollably. He curses, he does nothing but mutter curses and shake for a solid minute before jolting up again and beginning to pace a short distance next to your bed.

A tear slips from the corner of your eye. As attractive as he may be, he is frightening. His energy is erratic and unstable. In all of the anxiety ridden scenarios you’d thought up, this was not one of them. Your body is racked with sobs, choking on the fabric in your mouth, snot bubbling up in your nose. His footsteps are more frantic around your bed, eyes too full of tears to see him.

“Oh shit oh fuck,” you feel his weight press into the spot near your waist and you flail your arms out half heartedly towards your approximation of him, connecting but bouncing off of him without much heft behind your swing. Undeterred he presses a tissue to your nose and wipes down over the makeshift gag. “I’m. I’m not good at this. I haven’t had to do this. Oh fuck I’m so sorry.”

His voice sounds genuinely distressed. He’s so strangely polite, he’s so confusing. He could’ve left you to sob and drown in your own snot but instead he has busied himself with an almost sisyphean task of keeping your face relatively clean with gentle dabs and calming swipes. Suddenly your sobs turn to laughs. It’s ridiculous, it must be a dream, it’s unreal. Laughing and crying and shaking until your body can heave no more. The man is still next to you with your box of tissues half gone, used ones neatly piled on top of your phone. He seems relieved that you’ve quieted, shoulders relaxing downwards with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats his mantra, low and soothing, “but the less you know the better.”

The man pads off into the dark of your room, leaving you to stare at the ceiling. You can’t help but wish you’d met under different circumstances, maybe at a bar or club or running errands. Certainly not in the middle of the night, bound and gagged on your bed. It had been a joke in your friend group that in order to meet someone, anyone, they’d have to come to your doorstep, but through the window seemed a little much. A harmless little joke about how you never got out anymore. A harmless little in group gag that you’d played along with turned into a fucking nightmare. How could this possibly end well for you? You’ve seen his face, heard his voice. However, if he was going to do something to you, wouldn’t he have done it already? You couldn’t quite remember from the true crime podcasts you’d listened to, how long you had to wait with your life in the balance. What sort of sick freak would do this? Ted Bundy. Ted Bundy was a handsome, well mannered man and yet he did the things he did. Fear rises in the pit of your stomach as you hear his footsteps returning to your side.

“A lady shouldn’t live alone in a second floor apartment. Don’t you know that’s dangerous? You should at least put some men’s work boots near the door,” you hear him chuckle slightly and wince. Oh great, the potential serial killer is giving life advice. He seems to be bent over oddly to one side, hand covering the other. “Do you have like…something like a first aid kit? Fuck, needle and thread might do.”

You look at him bewildered.

“I really don’t want to turn your apartment upside down to find it. I wouldn’t know how to put everything back and things might go missing. I’d hate to leave a worse mess than I already will.” He smiles, which you think is meant to look kind but comes off as sinister.

You halfheartedly nod your head towards your entryway again.

“I checked as best I could without moving anything but honey…” you hear a note of judgment in his voice.

You loudly humph and stare straight up. Fuck him, make a mess of your fucking apartment. Make a mess of your life. Make a mess of your corpse.

He sighs and sits on the far edge of your bed from you. You hear a rip of fabric again. Your sheets. “You know I’m not a bad guy.” He pauses.

You stare at him, incredulous.

“Okay well, I’ve done bad things but I’m not a bad guy. I swear there is a good reason. The less you know…” he trails off again, head snapping towards the sound of another passing siren.

Whole body tensed and alert, he breaks your gaze and watches the light scatter from the street reflect off the adjacent building and into your window, hawk-like, perched apprehensively. Staring at his side profile, you try to memorize every little feature, anything that might help the police identify him. Sharp jawline. High cheekbones. Full lips. It’s an itemization of the statue sitting in front of you, the only movement is his chest as he breathes slow measured breaths. Slim muscular build. Or at least he seems slim. The leather jacket he wears hides his true shape well, maybe the reason he wore it. You continue your itemization. Sculpted eyebrows. Are those his god given brows? No one could naturally have that shape. High cheekbones. Again, well shaped lips. If you gave this description to a sketch artist they might think you’d hallucinated the entire “experience.”

Lights having passed the man slumps back inwards, wincing slightly, only caught because of your intense focus on him. He doesn’t seem to care how much you stare at him, quietly accepting of the situation the two of you were in. It’s infuriating. The bindings on your ankles dig in more as you wriggle your legs again, attempting to kick out at him. He doesn’t flinch. Sweat drips down where your arms are bound to each other, if you could just bend your elbows enough to reach the tape covering your mouth you could scream.

But what good would any of it do? A wash of calm passes over you. What would one more scream in the night mean to the soundscape of the city? The rational part of you begs to give up, to let yourself slip back into sleep and hope that pain will be quick if anything. The animal part of you is raging, unwilling to go down without a fight. Didn’t you already lose the fight? Bound and gagged on your own bed, that seemed like losing.

You hardly notice the shift in the bed as the man gets up and hobbles away again, too at war with yourself. It’s not until the stove light comes on and blinds you that you notice that he’s moved at all. He doesn’t look well, by your estimation, even by the yellow light of your kitchen he looks drained of color. The slouch to his side is more noticeable as he digs through your pantry and fridge, still carefully closing the cupboards as though he lived with you. The kitchen isn’t much to speak of, a single line up of appliances and two small counters, one taken over by a drying rack and dishes, so there is not much for the man to look through. Still the search seems to exhaust him and he comes up empty handed. Another strange realization washes over you: if you were hosting him, if you weren’t being held hostage in your own home, you’d want to ask him the same question. What did he want?

Divorced from your body the scene is almost like a noir film. Things feel hyperreal, like watching a movie in full sixty frames per second. Every second of life is a shot in a soap opera. It’s a natural response to a traumatic event, the dissociation. You let it happen, as though you had a choice. The man shuffles back cautiously, giving you a once over. You imagine you look as gnarly as you feel, hair wild and unkempt, dead eyes, legs splayed, ankles and arms rubbed raw from fighting your bonds. You see it in a nicely framed shot, him towering over you, backlight by the stove light. It’s not a triumphant pose, it’s almost protective, slightly hunched over you. That’s when you feel him gently guide you to one side of the bed and secure a wrist in a loop of rope. He leaves you shuffled to the side and disappears from your line of sight, you don’t bother to move or fight or even look for him. You close your eyes as his fingers work to untie the arm bindings. Done with fighting you possum, limbs heavy and unsupported, pure dead weight. Yet even with his injury and slight build he seems to move you with ease, with the deftness of a person who is used to taking care of others. Still he holds tight to the wrist not yet bound to the bed as he pulls it to the new loop from the final corner of the bed. A lump forms in your throat, you are truly exposed to him. Eyes still closed, his weight on the bed shifts away from your side. You crack open one eye to sneak a glance in his direction. He’s busied himself with inspecting the rope burns on your arms, tutting to himself before getting up from the bed.

That’s when you start screaming.

Full body convulsing on the bed you make a scene. Kicking, flailing, choking on the fabric in your mouth. Hair is matted and in your eyes and sticking to your snot. It’s horrifying. You mean it to be horrifying. Every moment to convince him you are a human, whatever he is going to do to you isn’t worth it. Every moment you feel violent and on edge, an inhuman strength building in your body.

It all happens in an instant but feels like minutes. The fabric gag shifts just enough to unravel in your mouth, your labored breaths are just hard enough to pull the edge down the back of your throat. The panic shocks you still. You can’t breathe. Eyes wide and fixed on the man who is now slumped into your greyish green loveseat, you can’t talk. You can’t even make a sign to him that you are choking. Darkness creeps into the sides of your vision, already distant street sounds get farther away. You hope against hope that he notices, that he cares. There is a ringing in your ears, the thundering of a distant storm, then nothing.

Pain.

And air.

And warmth.

You cough. It burns your lungs. It is delicious.

You cough harder, mucus ejecting from you. Your abs hurt.

He’s staring down at you.

He has kind eyes.

“Why?” Your voice creeks and your lips are tacky from the adhesive of the duct tape.

The man pulls your head to his stomach in a rough approximation of a hug. Lumpy fabric pressing into your face and your cheek hits a cold slightly damp spot on his tshirt. His chest heaves above you.

“Seonghwa, my name is Seonghwa,” his voice trembles. “I just need a place to stay. Please. I’m so scared and I don’t know what I’m doing.” He sounds near tears and his entire body shakes.

“Untie. Now.” Your voice sounds cold and hollow, even to you. He lets your head down from his torso and occupies himself pulling the slip knots over your wrists. Your hands scrabble up his leather jacket, nails leaving half moons as you pull him to you, forgetting your bound ankles and twisting your spine uncomfortably. You’re not sure why you’re holding onto him like this. Clinging to him, arms around his neck, you can sense the shared hesitancy, uncertainty.

“I’ll leave tomorrow night, I promise. I promise,” he continues to repeat his last words until they lose meaning and form. His arms stay hovering, never closing in on you, giving you space to decide.

“Legs too.” Your hamstrings twinge and burn as a reminder of your splayed out state.

“Ofcourse, ofcourse, ofcourse,” he mutters into oblivion.

Newly released you inspect your limbs. Traces of rope burned into you in angry red stripes. The worst is your ankles, raw and bloody. While your arms may sting, it will likely only last a couple days. No matter how you think about the care your ankles will need to keep from scarring it’s hard to ignore the fact that the worst of the wounds are internal. A heat rises in your stomach, a burning fury.

Kneeling at the foot of your bed Seonghwa waits for you, head bowed, hardly the hawk he originally seemed to be. He waits for your decision, unable to look at you directly, as he should. Another person would take the opportunity to inflict the pain back. They’d be right.

“Seonghwa,” you put your palm to his cheek. It’s cool and damp and soft.

He flinches.

“Are you hurt?” Whatever you had originally planned flies out the window as he nods into your hand and melts. From hawk to kitten, man to mouse. Ungagged and bound he suddenly seems so much more fragile to you. Sliding off the bed you begin to move towards your kitchen, no matter how disarmed he seems you need protection. Your knees are uncooperative, wobbling and knocking into each other, landing your ass back on the edge of the bed. Seonghwa nearly teleports near you, hand hovering and waiting to brace your fall.

Shaking off the stumble you find a sizable knife from your drawers, one with some heft to aid you just in case, and a glass of water before returning to your bed. Grabbing the economy size bottle of painkillers from your bedside table you pop two in your mouth and swallow them. A light smack on your bare thigh you see Seonghwas hand outstretched, nudging you insistently.

“One or two?”

He wordlessly presses the tips of two fingers to your thigh. Although you offer him water he swallows both pills dry.

Both of you are utterly exhausted.

“Why?” It’s now Seonghwa’s turn to wonder fruitlessly. Of all the people you’d owe explanations to, he is at the bottom of the list. His finger ghosts over the red markings left by his rope. Goosebumps follow in his wake, hairs standing on end.

You wonder it yourself honestly. A small extraordinary act of kindness. You’d always been too soft, too willing to believe. It’s your turn to stare at the person on your bed. The most dangerous thing about Seonghwa was the element of surprise, you decide. He watches you in turn, like a hurt and mistrustful stray.

“We should swap your bandage,” you say, noting his hand pressed to his side.

“We?”

“Your sewing kit comment has me nervous,” you shrug. “Seems like it’s in a pretty awkward spot anyway.”

“Right.”

The way he follows you to the bathroom, it is clear he’s not in a space to argue with you. The mix of exhaustions, mental and physical, and pain weigh him down, the dual weights almost visibility dragging behind him. It gives you a bit of time to situate yourself in the small tiled bathroom. A full stock of hand towels, in various states of newness, a small first aid kit your parents had gifted you when you’d moved in, nearly completely intact, and of course your trusty knife. Seonghwa watches bemused as you drag out a plastic shoe storage bin full of knick knacks from beside the toilet and retrieve a spray bottle of wound wash.

“You can get nice bamboo shelves for behind the toilet, you know,” he leans casually in the doorframe.

“It’s money I don’t have.”

“I’ll buy it for you.”

“Are you my boyfriend?”

He reevaluates, “I can buy it for you.”

“You know money can’t solve everything.”

He flinches. “I can pretend. Please.”

“What happened to ‘the less you know, the less you are involved…’ huh?” You fold your arms over your chest and plop down on the closed toilet lid.

“You know what happened,” Seonghwa is sheepish, the dirty grout of your bathroom suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. His hair flops in front of his eyes which he doesn’t bother to move. There’s a definite charm to him. He should’ve tried being a door to door salesman instead of whatever it was he did. Housewives of the tristate suburbs would’ve loved him.

“Seonghwa,” you call to him, each syllable floated carefully through the air, beckoning.

The leather jacket, his carapace, thuds to the ground just outside the door. A small glint at his waistline catches the bright sterile light of the bathroom.

“Remove it,” you point the tip of your knife at the source of the shine.

“I’d never- I’ve never-” he stutters, hands flying up in protest.

“I don’t care. Remove. It.”

Seonghwa turns around unbuckling and shuffling the hostler and the concealed gun from his jeans. “It's not even loaded.” The heavy thunk of the hilt hitting the ground punctuates his words as he locks eyes with you.

“Then you won’t mind not having it.”

Seonghwa smells so good it intoxicates you. He really shouldn’t smell good. The closer he gets the less wits you seem to have. He’s like a deadly flower that draws in its prey with the promise of nectar but then drowns them in its inescapable sweetness. But he doesn’t smell sweet, it’s not a perfumed smell, just him. It makes you want to bury yourself deep in his chest.

Your hands slip under his black tank and glide along his stomach as though he were a gift that you were desperate to savor the revealing of. Even this soft touch has him tensed and ready to act at a moment's notice.

“I have to take this off to clean your wound, you know.”

“Mhm,” he inhales deeply and knits his brow. The arm on his uninjured side slides into the sleeve and down along his torso, letting you gently slip the shirt over his head and down to the opposite side of his body where the wound sat. A strip of cloth from your bedsheets wrapped around him in the middle served as his temporary bandage job. Carefully snipping and peeling the layers back you reveal the gash at his hip - red and angry, edges puffed up. Thankfully it seemed any oozing or bleeding had finished.

“Well, it’s not happy but I can’t say much more. I’m no nurse,” you continue to inch closer to the opening, inspecting for debris. Suddenly Seonghwa grabs your shoulder in an iron grip, abs tensing and face contorting. You cry out in pain pulling down and away from, twisting free, dashing to the door, totally forgetting your knife by the tub. Now you know which you are. Fight or flight, you choose the latter.

“Breath, tickles. Tickles, hurt.” He manages to stammer out, face settling between labored breaths, now sitting on the lip of your tub.

“Don’t fucking grab me like that again.”

“I’m sorry I-I-I- I don’t know what to say I’m sorry. Please.”

You glare at him, wary of the man half in your bath-both pitiful and dangerous. If he can’t even tense his abs in laughter how will he be able to support himself enough so that the water runs into the basin.

“Do you need a plushie or are you a big boy and can take it?”

He bites his inner lip and rolls his eyes, “I’ll be fine. It was a surprise.” His breathing is still labored but slower. “It hurts but I can do it.”

Wordlessly you approach the tub and sling your legs over the lip, silently thanking your past self for wearing shorts to bed. You pat your thigh, gesturing for him to lay back against you, draping his top half over the basin, lower half still dressed and stuck out into the bathroom. Tucking a hand towel into the waistband of his underwear you start up the water, testing it with the back of your hand before detaching the shower head and aiming it over the tear in his side. You can feel his back tense, shoulders reflexively curling inward. Somehow he remains calm and noiseless, knuckles clenched white. Water rushes over him, some traveling down your legs, pink hue gathering around your feet and swirling into the drain. A moment of compassion for a wounded creature, a potential Darwin Award winning episode in your life. Eventually Seonghwa’s expression relaxes, breathing slowly in your lap.

“Thank you, my night nurse,” he speaks softly and smiles, eyes closed. You should kiss him, his lips look lonely.

“I really think you need to go to the hospital.”

He shakes his head against your thigh with a hum. The two of you sit there a few minutes more, the whine of the water pressure in the pipes and splash into the tub filling the silence. Seonghwa looks peaceful for the first time since the beginning of the ordeal. It feels wrong to appreciate him like this but the intrusive thoughts won’t stop flooding your guilty brain. Remember to google stockholm syndrome -- the thought flits through your mind. Mindlessly you find your arm maneuvering the shower head over to Seonghwas head, carding through his hair with your fingers, wetting the mop on his head. Nails gently scratching into his scalp you can feel his head get heavier as though you had hypnotized him by washing his hair. You sigh too, he’s like a kitten. Flighty but easily soothed. Legs drenched with runoff you finally turn off the water, Seonghwa still weighty on your thighs. Curse your general love for humanity.

Craning his neck Seonghwa starts to attempt to sit up with a groan.

“Just sit, we need to let the wound air dry,” you say, placing a hand on his chest to weigh him back down. You sound surprisingly stern and robotic, but it doesn’t seem to phase the man sprawled across you and your tub. The redness at the site of the injury seemed to have been tempered slightly, much to your relief.

“Neosporin?” He cracks an eye open and searches your face.

“Hypochlorous acid, once it’s dry. Then I’m going to circle the red area with a sharpie to see if it grows larger and then we’ll put some gauze and tape on you okay?”

He nods and waits patiently for you as you work on him. Seonghwa barely even flinched as the sharpie tickled his side while tracing the borders of inflammation. He even stood as you bandaged his side, gently tacking the gauze to him as you taped the edges, planting a kiss on the middle as your mother had done to you as a child. The two of you could’ve fooled the world into thinking you’d always been like this.

But there were sirens, ringing ever so faintly in the distance, to break the spell. Sirens to remind you how you got here. Sirens that made Seonghwa hunch, tense.

“You should move,” he says bluntly.

“Yeah. Planning on it.”

“Sorry.”

“You know you say sorry a lot for a home invader.”

Somehow the bandage and damp tousled hair make him look even more attractive. You could swear up and down that it was some sort of hormonal imbalance. Maybe it was the position he’d assumed on your bed, shirtless with his knees bent and akimbo. A textbook picture of manspreading, usually obnoxious and yet he made all the difference. Or even it could’ve been the hazy look in his eyes, a mixture of relief and appreciation, a look you’d not gotten much in your life.

You could turn him in right now.

If you just take the phone on your nightstand all you’d need to do was hold the emergency call button down for 10 seconds.

Your heart skips, eye flicking to the peaceful Seonghwa, studying you.

“Do I still make you nervous?” He looks concerned.

“Yes.”

“Would it help to sit down?”

You still haven’t moved an inch, stuck in the bathroom doorway. The simpler solution for getting help would be running and banging on a neighbors door. Or just running into the street, to one of the many corner stores.

Seonghwa groans as he gets up and shuffles towards you, palms up as an offering of peace. Your ability to run safely closing in as he approaches.

But you stay anchored in place and take his hand. Slowly his hands creep up your arms until you are chest to chest. Seonghwa can feel your body quake in his arms. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. His thoughts loop around that phrase, spiraling, fixating.

“The thing on my waist? It’s from hopping a fence. I got caught and sort of impaled I guess. If that helps,” he feels his ears burn with embarrassment. You can almost see the red flush creeping up his neck from where your head is buried. “Now the money…see that I can’t tell you but…you are the only one who has been harmed in the uhh…getting of the money.” He chuckles as he moves his hands from your shoulders, winding his arms around your mid back, cradling you. “I really try not to hurt anyone. I really, really try.”

Your body stills and softens, adrenaline slowly working its way out. Seonghwa feels your weight push back into his palms resting softly along your spine. He stiffens and prepares for the drop, the collapse, but you simply bend into him. It’s almost romantic.

“Would you kiss me?” It’s an absurd question springing from an intrusive thought. A terrible deep dark thought. And yet the phrasing makes it feel silly coming out of your mouth. Almost a request but not quite there, a part of your rational mind keeping you from asking outright.

“...kiss? Like now?” Seonghwa stares down at you, expression unreadable.

“...in the grand scheme of things. Would you?” Your cheeks heat up under his eye and you burrow your face down into his shoulder again.

“Yeah. I would. I could now, if you want.”

“Mmmmaybe,” you hum in reply.

His lips brush against your forehead, “you kissed me where it hurt so…I’m returning the favor I guess.” Seonghwa drops his embrace and returns to the bed, satisfied with his attempts at calming you. He smiles slightly to himself, watching you follow him and sit warily on the side. Your bed is a single; a sensible size for a single girl in a studio apartment. The two of you fit uncomfortably to each side, nearly sliding off in an effort to keep space and modesty. This gesture feels strange after the events of the night, yet comforting to the sliver of your mind which was made up against Seonghwa.

Seonghwa notices goosebumps trail up your arms, your slight recoil and hesitancy to touch the torn covers. “You could hold me if you want. I’ve been told I run warm.”

He wants so desperately to go back in time. To undo all of the past few hours. To choose another alley to run down. Another apartment to try the window of. The guilt settled heavily on his chest, he’d chosen the absolute right apartment for his escape. Poorly guarded, close to the alley, single woman inside with her defenses lowered and a heavy sleeper. If only he was a different person. He was what was wrong. If it wasn’t him it could’ve been much worse, the thought made him shudder. Harm coming to you, the person who had so carefully washed and wrapped him, his muscles tensed in response. No, it was best that it was him.

Seonghwa does run warm. Or maybe all humans do. At this point you aren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed if either statement was more true. Still, the heat radiating from him as you tentatively press your spine into his undamaged side feels good. Hand resting on the hilt of the knife beneath your pillow, Seonghwa’s slow steady breaths hypnotize you. In and out, expand and contract, fullness and emptiness. His breaths gently press him closer to you. Sinking deeper into the bed you once thought of as your liferaft the tension in your body drops like an anchor into the sea. Almost nothing could pull you from the weight of weariness that had set in.

That’s when you see them. Slowly rotating red and blue lights. No sirens. Sitting perpendicular to the mouth of the alleyway, blocking the road.

No way.

A heavy thud at your door echos in your tiny apartment.

No fucking way.

“Ma’am?”

A second series of heavy knocks rouse a bleary eyed Seonghwa.

“Whossat?”

“Ma’am, it’s the police, we just need a moment.”

Why can’t the goodness of humanity ever work in your favor?

“Just a moment!” you hear yourself call back in an unnaturally chipper tone.

Cracking open the door, your eyes meet his eyes - deep sockets with larger bags. His 5 o’clock shadow long into extra hours. He looks bored, or tired, maybe just generally over the whole night shift. It occurs to you that you haven’t looked at yourself in the mirror since the beginning of the night.

“I’m sorry officer, I just woke up…” you hesitate, your tone is pitched higher in an attempt to sound amenable. “Is there an issue?”

The grizzled man studies your face for a second, measuring his response. “Well miss. I received a request to check in on your well being. It seems there’s been some…unusual activity at your residence.” His lips press to form a flat line, blank expression holding. Waiting for you to talk. It's hard to escape his eyes, your stomach forms knots around itself from holding the mounting ways of responding. You know he wants you to talk. You can’t talk. You have nothing to say. You have too much to say. You can’t decide what to say. Nails dig into the several layers of paint on the door, leaving small crescents in their wake.

“I-I-I-” you stutter, trying to fill the awkward air, keenly aware of the discarded gun laying casually on your floor, close enough that a few steps past the threshold would be enough to spot it. “I brought my boyfriend home for the first…well I just assumed my neighbors…well my last neighborhood…see my last neighborhood was much nicer and they didn’t seem to really…” your tongue trips over your excuses, fumbling this way and that. You can feel the officer’s eyes boring holes in your face, watching you boldly flail in your entryway. Suddenly the intensity of the man’s gaze is gone, moved onto another target. A hand gently placed at your waist slides across your stomach and pulls you into a back hug.

“Sorry sir. Next time we will…uh… ‘experiment’ at my place,” Seonghwa’s voice is gravelly, you can almost hear the slight smile curling at the corners of his lips. You can certainly feel the subtle knowing nod he gives the police officer. He cradles you closely, almost protectively, chin propped on your shoulder, as though you were a real couple. Your fingers reflexively search for his hand, weaving into the space between his fingers.

Seonghwa prays silently that the old misogynistic ‘bro code’ had not missed this man’s ears in teenagerdom. The slight nod to a wild night in, the cheeky eyebrow raise, even down to mussing the back of his hair up and appearing only in his boxers and t-shirt, all carefully calculated to sell a story to this audience of one. “Baby,” his voice teasing, “you didn’t tell me your neighbors were so interested in you! Did you think I’d be jealous?” He plants a small peck on the side of your neck, tickling you, a poorly suppressed giggle erupting to break the tension. It feels believable to him. It feels real. The officer’s expression softens.

“I’m so sorry officer, it won’t happen again.” The short lived smile faded, you stare sheepishly at the floor between yourself and the policeman.

“Ack, I figured,” he huffs. “Just get to sleep you two.”

“Must be a slow night if you’re responding to this kinda call,” Seonghwas winks back at him.

The officer rolls his eyes and shakes his head, turning away from the scene. “You kids have a good night.”

Door closed, you heave a sigh and shake off Seonghwa’s limbs to turn to face him. He’s smirking. And also less dressed than you left him. And annoyingly cute. Maybe even sexy. Heart jumping to your throat you re-evaluate, definitely sexy.

“You lied for me.” He continues smirking, tongue caught between his teeth.

“Not really.” You try to walk it off but he doesn’t budge, keeping you in the little alcove by the door. God why do you feel your heart fluttering?

He leans on the frame of the arch, eyes raking over you. “You lied for me to an officer of the law.”

“I just didn’t say the whole truth.”

“You called me your boyfriend.”

“You called me baby.”

“You started it.”

“Excuse me. You definitely started it. ALL of it.” You’re incredulous, flames fanning the sides of your face. Tension stretched thin like a rubber band waiting to snap. You want to grab him and do…something. You hadn’t figured out what you were going to do after you touched but you were sure it wasn’t good.

“I never lied.” He sounds so cocksure and annoying, just standing there, unaffected.

“But you started it.”

“And you didn’t finish it so what now?”

Neither of you had noticed it, the way your faces slowly inched closer and closer with every volley back and forth. Noses nearly touching. Eye crossing and unable to fully see his face you can feel his steady weighty breaths on your collarbone. You need him to admit it. Moreso you need him for yourself.

You kiss him. It’s a brief and forceful meeting of lips, crashing together with the full weight of your anxieties and frustrations. The world spins as he reciprocates with equal force, chest pressing to yours. In the fray your back ends up against the wall, arms draped over his shoulders.

“I started it,” Seonghwas eyes are half lidded, lips red and parted, waiting for your next move.

“And I want you to keep going.” You pull him by the nape of his neck to you into another bruising breathless kiss which he eagerly chases, pressing his hips and slotting his leg between yours. It’s just enough pressure to make you dizzy. Kissing him feels dangerous, ill advised. You like how close he is, you want him closer. Your hips rock of their own volition against his bare thigh.

When he moans into your mouth your brain numbs momentarily, reverting to base instinct, driven by the need to hear him again. All the sirens in your body set off at once. A bad idea. But you don’t care, you ride the rush of adrenaline to the last drop and pull away once more.

“Normally I'd fuck you right here but my fucking side…” he gasps and gulps, forehead still pressed to yours.

Staggering only slightly, you pull him blindly backwards towards your bed until the backs of your calves touch the familiar wooden framing, tumbling into the squeaky box spring. Gathering yourself to your hands and knees with Seonghwa in front of you, you indulge in him, hands trailing up the front of his torso, a known path by now but finally able to properly appreciate him; firm and warm beneath your fingertips. He’s lithe but strong, a good build for a cat burglar. You kiss right below his belly button, right about the waistband of his boxers, a smooth expanse of soft pale skin. Feeling his abs tense and release with his sharp intake of breath is the strongest hit of dopamine you’ve ever felt in your life.

“Oh fuck yes,” he sighs into a moan. Your hand slowly stroking his growing erection a small wet spot begins to form on the cloth. Mouthing his bulge you feel him throb, hips stuttering, his hands fighting him by his side. You want to show him it's okay. You know why it shouldn’t be okay but you need something to be. Tracing your cheek his nails are well kept and smooth, cuticles trimmed. Not the hands of a man who was made for violence. Slowly he shifts forward, tipping you onto your back.

“You’ve done too much for me,” he breathes heavily, carefully hovering over your lower torso. “Let me do something for you.”

Losing sense of time and place as you stare at him, he tugs your sleep shorts off with little help from you. He looks up from between your thighs, his belly pressed to the mattress, face inches from your mound. A shiver of heat spreads from your chest outward. He’s a hawk again, perched and ready for the kill. Handsome, dangerous, hungry.

Mouth hanging loosely your gazes remain locked as he lowers himself to you, face shifting again from animal to demon, making a show of flicking your clit with the firm tip of his tongue. He wants to see you squirm and writhe in pleasure, erase the memory of the pain he caused.

“Seonghwa,” you fight to keep your thighs open as you moan his name. You’re glad you know at least this much about him, toes curling and flexing.

Pleased with your reaction he inserts his middle finger, crooking upwards. Lapping at your button with short sure strokes, you feel the familiar fuzz of arousal clouding your brain. Fingers threading through his hair you push the curtain of bangs back momentarily. His eyes are closed, lids fluttering lightly as his pillowy lips envelop your slit. Lewd slurps and pops and moans fill the room, punctuated by the squeak of the bedframe, shifting as his hips subconsciously hump into the mattress.

“So tight. Gotta prep you. Don’t wanna hurt-again,” he emerges, mumbling. It sounds like nonsense to your cotton filled brain.

Nodding along you watch him insert a second finger, curling it to match and drag along the front wall of your cunt. It feels impossibly much, his long tongue, his slender fingers stroking softly against your spot. Almost as if to punish the good samaritans for calling in your very real cries of distress he adds a third finger, an enraptured wail escaping your lungs. Eating you like a starving man whose last meal is your cunt, you grab his hair forcefully, without thinking, to stabilize yourself.

“Good girl,” his guttural growl that vibrates from his lips to your sex has you seeing stars. Heels digging into the bed as your hips jut upwards, allowing his arm to snake under your ass to hold you to him.

“Coming. I’m coming. Fuck- oh god- Hwa-” your voice trembles as you babble helplessly trying to warn him. “ComingcomingcomingcomingCOMING.” Back arched your walls seizing and clenching around his fingers fuck you through your high, waiting for the crescendo to cease. He pulls his face from you expectantly as his fingers find their target. Your chest feels like it’s going to burst, abs tensed impossibly tight, you want to tell him something but your jaw moves wordlessly, connection to your brain severed. Everything happens in both an instant, your soul leaving your body momentarily as you climb higher than you ever have. With a sharp gasp you cum, liquids drenching his palm and your sheets.

“Yes oh fuck, thats it,” Seonghwa almost speaks for you, dipping his head down again to kiss oversensitive clit carefully. He’s messy, long tongue licking around his slick cover jaw and lips, three fingers still buried inside of you, slowly and subtly fucking you as you come down from your high. “I didn’t push you too much right?” A twang of concern running through his tone.

“Hwa, I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

He gulps and nods.

“Cmon, what happened to the man who tied me to the bed and nearly suffocated me?”

His grin returns, “oh you liked that?”

“No. But I like this now.”

Leaning over you he kisses your nose, you can smell yourself on him faintly, his natural aroma tinted by yours. The rough edges of his bandage tickle your stomach with each breath. Both of you are breathless and starry eyed. So far from your studio bedroom that you could’ve sworn you were floating alone on a raft at sea with him.

You don’t get a chance to look properly at his cock before it's laying heavily on your mound, aligned just so it brushes over your clit. Seonghwa gazes down, eyes wide, telling you everything you need to know.

“Will it fit?” You stare up at him doe-eyed. “It feels so big.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he whispers, reassuring. Slowly running himself along you, shaft wet with your juices, the valley of your cunt looks like it can barely accommodate his girth.

“Please, I need it.”

“I want to fuck you so badly, but we-”

“Please,” you mewl, the friction building a tight coil in your core, painfully clenching in on itself. “Fuck, Hwa, please more please-” you beg in broken up sentences. Both of you move in sync, his hands pinning your hips below him, grinding into your tight wet slit. An exquisite sloppy mess mixes and marks both of your bodies in new ways. If you could just move your hips high enough from the mattress you could press him past your entrance, just the tip, it would be enough. The mere thought forces your pleas harder and faster and more insistant.

“I know but we need a condom,” Seonghwa cranes his neck to survey the room, no obvious convenient location to store a box or even a spare few foil packets.

“You don’t have?” You practically yell.

“I was--, this was not--,” Seonghwa stutters. “The last thing I thought about was fucking when I got ready tonight to be honest.”

“I’m okay. I don’t have any--I’m on--”

“You’re fine? You don’t--” you both overlap hurriedly. He is easily convinced by your assurance, letting the fat mushroomed tip of his cock slide down your slit to prod at your entrance. “You’re so fucking wet I-- if you are sure.”

Spreading your cunt with his thumbs he slides the first inch in, testing the waters. Watching you stretch around the head is electrifying. The way your walls hug his cock so tightly he nearly bursts at the seams there, huffing and puffing. What doesn’t help are your little whimpers and whines, subconscious to you but deafening to him. All consuming in his blood.

“When was the last-” he gasps, withdrawing for his own sanity for the next push.

“I don’t remember- I don’t know- please-”

A second attempt, this time almost half of the way before your pained sounds start, nose scrunching and brows knitting. Each inch that makes it past brings a sick sense of accomplishment flooding warmly into your chest. Seonghwa mutters in time with each circular pass of his fingertips over your clit. “God you’re amazing, you feel so good,” he hisses and groans. “Just a little more, that’s it, you’re doing so well, taking me so well. I know, I know babe it hurts, just be a good girl and take a little more.”

His eyes roll back in his head as he cages himself over you, pushing the final inch past triumphantly. His chest pressed to yours, the shared warmth, the sound of his breaths, the sheer closeness, it’s the first time you feel safe since the incident began. It’s overwhelmingly nice. Your chest tightens and a tear slips out of the corner of your eye.

“You ‘kay?” Seonghwa kisses your cheek, careful not to squish you below him.

“It’s so nice,” you burble.

Tenderly he kisses your nose. “Told you not to worry.”

Rolling his hips into you he barely pulls himself back before thrusting up. The deeper he pushes the more you can feel him in your guts. He lays his head on your shoulder, nose pressed to your throat to hear your small soft moans better. Time seems to contradict itself in the moment, too fast but so slow. Neither one of you wants to leave it. But hormones have other ideas. Your clit aches and Seonghwa isn’t fairing much better, a low groan spilling involuntarily from him.

“Wan’ you to cum again. gotta- on my cock,” he’s breathless as he increases his pace. You want to cum on his cock. The way it feels so complete, nestled deep in you, you want him to know how whole you feel. It’s difficult from below but you do your best, rolling tightly back onto him, sweat slicked bodies easily sliding together. Blood abandoning your brain in favor of your cunt leaves you in a haze, eyes unable to focus.

“T-touch-” you mumble, fingers wrapping around his arm to try to move it south. Luckily he gets the hint, snaking his hand down between the both of you. Each circular motion of his fingers winds you closer and closer, choruses of yes’s flow uncontrolled from your lips. It burns but you can deal with it later, for now you chase the pain back with promises of pleasure. Arms slung over his shoulder you hold him to you, more frantically grinding against each other than thrusting. Your hips kick up as you release with a small shaky sigh, muscles of your core contracting around him expectantly..

Seonghwa’s eyes shine as he looks at you, all his handiwork. Work he can be proud of. Blissed and exhausted below him, dopy smile plastered to your face. Detangling himself he leans back, smirking as he slowly drags his cock along your walls.

“Feels so good, don’t stop.” You slur.

“Can you cum again?”

“Dunno.”

He growls under his breath turning into a chuckle, “not a no?”

“Fuck I-, just don’t stop. It really,” there are words that you search for in your quicksand laden brain, wading through the muck they feel hopelessly lost to you, heavy and sluggish.

Seonghwa returns to your neck, palm cupping your breast, fingers busy playing with your nipple as he continues his long slow thrusts. Your skin collects condensation and sweat, droplets running everywhere, soaking into the sheets. Not that you mind, not that you can currently tell. The slight fray at the end of his moans is all you care about. The throb of his cock against your walls as you fuck, unhurried by the encroaching dawn.

“I need to cum,” he sounds apologetic. “Babe, do you want to cum again?”

“Mhmm,” you nod against the side of his face. “I can one more.”

With a kiss he gathers you underneath him, pulling your hips into just the right position for him to easily pound into you. Even 20 minutes prior you couldn’t have imagined taking him at this speed. Practically pressing your knees up to your ears your weary legs shake as you sob in delight. You’ve never felt so full, so overwhelmed. Blunt tip rubbing against your gspot, in this position you can’t brace yourself for the climax.

“I’m-it’s-I’m-” you stutter. “Seongwha, Hwa-”

He looks more beast than man as he grits his teeth, “I know, me too.” He loves this feeling almost more than cumming. The seconds before. The uncontrolled trembling. The power he holds as you’re folded beneath him, using your body as a means to an end.

His ass flexes, hips suddenly erratic. Your mouth is open but nothing comes out as the world seems to darken. The second you feel the first spurt of warmth filling you, you cum around him. Both of you are panting and grunting, ready to collapse. Biological imperatives working for you, your walls squeeze him dry. A mixture of his and hers cum slowly forcing its way out of you and around the base of his cock. His lips stay on your neck and collarbone and cheek, kissing softly at the skin there.

It’s cold, you’re thankful for his warmth pressed firmly on top of you. You want sleep, you want rest. Now you think you can maybe find it, breath slowing as your eyes close. He withers slightly inside of you, falling out with a soft plop.

“What do you need to clean up?”

You shake your head, “just give my pjs.”

Out of the crack of your eyes you can see him, shifting slightly to gather his bearings in the apartment again. Once again he surprises you, returning to you with a perfectly warm and damp washcloth, slowly wiping off the mess left streaking down your buttock and thighs. Things feel normal. The night is finally calm.

“If you prefer, I can give you-” he mutters as you wriggle slightly at his touch.

You hum, “no it feels good.”

“Ah-oh,” he stutters and smiles. “So you like being taken care of?”

“Not sure,” the admission is easy. “It’s not something I’m used to. This at least, this feels nice.” It sounds more sad coming from your mouth than it had sounded in your head, awkwardly tripping out with unexpected bare honesty. Not that much was left to hide from the handsome stranger.

“I wish I-no-well-” Seonghwa sucks his breath back. Helping redress you before hopping back into the bed. The birds chirp in the sudden silence. “I’ll just need a couple more hours of your care. I’m sorry.”

You must’ve rolled and wiggled and wormed your way to his side, limbs and eyelids heavy in a pleased hazy sleep. Even though the man is mostly skin and bone and muscle you manage to find the perfect valley of his collarbone to rest your head on. The day is well risen by the time you shake yourself from the blanket of sleep.

Seonghwa’s jaw is slack, opened slightly as he lightly snores. It’s cute, airy, more of a wheeze than a honk. An arm is tucked behind his head, the same knee bent up to the ceiling. You’d be forgiven if you’d thought he was simply leisurely resting his eyes instead of dozing heavily in the mid morning sun. His hair is sticking wildly in every direction, haphazardly covering half his face.

“I have to check your bandage,” you nudge him. He groans as you peel back the gauze carefully. The jagged gash isn’t worse, at least in your untrained opinion. The edges are inflamed but the redness and swelling hadn’t worsened from the untreated hours nor the vigorous fucking.

Seonghwa grimaces, then laughs. “I like it when you touch me.”

“Pervert,” you try to hold back your own smile as you spray his abdomen with wound wash to rebandage him.

He stays where you leave him, in your bed relaxing in the midmorning sun. The only sun your apartment gets. In the pool of light he looks more like a cat than a hawk, smiling drowsily. Everything feels normal, copacetic aside from the torn bedsheets and tumble of clothes that sit near the bathroom door. It could pass as an everyday Saturday morning from a wild night out. Except you don’t have those, wild nights out. It’s what you imagine a wild night out after could look like, for someone who isn’t you.

You pat around barefoot, reaching into cupboards and the fridge, grabbing the making for cereal. Two of each for the first time in a long time. The slight clattering is cheerful and bright. Seonghwa stays still with his eyes closed, slight smile passing his lips. Despite it all, you are glad you lied.

“I don’t need that,” he states simply, eyes still closed. “I’ve imposed enough.”

“Don’t be a baby, it’s already poured,” the dull clang of the bowl hitting the tiny table set for two punctuates your sentence. Hand on your hip, you suck your teeth, eyebrow cocked. Waiting. “It’ll get soggy.”

He hrmphs his way from the bed. Rolling dramatically off the side and slouching his way to the diner chair you’d bought from a liquidation sale. Seven dollars and virtually indestructible, a steal. You can’t help but chuckle to yourself. Steal. Seonghwa sits, lowering his face close enough to the bowl that when he eats he practically speed-shovels the mixture of crunchy cereal and sloshing milk from the bowl directly into his mouth.

“You’re so strange, you know that?”

“Didn’t seem to mind that last night,” he gulps down a mouthful of chewed bits, “when you called me your boyfriend.” He pauses again, finishing off the rest of the bowl by picking it up and tipping it back into his mouth.

You can’t stop thinking about him. His slender body curled around you, warm skin to warm skin. How good he felt filling you up. Toes curling reflexively to a point, the butterflies in your stomach feel more like flying bricks rocking around your intestines. His bare leg bumps into yours beneath the table and you jump clear out of your chair. Seonghwa also retracts noticeably, jutting backwards from the table to give you space.

“Are you okay? It’s just me, just my leg. I swear I’m not trying anything.”

Your heart breaks a little as you watch his face wracked with concern and guilt. Arms outstretched, fingers spread wide to indicate he means no harm. “I’m fine, just startled. Not used to another person being there I guess,” you try to laugh it off.

“Did I make you like that?”

“I don’t think you helped.”

Seonghwas eyes plead with you, big dark irises searching for an answer he can’t find. “Can I? Can I help? I need to-”

It hurts to watch, “you don’t have the time,” you snap. You hate yourself for feeling sorry for him. For taking care of him. Still you can’t help yourself, swirl of emotions twisting and writhing like a snake in your gut.

“But if I did-”

“But you don’t.”

“I could-”

“You can’t. Seonghwa. You can’t. You made a choice before you even knew my name. Here are your consequences. I don’t know what carefully crafted plan went awry that you ended up here in my apartment but what’s done is done. If you turn back now I’ll look like an idiot so you have to keep going. If it isn’t to fulfill your original goal, make it so that this nightmare wasn’t for nothing.”

Seonghwa can barely manage a whisper, “I wasn’t all bad though, right?”

You groan, throwing your head back dramatically. “No okay, you fuck great but really…? Really?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still thinking about it,” he says from the corner of his sheepish half smile.

Your thighs squeeze together as a flush of heat migrates between them. “Yeah thinking about what kind of idiot fucks someone who held her hostage in her own apartment.”

“Thinking about what kind of idiot misses his window of escape for a second round.” Seonghwa’s hand rests just millimeters from yours on the table, so close your brain swears it can feel the sparks of electricity at the tips of his fingers. Your pinky twitches, smacking his.The room is still humid from the rainy night in a way that sits in your lungs and clings to your skin. Fingers laced with yours, he tugs gently, most of a suggestion to come closer, guiding you to his lap. You swing a leg over confidently, bulge in his boxers evident to the both of you.

“Second? She must be really dumb to let him.”

Seonghwa hums a reply, lips already pressing to your collar bone. For as angular of a man he appears to be, he’s soft when he’s nuzzled into your chest. Your shampoo smells different when it’s in his hair. “Can we take your shirt off?”

Everything that was intense and heavy from last night has lifted. Soft sighs and giggles emanate from both of you, his fingers bumping into yours clumsily as you both reach for the hem of your pj top. Normally you’d cower close, or at least that’s what you did with the last person. With him, the promise of impermanence gave you courage.

Tits out, Seonghwa’s eyes blown wide, you roll your hips back and slip your hand into the waist of his boxers, just enough to pull his cock free. He fits snugly between your folds as you rock back and forth over him, grinding your swollen sex against him.

“Did I die?” His eyes are hazy as he rakes them over you. “God I must’ve died. But you feel so real.” Seonghwa holds your hips as he reciprocates, unwilling to tear his gaze from your face. You ride him like that, his jaw slackening as he forces his eyes to focus on each part of you for even just a moment, hands exploring further. A memorial for the journey ahead.

Your hand drifts to your clit, rubbing in small circles as you cautiously inch down his impressive length. He looks good below you, eyes flicking from cunt to face.

“That’s it, nice and slow baby, I’m not in a rush,” he says, practically drooling on himself.

Finally to the hilt you rest your elbows on his shoulders with a groan, rocking yourself slowly in his lap. Leaning in you kiss him gently, full lips plush and warm on your own. “Liar,” you whisper, “you have to leave.”

“Pretend I don’t,” he volleys back, arms snaking up your back and pulling you chest to chest. “I’m not going to leave babe.”

The way he fucks you almost has you believing it. Close and slow, almost unbearably warm in the morning light despite the lack of sheets. Sitting you on his cock like a throne and encouraging the wind of your hips, filling every inch of your warm walls. Whining and groaning as they lazily squeeze around him appreciatively. His mouth works wonders on your breasts in a way you’re almost sure no other partner has. Alternating between the soothing pressure of his tongue lapping and the sizzle of his teeth just barely nipping at you. More bruises, at least these would be easier to hide.

Seonghwa’s breathy moans increase in pitch as his movements lose coordination. The desperation in his grip on your hips is dizzying. You ride him faster, thighs burning as you try your best to finish the job. Your core is ready to implode but the exhaustion quickly overwhelms you.

“So-close-” you mumble through gritted teeth, desperate huffs escaping your nose.

Arms wrapping around your middle you feel the table shift behind you. Seonghwa grunts as he stands up with you on him, placing you haphazardly on the surface, used plates clattering. Gathering your legs around his hips he pistons like his life depends on it, deep into you. Your toes curl as your muscles spasm, back arching as you cum on him. Seonghwa collapses over you, hips still jackrabbiting as he chases his high. His face buried in your neck, he spills inside of you with a choked whine. “Should’ve asked-” he begins to slur apologetically.

“It’s fine.”

Seonghwa only lays there for a minute or so, waiting for both of your breathing to slow. The cotton pad of his dressing is stained red. So is the inside of your thigh.

You state the obvious, “you’re bleeding again.”

Cleanup is eerily quiet. No sirens, no giggles, no sighs. You work efficiently as a team, as much as it pains the both of you. Seonghwa would’ve pampered you, you know that. Even in the still air, his small touches reveal his thoughts. He washes the dishes, even the ones he didn’t use, wipes down the bathroom sink after you re-wrap him, gathers the sheets into a disgraced bundle.

“Would you be my girlfriend it if-” he shatters the silence suddenly, watching you stuff new pillow covers onto your pillows.

‘I don’t know, what will tell our kids? Oh hey when daddy met mommy, he broke into her apartment and they fucked like bunnies.”

“We could just lie. Our parents probably did that.”

You stop mid shove of pillow, “maybe omitted details but I’m really not a bar hopping type and you don’t seem like a Sunday morning coffee shop sort of man either.”

“I could be for you.”

Dropping the pretense of making the bed you stare at him. “You have to leave. Don’t make me think otherwise. I know you have to leave. And if you want any hope of taking care of me I cannot know where you are going or when you’re going or any more than I already know. Got it?”

Seonghwa looks defeatedly at the floor, head hung low. “No, I know. I got it. I just-”

“We met, that was bad. We fucked, that was good. Leave it at that. For both of us.”

Seonghwa waits for you to busy yourself with dinner. Back to him as he slinks out the door. He’s never been good with goodbyes. He doesn’t even look as he catches the door to stop it from slamming into the frame. Ten bands sit under your couch cushions waiting for you to discover. Yet another five are more conspicuously placed beneath your pillows. He wishes it were more. For everything. The sirens start up again, the sun still sits at the horizon.

“I should look up stockholm syndrome,” you think to yourself as you push your food back and forth on your plate. “Is it even real?”

Carefully you wrap the second portion in an old takeaway container and shove it into your fridge. Leftovers were always good to have. You’d forget they were there and your friend would discover it and throw them out three weeks later. Time passes weirdly for those two weeks, days dragging but weeks flying. You hoped Seonghwa made it, wherever he was. The thought made you nauseous. Everything made you nauseous. Still, you watched the sun rise and you hoped he was looking at the same sun somewhere.

[wellbeghostsagain]

what if at the very end of OFMD it zooms out and its just everyone in modern clothes around a table. It was a bunch of gay nerds playing an RPG the whole time.

Like Ed and Stede were the two people at the table who flirt with each other's characters because they're in love with each other IRL. Spanish Jackie was supposed to be a one-time NPC but everyone loved her so the DM kept bringing her back and eventually Swede rolled a couple nat 20's and romanced her so she could be part of the party. (So of course when it zooms out Leslie Jones is the DM)

Izzy fucked his saving throws right at the end of the campaign.

Everything about Roach and Buttons screams "Somebody's goofy ass D&D Character they made as a joke but are now really attached to" Buttons is definitely a druid that decided to just stay in wildshape forever

Feel free to add on.

[oceanbug]

when worlds collide

smau non!idol ningning x reader

15. double trouble.

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“Holy shit, Wonyoung’s coming; phones down." With Yunjin’s frantic words came even more frantic movement from the whole table. Everyone scurried to put their phones away so that it wouldn’t look like they were texting each other on purpose. That would be rude.

“Hey, babe~ How’s the food? Isn’t it delicious?” Wonyoung’s voice is always sweet, like honey; it felt like eating cotton candy with how light yet sweet she sounded. If you hadn’t known her, you’d be shocked to know that she hung out with a vicious dog like Ningning.

“It’s actually pretty good; we should come here more often!”

“Let’s call it a date then! And a hello to all you lovely ladies! Sorry for interrupting; I just needed to say hi to my baby.”

“Oh, it’s not trouble. It’s perfectly understandable to say hi to your girlfriend when you guys coincidentally meet up at the same restaurant. You’re never a bother, Wonyoung.” It was pretty weird that you all ended up at the same restaurant, but they did just open. It’s understandable for a bunch of college kids to go to the first place offering free food.

Wonyoung walked away, and everyone’s phones went right up again. Both tables were frantically texting, and the whole ambiance of the restaurant was awkward. Even strangers could pick up the tension. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize both tables were texting about each other. The glances at each other every 10 seconds gave it away.

Giselle was the first one to break the silence.

“Aw, you got some cake on you; let me wipe it off." She wiped off the frosting next to your lip and licked it off her finger. Everyone at your table stared at you two in awe and confusion.

“Y/n, what the fuck?” whispered a very confused Jimin.

“Just go with it, please.”

No one understood what was happening except you and Giselle, which is understandable since your plan was made in the study room yesterday.

_______________________________________________

17 hours prior, in the library’s study room.

“Why would she think Wonyoung would lie about that?”

You felt your jaw drop and your eyes widen. Is Giselle insinuating what you think she is?

“Well, if you don’t mind me asking, is the rumor true? Did you hook up with Yeonjun Giselle?” She could be lying to you, but you might as well ask. You were too curious about where this story was going to even care if she might be lying.

“No, I didn’t. I’d never cross Ning like that; we’re besties. Well, we were besties.”

“Then, why would Wonyoung lie about something like that?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, and that’s where you come in. Wonyoung would never spill her secrets, and especially never to you. But if we were to keep her distracted enough, we could get some info from everyone else.”

“But why me? I’m sure Jimin or anyone else would be a better choice.”

“It’s simple; you’re the only one who can keep Ning distracted long enough for us to even get to Wonyoung. Everyone else is a breeze, but Ning’s tough; they’re glued against the hip.”

“Me?” In your mind, Ningning hated you.

“Haven’t you noticed? Ning’s tame around you. She does that for no one else. I don’t exactly know why, but she considers you human. Everyone else just happens to be a bunch of roaches that she’s ready to squash. Not you, though.”

“Ok, well, how would I even distract her?”

“That’s where I come along, my little kitten. Ning hates me enough for ‘stealing’ Yeonjun; imagine her fury when she sees the two of us together. Not just in a friendly way, but together.”

“It’ll be like you ’stole’ me from her, like you 'stole’ Yeonjun.”

“Bingo-bingo, my friend.”

“Ok, let’s do it. Let's fake a date.”

______________________________________

Present Day at ‘Le Dessert’ Cafe

The plan wasn’t supposed to take effect so fast, but I guess now’s a perfect opportunity. You couldn’t really tell your friends that you were fake dating; it had to be as believable as possible. It did make you blush a bit, which in some sense makes things more believable but also way more embarrassing.

You wanted nothing more than to turn around and see the look on Ningning's face, but you had to play it cool. That is, until a certain honey-voiced princess came skipping back to your table.

“Omg, I just had the best idea! We’re all friends, aren’t we? Why don’t we combine tables? Then I can be close to my baby. What do you say? You wouldn’t have any objections, would you?”

Fucking shit. No way is Wonyoung on to your plan already? She knows Ningning wants nothing more than to maul Aeri’s eyes out, and bringing Yeonjun to sit at the table with us? Even worse. What’s her plan? You could feel your heart beating faster and faster as the table stayed silent. It wasn’t until you felt another hand on top of yours that you calmed down. You turned to the source, and Giselle was giving you a reassuring nod. Right. Breathe. If this was part of Wony’s game, you could play better.

“We’d love that, Wonyoung! Hey Ningning, let’s pair tables.” You turned to her and gave her your biggest smile. Behind it was true fear as to what could come of this, but you had to look confident. You will make your plan work.

Ningning gave you a death stare but simply scoffed and began to move tables.

That’s it? After glaring daggers at you all day, she’s just going to move without a fight? Fine.

There was an awkward shuffling of tables, and everyone got settled into their slightly cramped seats. The tension in the room seems to have gotten even worse. Now, everyone is face-to-face; no one could hide behind their phones.

“So, this place is pretty cool, am I right, ladies?” Can this prick Yeonjun shut up?

“Yeah, pretty good food, I guess.” At least Yunjin was trying to converse; you could tell her, along with all your friends, had been incredibly confused about things. You wanted nothing more than to explain to them, but you couldn’t risk jeopardizing the plan.

The awkward silence was quick to return.

“I hear half of you knew each other in high school! What was that like?” You couldn’t fault Minji for asking such a painfully awkward question, but in her defense, she’s barley in the group chat enough to know. The body language of everyone who went to Spring Hill High became very tense. Everyone straightened their posture and avoided eye contact with each other. It was Giselle who finally broke the tension once again.

“I couldn’t tell you; I transferred out before senior year.”

“Sure, ‘transferred.’”

“What was that, Ning?”

“Nothing. Just that, I don’t consider getting shipped off to a rehabilitation center as ‘transferring’, but whatever.”

“Ok guys, can we just be civil?” You tried diffusing the situation, but all it got you was a death stare from Ningning.

“She asked a question; I’m giving more context to Aeri’s answer.”

“Ok. That’s fair.” That’s all you managed to get out; you didn’t want to argue. You knew you would be getting nowhere if you continued. 

“High school was pretty chill; my lovely lady and I here dated. I guess you can say fate brought us back together, right?” Yeonjun completely washed over any negative aspect of him and Ningning’s relationship and made it sound like they just drifted apart, then reconciled in college. The thing is, he couldn’t even bring himself to make eye contact with anyone else at the table other than Ningning. It was almost like he wanted her reassurance that they were in love, or more specifically, that she loved him. All he got in response was an eye-roll from Ningning and an “awe” from Wonyoung. It was a tough crowd for someone like him.

Trying to avoid Minji’s painfully awkward question, you took a bite of your cake, enjoying it. What was in this cake that made is so delicious? You couldn’t get enough!

“Oh no, you got more cake on you! Let me get it off.”

You prepared yourself to have cake wiped off your face again, except that’s not what happened.

The cake was off your lips but is now plastered on Giselle’s, or was until she licked it off. You sat up in shock. Giselle just kissed you. I guess couples do kiss, even fake ones, but could she have given you a warning? Before you could respond or even turn your face, a voice came blaring from the table.

“Ok, what the fuck was that?” It was Jimin.

“Oh, Y/N didn’t tell you? We decided last night we had a lot in common, so why not start dating? We look totally cute, don’t you think?”

The look on Jimin’s face quickly turned from confusion to hurt. Along with Ningning, who just stared at you,

“What happened to ‘You don’t know her, she doesn’t go here’” You forgot you texted Jimin that.

“What happened to ‘it didn’t mean anything when I hung out with Giselle’” You also forgot to text Ningning that. Ok. Double trouble. You have got to start reading your text more thoroughly before sending them.

“Look, I can explain." Before you even got another word out, Ningning had already begun spitting poison.

“What’s your fucking problem, Aeri? Huh? What problem do you have with me that you can't resist stealing from me? Are you that fucking obsessed with me? First you fucked my boyfriend four years ago; now you're crawling back for more? When will it end? You’re sad, pathetic, and lonely. Go fuck yourself.”

The room was silent. The restaurant was silent.

“Ningning-“ She was quick to cut you off again.

“And you. What’s your problem? I confided in you. I told you how I felt after I got cheated on. I thought you would understand, but it turns out you're just a mega-bitch like everyone else. Was anything you told me even true? If you’re already dating this tramp, did you ever really like Jimin? Or was that a lie just to get on my good side? Did you get your little friend Yujin to help you? You’re such a fucking freak for playing the long game. I bet you found it funny when I kissed Jimin at our graduation party, huh? Like it was all part of your plan? Let’s all laugh at Ningning! Well, not anymore. Fuck you. Goodbye.”

With that, Ningning stormed out; half-way through her meltdown, she had started crying. She was too focused on her words to even notice. Her group of friends were quick to follow along, except Yeonjun and Wonyoung, who remained at the table.

Before you even get to process what had just happened, round two was already brewing up.

“You... like me, Y/N? Is that what this is all about? Why’d you feel the need to lie? Did you not trust me enough to tell me? You decided to lie to me for our entire fucking friendship; are you serious? I told you that we could talk about anything; why couldn’t you talk to me about this?” Jimin was red in the face, slightly tearing up and choking on her words.

Speechless. That’s all you were. You couldn’t think of a response. Overwhelmed, you couldn't think of anything. Your throat began to close up more and more, feeling your body become heavier. You gave into the weight and collapsed onto the ground. Before your eyes fully close, all you hear is Sakura’s panicked voice:

“Is there peanut oil in this cake? Y/N’s has a peanut allergy! Fuck, I’ll get her epipen pen; call an ambulance!”

Everything faded into black.

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masterlist ~ next

(Synopsis) Y/N had never been the type to take life for granted. You grew up with the mindset that if you wanted something, you had to work for it; So getting paired up with the university’s “Rich Bitch” Ning Yi Zhuo for your midterm was the last thing you wanted. Are you willing to step into the world of fame for an A+?

taglist (open): @azraism ; @kimsgayness ; @sewiouslyz ; @winieter ; @llluvbluy ; @i06kkura ; @everydayiloveyves ; @edamboon

[goayda]

Happy Birthday, Izzy

Shameless fluffy fic, because the idea of the crew having a party for Izzy's bday wouldn't leave me alone.

(As usual, set some time after 2x07, Ed is happy being a fisherman somewhere and there was no Zheng fight and no Prince Ricky attack. As usual too, no warnings needed, just a happy time for everybody.)

----

Izzy had been trying to teach Stede again how to correctly read a nautical chart for the last hour (No, Bonnet, it’s not more exciting to simply follow the wind, that gets you wrecked!) when Lucius came in to tell him they needed his help on deck.

“Olu and Pete were trying to fix...  that thing you said, something about the rigging, right? But they’re stuck, I think,” he explained vaguely.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Izzy stormed out of the captain’s cabin, muttering curses to himself. It wasn’t such a difficult task, he had thought the crew was finally getting the grasp on their jobs, especially Oluwande, but apparently he had been wrong.

When he reached the deck, though, instead of the mess he had been expecting he found himself in front of a very smug and very happy bunch of pirates that cheered loudly at him.

“Surpriiiise!” the whole crew shouted as one.

“Wha-what?”

“Happy birthday, Izzy!” Bonnet yelled behind him and then Izzy finally noticed the decorations.

There were fewer flowers than in the last big event on the Revenge, but there were many colorful decorations everywhere, beautiful paper lanterns ready to be lit when the sun would go down and were those parcels with ribbons on a table actually presents?

“How did you know?” Izzy asked, confused.

He hadn’t said anything about his birthday, in fact he hadn’t even remembered it was that day, except for a vague thought in the morning when he had checked the logs. Birthdays weren’t important for pirates or had never been before he had set foot on that crazy ship full of madmen.

“You told me once, but you were so drunk you probably don’t remember,” Frenchie said with a wink.

“We all agreed we should do something special for our first mate’s birthday this year,” Stede said, looking as excited as a child on Christmas morning. “We have a great party ready for you, Izzy! Ready, people?”

Izzy stood awkwardly while Stede and the crew sang Happy Birthday to him, willing his body not to blush, but probably failing. A birthday party. It was ridiculous, it was a waste and it was the most heartwarming thing that had happened to him in a long time.

The crew started giving him the presents right away and soon his hands were full and he was fighting to the keep himself from tearing up.

First Roach and Fang came up from the galley with snacks and pastries and a big lemon cake.

(I know these are your favorites, little man, I’ve seen you have seconds when you thought nobody was looking.

Yes, boss, and I know you like the little lemon cakes, we used to buy them on shore leave, remember?)

Then Pete and Lucius offered him a big package and Izzy unwrapped it to find a few bottles of good rum.

(I found them in the last raid and we saved them for your birthday, Izzy.

Yes, and I helped wrapping them, you know. It was quite difficult with my wooden finger and all…

You made a lovely bow with that ribbon, babe. It looked great.

Aaaww, thank you, babe.)

Wee John and Frenchie’s present was next, a beautiful dark-blue cloak with embroidered sparrows.

(For night watches, when it gets cold. I hope I got the measures right, Izzy, if not, you let me know and I’ll fix it.

Yeah, and I sewed the sparrows, Izzy. They’re good luck birds, you know? They’ll protect you from evil witches.)

Oluwande, Archie and Jim offered him a smaller package and Izzy found a set of very good quality daggers inside.

(I chose those myself, hombrecito, that’s very good steel. You could stab a thousand men with those!

Or not! Not right now I mean. But we thought you’d like them, Izzy. Happy birthday!

Yeah, I bet you could hide the smallest one somewhere in your unicorn leg and nobody would see it coming, man!)

The presents were very thoughtful and Izzy realized he had only managed to grumble a thank-you every time, but nobody seemed to care. The crew was having fun, laughing and eating while cheering at him to open the next present and when he thought that was the last one, Stede got closer slowly with his hands behind his back.

“Here, this is my present for you, Israel. I hope you like it,” Stede said almost casually, but his face showed how nervous he really was.

Stede offered him a big sword, wrapped with a green silk ribbon and Izzy stared at it open-mouthed. It was… pretty, but it was clearly an ornamental sword, made for show and not for fighting. The blade was too thin and too long and the guard was beautifully crafted, yes, with intertwined steel vines with thorns and leaves that created a sort of cage where your hand was supposed to go. It looked like wielding that sword in a real fight would cause more damage to your hand than any attack from your opponent.

Izzy looked at Stede’s expectant face and then took a deep breath.

“It’s beautiful, Captain, thank you very much. I’ll treasure it.”

There, he thought proudly, he didn’t say he would use it so he wasn’t technically lying.

Stede beamed at him, looking incredibly proud.

“Oh, I also bought you this,” he added then as he offered him a very small package. “Yours seems to be a bit worn-out and they’re always useful.”

A pair of leather gloves, just his size.

“I know you only use one, but well, better have the pair, I thought, just in case.”

“Thank you, Stede,” Izzy said softly.

There was a silence then, but it wasn’t awkward at all. It didn’t last long, though, because soon the crew was loudly demanding cake and the party continued, with cake, drinks and songs long until the moon was up in the sky. And Izzy enjoyed every single moment of it, even if he wasn’t going to admit it out loud. Not yet, at least.

XOX

[brandnewhuman]

Upon seeing the new ghost zombie skin I've drawn some angsty conclusions AND YOU ALL WILL HEAR ME OUT.

Ngl broskies, this one hurts me too FR FR. From the trailer it almost looks as if he's still sentient (I could be wrong but compared to the other zombies in the trailer he still acts very much like his human self) which makes sense with Simon's survival pattern in life. He's always the one that remains, the one that outlives everyone else, the man who neither himself or others can get rid of.

It's so tragic to think that beneath all the stuff the body undergoes when you get zombified, he's still there and he can see and feel everything but can't do anything to stop it. I think what hurts him the most is not just the fact that he's losing himself but that, like I said, yet again he's forced to outlive everyone.

Now, I don't know much about the codmw lore (AND BEFORE YOU COME HERE AND START FLEXING YOUR KNOWLEDGE, JUST KNOW IM NOT GONNA CHOOSE PEACE) but for what I know soap, in the original timeline, died and roach and a bunch of Simon's teammates too. With that in mind, I imagine that if he's a zombie and, taking a few creative liberties here, this zombie timeline could be placed a little bit before mw3 where everyone fucking expires then babyboy here is really going through it.

He's a monster now, and not in the "I feel like a monster because I think of myself that badly" no. He's quite literally a fucking rotting corpse walking and running around at full speed, body slamming the shit out of everyone. He has lost his friends, he has possibly had to watch that happen and once again, just like with his family, he couldn't do anything to prevent it and somehow ends up being the only survivor.

There's no amount of therapy that could ever fix that fucking shit bro, like he's doomed to real life plot armour where it doesn't work in his favour but instead just takes away everything and everyone he cares about. And now, even if he manages to gaslight himself into thinking he could make it work for once, that he could fr be happy with the next person that enters his life, he still wouldn't be able to be with them cause now he's a fucking zombie.

My brain likes to torture me with the thought that him retaining his self awareness and stuff wasn't on purpose and surely wasn't his choice, that the way the infection works on him is different. He feels so tired of dragging around his body and the mental tool it takes on him makes everything so hard. I could actually see him just deciding to cave in to the need of just...letting go, like to stop holding onto whatever is making him sentient and just kind of die inside his mind (?) Idk if it makes sense but since he can't physically die he would be content with just kind of switching himself off.

That's it. That's my painful brain fart for you to enjoy and suffer with. Unfortunately I can't pay for anyone's therapy, you are free to end my existence instead.

[wearfinethingsalltoowell]

Crew at the grocery store

Ed-Stops at the in-store Starbucks for his overly sugary coffee. The candy aisle and bakery are his happy places

Stede-Spends 20 minutes deciding between two types of lettuce. No one likes shopping with him (except Ed) but he’s paying so they have to bring him

Lucius-Eats food he has not purchased, does no shopping

Pete- Each item he sees means the person closest is getting a story about how it relates to something cool he “did”

Olu- Made a list, does not deviate from the list, the only reason that ship has basic necessities

Jim- Goes straight to the quick prep meals, then has to text Olu for the rest because they forgot what to buy. Also has a habit of filling a cart and just running out with it

Frenchie: Knows where to find the weirdest shit that you could have sworn they stopped making years ago

Fang: Checking out the flower display

Roach: Tries to use a coupon older than he is

Wee John: Buys a suspicious amount of fireworks

Jack: Makes a bunch of stupid jokes that make the cashier want to hurt him.

Buttons: Buys raw meat and then opens it and eats it right. fucking. there.

Swede: Gets lost

Jackie: Only came to the store to ditch Geraldo

Izzy: Extreme couponer who still gets his card declined. Also ate too many samples once and got sick in the store, all the employees remember him.