#like shouldn't their security stay with them

[squad-724]

Part 3 of Crosshair first days in the Pabu Sea Sanctuary

Once again written by the lovely @pinetree-tbb send them love!

Part 1 | Part 2

"Echo, I don't know." Phee said to the mer, but he just typed quickly on the pad wich voiced out,

"I. Do." while Fives nodded along. "Can. Get. Through. I. Know." He looked at her with a determined look.

"He's been in this hole for two days now Echo, he will starve." Kix said and crossed his arms.

"More. Time. Please." The pad voiced. Phee and Kix looked at eachother, than back at the twins.

"You better be right about this Echo." Kix said and handed him the bucket of fish standing next to him. He quickly signed a few 'Thank you's with his one hand while scooting towards the bucked. He picked out a few good looking fish, threw one towards his brother, who gladly bit into it, shoved the other under his arm and dived back into the water happily, Fives coming right after him.

"Hold this" Echo said and shoved the fish into Five's arms, then picked a bit of seaweed, took food again and wrapped them together quickly. "Come on, this time he'll eat, I can feel it!"

"What's your plan vod?"

"You'll stay at a distance and I will try to talk to him."

"I'm not gonna leave you alone with him, what if he attacks you?"

"I'm planning to not get to that point, I believe he won't do anything if I won't invade his personal space." Fives let out a small grunt.

"And why do I have to stay behind?" Echo smiled, not wanting his brother to worry.

"Because I hope that seeing only one individual will make him less hostile, plus I don't look like much of a threat." Fives gave him a worried expression

"Fine. But I will stay close."

"That's okay, just stay hidden." Fives nodded, still not looking all that convinced, and gave him the other fish and swam away to hide nearby.

Echo took a breath and swam to their new friend. Arriving at the stone pile, the one armed mer put the other few fish behind a rock and secured them, then repeated his steps. Laying down the food, putting a stone on them so they won't float away, poking a hole through the sand in the entrance and swimming away. He didn't leave this time though, instead he sat down on top of the rocks and waited. He heard shifting and soon after, the pile of sand began to move. Echo heard a low growl, then saw the tip of a tail flick the two fish away.

"You can eat them, they are for you." He heard nothing. "Don't worry, they are just normal fish." Echo slowly swam down towards the fish and picked them back up and moved towards the hole. He couldn't really see inside but saw two glowing eyes reflecting the sunlight. "See?" he bit a chunk out of one of the fish and held it out towards him "Just fish."

Echo smiled and put the food in the entrance and gave the kid a bit of space. No movement from inside, so he swam up again and pushed the fish into the hole, watched as it sank down, and backed off again. After a moment the fish was flicked out again, and Echo felt a little flush of frustration but also pity.

"Come on buddy, I know you are hungry..." Once again he swam closer, picked up the fish and ate it, looking into the hole. "See? Not poisoned."

"Go. Away." The curled up teen finally spoke, spooking Echo with his raspy and weak voice. The beta mer froze for a second, but gathered himself quickly and decided to start building their mutual trust and relationship.

"Only if you eat something." Echo said not intimidated, took a bite out of another fish and let it sink into the hole. The eel mer just grumbled and the fish came back. "Look. I'm trying to help you, okay? If you don't eat soon you will die, and then what?" Echo said and let out compassionate little whistles. "Please... I don't want you to die."

"Why do you care?" Came out from the hole with another hiss.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"You are just a human pet that for some reason cares for a random mer who really doesn't want or NEED helping"

"You're kidding right?" Echo shook his head confused "Phee, Kix, Riyo and all the others, brought you here and treated your wounds because helping someone in need is the right thing to do. We are not their pets, me and my brother, we’re their friends."

"Where is he?" The kid hissed.

"What?"

"Your brother."

"He's... around. I figured you would feel comfortable with only one of us talking to you." Silence. "Look, it looks like you've been through a lot and you don't trust anything at the moment. But you can trust us. You don't have to right away but I want you to know that you can. "We only want you to be safe, and most of all to be alive." He placed the fish in front of the hole again. "Please, eat it. We don't want you to starve, and you won’t be able to leave without regaining some strength."

There were a few more minutes of silence, then Echo saw a white hand gingerly reaching out of the hole, taking the fish and pulling it back in. Echo smiled.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Crosshair checked the fish carefully. This mer bit into it and ate the other one, so it was most likely safe to eat? He already wanted to throw the fish out again when his stomach ached painfully.

In the end he took a little bite out of it, and the taste was better than he remembered! He ripped out a bigger chunk of the fish and let out a desperate groan which he couldn't hold back. The food was gone in seconds.

"You want more?" the same voice came from the outside, and Crosshair wriggled closer to the entrance

"You... got more?" He asked hesitantly. He would probably throw all of it up soon enough, but the feeling of a full stomach was too tempting.

"Sure do." The betta mer turned around and reached behind a rock, returning with a handful of fish. Crosshair felt a tingle on the back of his neck and his tail twitched impatiently. The guy came closer and placed two fish before the hole and swam back to his rock. The teen waited until he settled down again, then reached out to get the food. He gladly munched down on them, all gone in a moment.

"I still got a few." Crosshair peeked outside, the mer held another fish in his one hand. This time he did not leave them alone, instead he sat in front of the pile and waited. Crosshair hesitated, he knew the betta was trying to lure him out. "You can have them all, you just have to get them." The mer murmured, not even twitching suggesting if he was willing to back off or lounge once Crosshair swam closer. "I'll stay here, don't worry." As if his words meant anything.

Crosshair thought for a moment to stay put, but his hunger got the better of him. He slowly, very slowly, came out of his hideout, eyes fixed on the mer, who just smiled at him. It was the first time he actually looked at the older mer, and was shocked to see that his tail was made out of a milky white material and wire, wrapping around the stump that must have been cut or removed. On his lower stomach and sides of head sat round pieces of metal, seemingly fused with his flesh. His right arm was also missing above the elbow. What could have happened if this betta survived such an awful accident? Did the humans above the water do it to him? Or did they save him, giving him a new tail and a safe place to live?

Hesitantly, Crosshair reached for the one fish, stuffed it in his mouth, took the other and quickly retreated back.

"Still got two left." The mer said and placed them at the same spot at the others. Crosshair came out again and reached for the first fish. "My name is Echo." He froze. "My brother is called Fives." Crosshair, back underneath the rocks, took a bite out of the fish.

"I'm-" he swallowed "I'm called Crosshair." He grumbled with full mouth.

"Pleasure to meet you Crosshair. We'll bring you more food later." Echo looked absolutely ecstatic and swam away, moving weirdly with the fake tail. Crosshair watched him waringly, then let out a relieved sigh. Finally having something in his stomach Cross yawned, the pleasant fullness making him tired. He rolled himself up and settled in the soft sand. Maybe he could trust this Echo... Only maybe, enough to know he wouldn’t bite or poison him. With that he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

I am so happy with what you created Pine, and can’t show my gratitude enough for this amazing piece of work!

[repmet]

@rwrbmovie & @rwrbsource’s rwrbweek: Day 7 | Location/Set

Hospital forced proximity broom closet

[ssahotchnerr]

yes! i do!! you have jj’s role and an unsub is shot dead infront of you and his blood literally soaks you and you’re shaking and speechless and aaron’s focus is to get to you and keep you safe and bring you back to earth 🥲🥲

stay with me

cw; fem liasion!reader, protective!aaron, multiple blood descriptions, panic attack descriptions, no established relationship but aaron and reader are close, there's also one small mention of aaron's shirt being big on reader, fluff <3 wc; 1k

your ears are ringing. whether it's from the gunshot or the blatant shock, you have no idea.

you're frozen in place; everything's fuzzy, your body is buzzing and your lips, hands, everything is numb.

you're not used to this. this isn't what your job usually entails. you look at pictures like this, you don't live or experience it.

in the haze, someone's approached you. someone's talking to you. someone's embraced you. there's a hand on your back, an arm attempting to shield you away. but your feet don't move. internally, you're screaming at them to move.

why won't they move?

"hey," it's aaron. you don't hear him, or process that it's him, until he shakes you ever so gently and again, he says, "hey."

you don't want to be used to this.

"i..." you rigidly stand there, staring at the unsub laid in front of you, the pool of blood around him growing as the seconds pass. you think you're articulating words, but you're not sure.

aaron follows your eyes - he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. a swirl of emotions fill him - first and foremost, relief you're safe and unscathed, but also horror at what you just encountered - what you shouldn't have encountered.

"it's on me." you manage to choke out, feeling rather lightheaded as you view your shaky hands, and then your blouse, both spattered with red. it's on your neck, your face, and it's like you can feel every singular dot, singeing into your skin like it's bound to be permanent. a new fear fills you - will you ever be able to not feel it?

"don't look, just look at me." your head whips towards aaron, finding his gentle and concerned brown eyes. the sight allows your chest to loosen, finding the smallest bit of normalcy when it comes to breathing. you're remembering how to breathe.

aaron wants to bring the cuff of his sleeve to your skin, to wipe away the residue but he can't. he fears it would make it worse, and remind you again that it's littered on you - the last thing you needed. he wanted to calm you, not further panic you. "or better yet, just close them, sweetheart."

the term of endearment goes right past you, as you grip onto his vest, the sleeves of his shirt, anything your fingers can hold onto as he's guiding you out of the house. he's talking to the rest of the team, relaying instructions, but you only focus on keeping your eyes shut.

"it's okay, you're going to be just fine." aaron assures you, his voice low and even, soothing. "hear the leaves crunching under your feet? there's a cool breeze tonight, too. can you feel it?"

you nod gingerly. the sound is distant, but it's there. and just as he stated, you feel the cool air hit your cheeks, the wind also tousling your hair. it feels colder than cool, though, due to the stream of tears trailing downwards - have you been crying too? "i can hear it in the trees."

"that's good. how about smell, can you smell anything?"

copper.

aaron realizes his mistake the second the sentence leaves his mouth, your face paling as well as his.

"your aftershave." you blurt out, surprising yourself. despite the sheer panic, it was fairly easy to redirect your mind to him. your fingers clutched onto the fabric of his shirt more forcefully. "it smells spicy, sweet too. it smells like you. familiar. safe."

you resist the urge to tuck your face into him, but after a moment's thought, you do. you need it. you need him.

and to further secure you, aaron holds you to him, his large hand spanning the side of your head and keeping your face buried close to his chest.

your eyes open when you reach the suv; when the two of you come to a stop, when aaron's hold is suddenly absent, the sound of the door opening deeming it safe - far away from the scene.

but at the loss of his contact, involuntarily your eyes fall back to your blouse. it's stuck to your skin, soaked by the... blood.

"stay with me." aaron manages to grab your attention before you begin spiraling again, his hands lifting and hesitating. "may i?"

you nod, frantically and this time, you can feel the tears resurfacing. "please get it off me."

first, aaron unvelcros his vest, and then removes his tie, his dress shirt, leaving him in just his white tee. he drapes it over the passenger seat - at the ready.

aaron ushers you closer to the interior of the car so the open door fully covers you, blocking any view that isn't his. he unbuttons your blouse with gentle fingers, acting rather quickly as well. and respectfully, he averts his eyes - either looking strictly at his hands, the buttons on each shirt, or your face, checking in on you.

he helps you into his shirt, holding it open so you can slide your arms in. it envelopes you, and just as fast as he unbuttoned, he fastens it shut.

it feels as if a small weight is lifted off your shoulders, and aaron tosses your soiled shirt onto the ground in the backseat. he leads you to sit sideways in the passenger seat, facing him.

"i don't want to be alone." you don't know why that's the first thing to exit your mouth, but it is. your eyes lift to his, frightened and pleading.

aaron nods as he gets down on a knee, cupping your cheek with his hand. "you're sleeping in my room tonight."

"with you?"

with a stroke of his thumb, overtop those bloodstains he's desperate to wash and rid you from, he nods again. "with me."

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

33 / 1.8k / shark mermen Gaz and Soap for mermay :)

...

You emerge from the cold saltwater with a gasp and cling to the only thing you can—a metal buoy, just as freezing as the ocean.

Something brushes your leg. Again. Then you feel a jolt of pain.

A moment later, he surfaces—the mer who cut you off from the boat and pursued you here. He looms closer, curious eyes fixed on you.

"Don't come any closer!" you tell him, half-strangled by seawater. You wish you sounded stronger. Your throat burns raw and your voice is choked. You press yourself up closer to the tower-shaped navigation buoy in a vain attempt to pull yourself away from him.

Gaz cocks his head to the side at the command, his black eyes flickering to your mouth in recognition. He treads the rough water effortlessly, lazily, the shape of his body under the water rolling.

He understands you perfectly. Then he moves closer anyway.

You sputter, fingers slipping as you scrabble for a better hold to—you're not sure, pull yourself to safety? There's nowhere to go.

He looms over you. You turn your face away and press into the buoy as tightly as you can. He rests his hand against the metal near your head, claws digging into the rust. His eyes rake over your body. You’re cold. Wet. Scared. Gaz can’t keep his eyes from moving all over you. From your wild, dripping wet hair down to where you disappear into the sea, thin human skin flat against curved metal. All the soft, exposed flesh in between.

Tentatively—when he doesn’t grab you—you steal a glance at him. His broad shoulders are bare, skin dark and smooth. Scars mark the sculpted muscles of his chest and forearms. Saltwater in the open cuts on your arm force your attention back to the situation at hand. He spots the bloody rivulets running down your forearm at the same time you do. It’s not just a series of cuts—it’s a bite mark. He bit you.

Then something big brushes your leg. You jolt, kicking, your shin banging hard against the base of your safe buoy. You nearly jump out of your skin when a second mer surfaces right behind you.

Gaz follows your stare back to the second mer. It’s Soap.

Soap grins, razor-sharp teeth flashing in the dim light. His dark hair is drenched, swept back from his face and away from his eerie all-blue eyes. When you don’t react immediately, freezing up instead, his hands crawl up your waist. You shriek. Soap laughs at your reaction. He tightens his hands on your waist and pulls you so easily from the buoy into the cage of his arms.

You struggle to keep yourself aloft without anything to hold on to. Soap seems blasé about keeping you high enough above the surface to breathe. He's more interested in your peculiar human features—your gilless ears, your flat teeth, the soft skin that extends well past your waist and hips. Even Gaz moves closer, enthralled with the sight of you wrapped up in Soap’s arms, your comparatively tiny human hands gripping and splashing around in a way they’d consider rather cute. Like a kitten curling its paws around a toy rather than someone fighting just to stay afloat.

Your lungs still burn with salt and your sparse clothes cling to you as you twist in the waves. Desperate to escape, you shove your left hand against Gaz's chest and your right elbow against Soap's, trying to make room for yourself between them and lift yourself away from Soap's curious, clawed hands. But there isn't much you can do.

Gaz stares down at your hand lingering on his chest. You have such short, blunt, thin claws. How are humans supposed to protect themselves with those? He looks up to see Soap attempting to wrestle your squirming, slippery little human body more securely into his arms.

"I had her," Gaz says in their mer language.

You can't understand it. To you, it sounds strange and half-muted, but you can feel the depth of the vocalizations in Gaz's chest and snatch your hand away as if burned.

“And now I have her,” Soap says.

"You shouldn't have grabbed her. She’s riled up now."

 “You just want to be the only one to see her up close. You can share." Not to mention he knows how Gaz can be. If Gaz were to get his hands on you first, Soap would be lucky to see a damn thing, much less touch you. Soap, on the other hand, knows how to share. “Have a look at the skin. Like an eel’s, but with little hairs.”

Gaz glares at him but obliges, dipping under the waves as he moves closer. He can’t resist the temptation of that soft flesh, so different from his own. Especially when Soap’s already got his hands on you and is feeling you up as much as he likes.

He circles you slowly as his eyes adjust to see you better in the low light. The rest of you is just as interesting as what's above water, if not more. You've got knees. Feet, even. He skims a claw from your ankle to your thigh. You kick in response, and Soap's long tail twists in the water to keep hold of you. Your feet, your legs—they’re so tiny. All flesh, no fins at all. Even when you kick, they just slide through the water so uselessly.

Above the water, you cry out at the sudden feeling. Cold dread settles into your gut as you recognize these two for what they are—not just mer, but sharks. Their size and sharp teeth give them away. Not to mention their skin. It looks like human skin, but it's smooth when rubbed in one direction and sandpaper-rough in the other. Exactly like the skin of the creatures they mimic.

You push blindly against Soap's chest, ignoring the bite of his claws as he holds on to you. You're certain they're about to pull you underwater and drown you. Maybe eat you. You've already been bitten.

Then, over the roar of blood in your ears, you hear the distant sound of a boat's bell. You swivel your head to see a small rescue boat. Someone must have noticed you were snatched overboard. Instantly, energy pulses into your limbs again. You push yourself up as far as you can, nails digging into Soap's shoulder, and you wave your arms and shout for all you’re worth to get the rescue boat's attention.

Soap whips his head around to follow the sound of the boat. He knows exactly what it is, and he doesn't like it one bit. The more he tries to hold you still, though, the louder and shriller your cries get. There's no chance the boat will miss you like this. Humans have really good eyesight even without their little lights. He could just let you go. He wanted to see you up close, and he did. But with Gaz circling below the water, and with every little touch reinforcing his curiosity about you, and with the smell of your blood filling his senses, he decides he and Gaz haven't had nearly enough time to study you.

With a beat of his tail, Soap pushes away from you.

You sink instantly, gasping in a mouthful of saltwater as you struggle to right yourself. You break the surface of the water one more time, but all that comes out when you try to call for help again is a watery choke.

A clawed hand wraps around your ankle and pulls you down. Your head submerges. Everything goes muffled besides the sharp stinging in your nose, eyes, and the bite on your arm. Soap's grip is like steel, pulling you down, down, down until the surface is just a glittering ripple far away. Your wild thrashing just tires you out, which makes keeping you under easier. He can only imagine the kind of panic that’s taking hold. Humans are notoriously poor swimmers.

Your vision spots as you struggle. Soap knows exactly what he's doing. His blood sings in his veins, the thrill of the hunt overriding everything. The moment is perfect: you under his control even as you fight like good prey.

The pressure of the water grows immense. It presses in on your eardrums and your chest cavity. You fight against the urge to breathe, but you are well and truly running out of oxygen.

Soap feels your struggling grow weaker. There's no way you're getting away now. You’re all his.

Suspended in the water above you both, Gaz understands exactly what Soap's instincts are telling him to do. His are saying the same thing: to strike while you're vulnerable, disoriented, desperate.

Instead, he dives to Soap and stops him.

"What are you doing?" he snaps. "Humans can't survive in the water."

Soap blinks like he’s turning his brain back on. "Aye. Am only hiding her."

"For how long?"

"Til the boat leaves. Morning, maybe."

Gaz grits his teeth. Before Soap can protest, Gaz darts up and grabs you with a burst of speed, ripping you right out of Soap’s grasp. The way he hooks you into the inside of his elbow knocks the last of the air out of you.

Your head spins. Your body is wracked by a dry, painful cough, and your mouth opens as your body instinctively tries to find air. Water fills your lungs. Gaz feels you convulse. He clamps his hand around your mouth. But it doesn't do you any good.

He propels you both up toward the surface. But instead of breaking through, he swims parallel, leaving the rescue boat behind.

You’re clinging to the final frayed threads of consciousness when you finally break the surface of the water. Your back hits sand. The impact forces your diaphragm to push a mouthful of water loose. That gets you coughing again. You flip over and cough what feels like an unsurvivable volume of seawater out of your lungs.

You cough until every muscle in your stomach hurts. You keep coughing as you get to your hands and knees and drag yourself up the rocky beach. Gravel cuts and burrows into your hands and knees. You don't have the capacity to notice anything besides the air you're desperately swallowing.

As soon as you're not completely convinced you'll die here, you collapse onto your side, curling into a fetal position. You don't notice the two lambent pairs of eyes watching you from the shallows.

...

[part 1] / part 2

more Gaz / more Soap / more mer au / masterlist tag

[kinrdevan]

eddie getting a text one morning from tommy, letting him know that evan's sick and asking him if he'd stop by a pharmacy and pick up some medication and other bits for them. and then, underneath that message, 'i'd go myself but-' and there's an attached picture, slightly blurry, of buck's head resting on tommy's chest. he's fast asleep, cheeks flushed. drooling.

he doesn't bother knocking when he gets to buck's loft, uses his own key, feeling safe in the knowledge that he's not going to walk in on them doing- activities. while buck's sick. the tv's on in the living room, the quiet hum of what sounds like a documentary filling the rest of the loft, and eddie shuts the door behind himself with a soft click. he doesn't announce himself, doesn't want to wake buck up in case he's still sleeping, knows tommy well enough to know that he'd have one ear listening out, anyway, especially while buck's sick.

he quietly makes his way into the kitchen and places the bags he's been carrying from the pharmacy onto the counters. rummages through them, for a second, until he's got what he needs out of them and then follows the sound of the tv into the living room.

buck and tommy are sprawled out on the sofa together, and in theory, it really shouldn't work; or, in the very least, eddie thinks, they should both look at least a little uncomfortable. instead, they both look far too content for two well-built, 6'2" guys squashed onto an averaged sized sofa together. tommy's on his back, head against the armrest, and buck's lying on top of him, head still pillowed on tommy's chest, and tucked securely underneath his chin. tommy has one arm wrapped around buck's back, hand stroking, soothing, along his spine, and his other curled around the nape of buck's neck, fingers petting at the sweat-damp hair there.

buck's awake, now. eddie watches as his eyes slowly track the movements on the tv, looking glassy with fever even from where he's standing. he's flushed, sweaty, and his nose is clearly stuffed, his chest rattling with every breath he takes, but he's more relaxed than eddie's ever seen him when sick, every one of his limbs melting into tommy.

tommy's gaze shifts to him, then, and he offers him a tired smile in greeting before he carefully leans down and presses a kiss to buck's curls, murmuring against them, "eddie's here, baby."

buck's eyes slowly flicker over to him, his fever-addled brain clearly taking a moment to process his presence before his tired features are splitting into as much of a grin as they can muster. "h-hey," he says, voice hoarse and clearly painful with the way he grimaces, after, and carefully swallows. buck shifts, then, looking determined, and eddie knows that it's futile to try and convince him to stay where he is. tommy does, too, clear in the way that his features shift into exasperation and fondness all at once as buck moves to push himself upwards, and he immediately moves with him, supporting and steadying him instead of trying to stop him.

as soon as they're both upright tommy's gathering him into his arms, pulling him close, and then closer still, and buck visibly melts into him, soaking up the attention, affection, and tucking himself securely against tommy's side.

"hey, bud," eddie says, walking further into the room. he holds the items up in his hands, and then drops them onto the the coffee table within easy reach for both of them, "i'm just dropping these off for you, and then i'll get out of your hair. let you rest. how are you feeling?"

buck opens his mouth, starts to answer, and eddie already knows it's gunna be some variation of 'i'm fine' before he's even got the words out. but then his voice cracks on the words, and his breath catches violently in his chest, his eyes screwing shut as sharp, painful coughs suddenly rack there way through his body.

tommy's there immediately, hands effortlessly manoeuvring buck until he's more upright, again. he leaves one hand against his chest, holding him up, while the other moves to stroke firm circles over his upper back. he lets buck grab at him, his hands coming up to clutch tightly at tommy's arm over his chest as pinpricks of tears gather in the corner of his eyes from the force the coughs.

"that's it, evan. i've got you. don't fight it, baby, you're okay. i've got you, i've got you-"

yeah, eddie thinks, buck's in good hands; tommy's got him.

[lovifie]

Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 5: Home Sweet Home

Masterlist

Original Thought - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

Aprox 5k words

W: Captain Price x Reader x Kyle Garrick (the poly 141 is building).

“I honestly think this is an improvement from your flat.” Ghost comments leaving your bag on a chair. “It is sad, but it's true.”

And he is right. The safehouse you have been assigned to is not ugly, it is just… artificial. Decorated to look lived in, but you know it isn't. Photos of people you don't know on the walls, books you haven't read and blankets you can tell are going to be itchy. But no one can trace you back here.

Ghost drove you here, Price made Soap and Gaz stay with him to have a chat with them. Chat, you are glad to be able to avoid, at least for now. 

The safe house is not too far away from the base, but still enough not to be linked to it. It is a nice neighbourhood, better than your last one, it makes you want to go for a walk. 

“Try to always stay inside, alright?” Ghost tells you sitting beside you. He caresses your thigh looking at your face. “I know it sucks to be stuck inside, but this whole thing would lose its purpose if anyone sees you leaving or entering the house.”

“So I can’t never leave the house?” You ask looking down. His gloved hand still caressing your thigh, and your hands find their way to it, playing with the fabric of his glove. 

“You can, just need to be careful. But never alone, unless it is an emergency. Please, if Price hears you are wandering around alone he'll have a stroke.” He chuckles, stops moving his hand and instead puts the palm up letting you play with his hand. “You should have seen him yesterday when he woke up.”

“Was it that bad?” You ask, guilt flooding your heart at the mental image of Price panicking because of you. 

Ghost nods. “He thought that we were pulling a prank on him, that we have you hidden. He made us show him our room, and then he went to look all around the base. Until I showed him the security footage of you leaving he didn't stop looking around.” 

“I feel like an asshole.” You admit, unable to look at him and focusing on your hands together with his. Your fingertips find their way inside the glove and you begin to caress the palm of his hand mindlessly.

“It was a pretty asshole move.” Ghost chuckles looking down at your hands. “But I can understand why you would do it, everyone else too. No one blames you for doing it, birdie. You know that, right?” 

It is then that you notice the current situation, Ghost is sitting side by side with you. Thigh pressing yours, one of his hands is on your lap with your own hand inside his glove caressing his skin, feeling the warmth. His other arm is resting on the back of your chair, and his hand find its way to your jaw, caressing your cheek with his thumb and moving your head to look at him. 

He is wearing a basic black balaclava, no paint around his eyes, and you can see his blonde lashes for how close he is to you. Unconsciously, you look to where you know his lips are and you notice movement under the mask, he is smiling. He sighs and presses his forehead with yours. “C’mon, birdie. I made a promise this morning, don't make me break it so fast.” 

“A promise?” You ask curious as you look back to the hands on your lap.

“Yeah, to Price. You are not supposed to know it.” He chuckles. “I shouldn’t tell you.”

And you shouldn't push it, you should be nice. But you are nosy and he hasn't said no jet. So you look up to him, through your lashes and ask softly. “I won't say anything… please?” 

He groans closing his eyes and pulls his head back looking ahead of you. “How can I say it?” He pulls the hand from behind your head to rub his face. “Price and I talked last night, about how since we met there has been an… attraction between all of us.”

“Okay.” You agree, feeling a light blush rise on your face. 

“And we talked about how we did a poor attempt at having control over it. And how we basically jumped you, and that was wrong of us, like, you were literally handcuffed when you were with Gaz.” He says sighing, feeling embarrassed with himself. “And I definitely shouldn't have done it the way I did.”

“It's okay.” You admit, still unable to look at his face. “I didn't complain… wait.” You say finally looking up at him. “You knew Gaz and I were…”

“Humping each other like teenagers? Yeah, I noticed.” He says chuckling when he sees your shocked expression. “Birdie, I took the car for maintenance the next morning to check the car's suspension because of how many potholes and curbs I hit. And you think I didn't do it or purpose?”

You cover your face with your hands chuckling in embarrassment, Ghost hugs you from the side bringing you close to his chest making you feel the vibrations from his laughs. “Are you getting shy now, birdie?” He asks and you nod, unable to answer. He then gets close to your ear and whispers: “You weren't shy when I had my tongue up your ass.”

You shriek slapping his arms to get away making him laugh with his whole chest and when you manage to get up, he grabs your hips keeping you within arm's reach. “Let me go, I'm going to sleep.” You say trying to keep some kind of pride. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, was just playing.” He says standing up and hugging you again. “Just like how I played with your clit.” 

“Shut up!” You exclaim, heating up, whether it is from embarrassment or something else, is not important right now. He laughs again and drops a kiss on the top of your head as a peace offering: “Go to bed, birdie. I'm sure you didn't get much sleep last night.”

You slap his arm one last time before walking down the hall, but he calls you again making you turn: “Take this, is a burner phone, so no one can track you through the phone. Price, Soap, Gaz and my number are already on. If you need to send anyone else a message or something, we will send it through your phone back at base, the antenna back at the base makes it impossible to track.”

You take the phone from his hand and slap your forehead when you see the time. “I need to call my boss!”

“About that, you don't have to worry about it. You are now on a witness protection system, so you actually can't just go. Price is going to talk to him, and he will figure it out. Price will take care of it, don't worry.”

You nod, not completely convinced, and after getting a kiss on your forehead you get inside the room, ready to sleep.

A couple of hours later, the clatter of pans and dishes wakes you up. You look at the time and realise you have slept almost all morning, so you stretch still on the bed, stand up, wash your face in the bathroom and make your way to the kitchen when you are met with Kyle's back.

“Morning.” You say smiling walking up to him. He whips around looking disproportionately scared by the situation and you look at him confused.

“Fuck sake, doll. We gotta get you a bell or something, almost shit myself.” He says with a hand on his chest and you laugh at him.

“That's what you get for being a snitch!” You exclaim putting your hands on your hips.

A perfect smile appears on his face that gets you weak on your knees, and he cups your face still smiling. Dammit, pretty boy. “I just couldn’t help it, luv. You look irresistible when you are flustered.” He says giving you a peck on your cheek. “Are you hungry? I brought you some groceries and bought you lunch.”

You look over his shoulder to check what he bought, and satisfied with his choice you bit the bait of his peace offering. “You are safe for now.”

The safe house is far from a mansion, but still, it is much better than your flat. More than one person can fit into the kitchen, there is a sofa and an armchair in the living room with a TV on a coffee table. Down the hall, there are two rooms and a bathroom with an actual bathtub inside. So yeah, a lot better than the old one.

Kyle and you have lunch on the sofa, and after you both stay seated basking in each other company. You can't help but stare at him and think about the first time you were close to him.

In just the last two days, you have grinded yourself against Kyle's dick, kissed and gotten yourself eaten out and fingered by Price, gotten your ass eaten and pussy fingered by Ghost and kissed and throat fucked by Soap.

Truly an interesting Tuesday.

It's not like you had never done those things before, but still, before them, it has always happened after a relationship was built and not in the order it happened that's for sure. 

Fooling around with Kyle was rejuvenating, you are not even old, but still, it felt like fooling around with your first boyfriend. Horny enough to need to feel each other but not ready still to face the vulnerability of getting naked in front of each other.

With Price, he made you feel like a fucking goddess. As if he should be the one thanking you for eating you out. You could hear him moan against your cunt and there was not a centimetre of skin he didn't kiss that night. Such a soft way to make love it almost didn't make sense how nasty he make out with your pussy that night.

Simon was the opposite like a professor teaching a bratty student their place. Any of these men could have you on your knees begging if they put their mind into it, but Simon made you want to act up. Pull his string and step on his nerves. He left you so vulnerable, completely naked and exposed to him, and still, there was not a second where you didn't feel safe.

And Johnny. Oh, sweet, sweet Johnny. You couldn't wait to get your hands on him again. Something about the way he whined your name when you had only barely touched him, the way his pupils almost got a heart shape when you kneel before him. 

But that little shit had a big mouth, not that he meant to cause harm, you know that. Unlike Gaz, the second little shit truly was striking for gold this morning. And now, he was sitting on the other side of the sofa, with your feet on his lap looking all innocent and completely unbothered by everything. 

So calm.

It bothered you.

Little shit doesn't deserve peace and calm.

Little shit deserves a kick on his balls.

But just when you are about to, you remember his face last night when he saw you enter the mess hall, looking terrified and like a wounded puppy. He looked so worried, and he hugged you so warmly. So the kick doesn't arrive, instead, you plant the heel of your foot right on his crotch forcing a grunt out of him.

“Easy, luv” He says rubbing your ankles.

“You deserve worse.” You say looking at his face as you keep pushing around.

“Rude, why do you say tha-at?” He asks half moaning the last word.

“You were going to rat me out this morning.” You answer beginning to move your foot up and down his growing erection.

He closes his eyes, resting his head on the back of the sofa. “You just look so delicious when you are flustered, doll. Couldn't help myself, would you forgive me?”

“I'm not sure yet, I'm still deciding.” You respond, pressing with a bit more force on his tip earning a moan from his throat.

“Take all the time you need.” He mumbles as he starts to move his hips against your feet.

Confusion floods your brain for a second, Ghost couldn't even kiss you this morning because he had given his word to Price but Gaz was happily humping your feet for his satisfaction. 

Did Price don't make him promise? No, that doesn't sound logical. Kyle was the one who started everything, Price must have made him promise more than everyone else. Kyle simply doesn't care about it. 

Price won't like that. 

If only Price got to know Gaz had broken his promise.

There it is, your kick on his balls. 

Figuratively.

For now.

You sit up, removing your feet momentarily earning a whine from Gaz at the loss. He looks at you with a pout on his face, cheeky bastard. It only lasts until he sees you undo his belt, and then a boyish smile appears on his face. 

He reclines with a smug smirk on his face and looks up to you as you get his growing boner free. You lick a thick strip of spit into your hand and start to stroke his dick slowly. You look at his face and he looks back delighted.

“If you treat me like this every time I bother you, I'm not stopping ever, luv” He says between whispered moans.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” You ask chuckling. 

“When my mouth is busy.” He admits, licking his bottom lip and leaving his mouth half open so moans can slip easily.

“It's that so?” You ask, and with your free hand you raise your t-shirt exposing your tits with a little bounce that Gaz doesn't miss by the way his dick twitch in your hand.

“Fuckin’ hell, luv.” He says beginning to move his head, but you pull his hair back and pressed your tit against his head which he gladly begins to suck onto making you groan softly. 

“Much better.” You sigh closing your eyes enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth against your nipple, you move your hand from his head down to his jaw caressing it and feeling the muscles of his jaw flex as he makes out with your boob. 

Slowly and shamelessly, Gaz's hand find its way down your back. He doesn't bother to play coy, and as soon as the hand reach your waist, it goes under your pants and your underwear grabbing a handful of your ass cheek making you whine. 

You press your thumb and index in his cheek, pressing between his teeth forcing him to open his mouth and say: “Play nice or I won't play with you, Garrick.” 

He smiles at you as much as he can with his cheeks pushes and sticks his tongues out to lick your nipple. “Yes, ma'am.” 

You could still kick him, literally. It would be faster and it'll probably erase the stupid smug smile from his face. But patience is a virtue.

So you shove his face against your boob again, and sigh when you feel his fingers travel down your lips. He moans when he feels your wetness just for your disgrace, the last thing you needed was to grow his ego. He slips them between your lips, gathering up the wet arousal pooling on your panties. He moves then to the front and begins to rub your clit with his fingertips. 

There is precum leaking from his tip, and you bring your fingers up to press your thumb against his slip and circle it, smearing his precum around it, making him moan. 

“Let's go to the bed, Kyle.” You half mumbles half moans.

“Let me just do it here, doll. Inaugurate the living room” He mumbles against your skin. You slap him on the back of his head and stand up.

“I'm planning on having most of my meals on this sofa, so get up.” You argue pulling his hand.

“If you are still hungry, I have something you could eat.” He jokes as he stands up, making you look at him with a grimace look on your face making him laugh.

“Don't ever say anything like that, Kyle. For god sake.” You say shaking your head as you walk your way to the room. You open the door and quickly take the rest of your clothes. You look back at Gaz who is looking at you a bit stunned and you chuckle. “I think it would make it a lot easier if you took off your clothes.”

He pulls his t-shirt from the back of his head throwing it somewhere, and gets rid of his clothes as he walks up to you. When he was almost bent over himself on the sofa, whining around your boob, it was easy to get confident and boss him around. Now, with both standing up and as he gets closer to you, you need to look up because of the size difference. He notices it too, how you start to speak softer and your expression is kinder. 

He chuckles to himself, positioning his hands under your arm and effortlessly throws you back on the bed, crawling over you instantly. You try to sit up, leaning on your elbows but a firm hand on your chest gets you flat on the bed soon. 

You look up to him and see him cock his head like a dog. “What?” You ask and it makes him smile with that fucking toothpaste ad smile. “There it is, I thought you lost your voice. You went silent so suddenly.” He teases.

“Oh, shut up, Kyle.” You say chuckling and pinch his nipple making him chuckle as well. For a second you stay chuckling, looking at each other and enjoying the opposite company. Until suddenly it feels a bit too intimate, and almost at the same time, you make eye contact feeling shy regardless of the lack of clothing. 

So you cup his face with both hands and pull him close kissing him on the lips. If he can’t see the affection in your eyes, he can't accuse you of anything. 

He caresses your hip, drawing circles with his thumb as he slowly reaches your mount and you slightly spread your legs involuntarily.

“Eager little thing.” He mumbles against your lips smiling, and you bite back: “I can feel you leaking onto my thighs, Kyle. Don't get cocky.”

He chuckles under his breath and without more preamble one of his finger finds his way inside your cunt as he uses the palm to rub your clit making you moan. Wet kisses travel down your throat when you move your hands to the back of his face, his finger’s movement becoming faster and not for long before a second one finds his way inside as well. You lower one of your hands to rub his erection against your tights, feeling the wet spot at his tip growing. 

Fuck does it feel good to be desired.

Little moans of your name leave Kyle's mouth against your neck giving you goosebumps and causing you to squirm in his hand needy of more. 

“Kyle… please” You moan throwing your head back.

“Not yet, doll. I wanna see you come as prettily as you did on the car again before I get my dick inside this little tight cunt.” He groans against your cheek.

You moan at his crude words arching your back, twisting your face to kiss him. Teeth clashing in the process, but too desperate to care. The band on your stomach snaps almost surprising you, and for a second you can hear your ears ring. Kyle’s hand is still rubbing your clit, but almost like a feather now helping you ride out your orgasm. 

You make eye contact with him, checking on you to see if you are alright and when he is satisfied he sits up, pulling you closer circling your legs around his slim waist and palms his erection; rubbing your clit with his tip. “Are you all right, luv? Need another second?”

“Fuck me already, Garrick” You tease propping yourself up on your elbows. 

Kyle smirks at you and slowly enters his dick stretching you out; he leans down closer to your face and you both moan on each other mouth as he enters. Slowly enters, and then draws back, just to enter a bit more. Little by little, as he kisses your mouth passionately. Your hands on his back slightly scratch his skin making him groan softly between moans, his tongue enters your mouth caressing your own.

This all started as a way to get Gaz in trouble, but honestly, you are starting to hope it doesn't work. Just so you have to try again. 

“Fuck, doll. Such a sweet lovely cunt” He mumbles, already losing his mind, punctuating each word with a roll of his hips. “Sucking me in so fucking nice.”

It shouldn't turn your own as much, such crude words, but you are not really thinking clearly and every word that leaves Gaz’s mouth is like a compliment to your core that makes you clench against his dick. 

“Do you like that, doll?” He asks against your neck dropping little open mouth kisses. “Hm? When I tell you how fucking godly you feel, luv?”

“Yes, fuck, yes” You moan back, curling your legs and pushing him closer, wanting him to go deeper as if you were not feeling him up to your cervix already.

His hand found its way down to your clit, circling it with his fingertip, making you meowl at the sudden extra stimulation. You can feel your orgasm approach, and you open your eyes to look at Kyles's face.

But when you open your eyes, the first thing you see is Price leaning against the doorframe; cigar in hand, a disapproving look on his face and a formidable hard erection on his pants. You lock eyes with him, a shameless smile creeping in and making Price shake his head with a similar smile on his face. 

The focus quickly moves back to Gaz when he starts to thrust more shallowly, rubbing your clit quickly. “Cum for me, please. I wanna feel you come around me, please, please, doll, please.” He moans against your skin, and completely ignoring Price's presence, you come undone in harmony with Gaz. 

Little black dots blur your vision for a second because of the surprising pleasure, almost missing the way Gaz moans your name we come undone following you. You are not sure if you are seeing or imagining when you see Price walk out of the room, and when you try to raise your head to see you come face to face with Gaz. “You okay, luv?” He asks with heavy breathing looking at your face and smiling.

You nod at him smiling, simmering in the afterglow of your orgasms. Only breaks away when something drops next to your head on the bed.

Gaz and you turn to look at Price who is now standing behind Gaz. “Shit.” Gaz mumbles trying to peel away from you, only for Price to press a hand on his back pushing him back against you making you both groan since Gaz is still inside you.

“No, no, please, don't stop on my behalf. I wouldn’t like to bother you.” He says dryly, no vestige of humour in his voice.

Gaz looks at you, making eye contact for a second until both of you turn to look at whatever it was that fell next to you, and when you see the lube bottle it finally sinks in what the two of you have just done. 

Both of you quickly try to look at him, kind of guilting the other to not get the short side of the stick. “Settle down you pair of brats.” Price says, he sits on the back of Gaz’s thighs, pressing him deeper making both of you softly moan again. He uncaps the bottle, pouring a fat blob of it in his fingers and pulling Gaz’s hair back making him arch his back once he throws the bottle back. “Unlike this brat, I’m not gonna fuck you, birdie. But the two of you put on such a show that has me in need of some… release.” He says while he caresses Gaz’s hole with his fingertips, getting through the muscle ring as he enunciates the last word.

“Shit, Captain…” Gaz moans, feeling your cunt clench when you feel his dick twitch back to life for a second time. “Don’t “Captain” me now, Kyle. What about your truce? Did any of my words get to your head or was all your blood down on your dick when I was talking to you?”

Gaz is not the only one getting the reprimand, a new cocktail of feelings is developing inside you. There are some hints of shame, the shame of getting caught mid-orgasm, the shame of Price barely acknowledging you at all, and the shame of feeling like you are intruding on whatever arrangement they had before you came into the picture. Again, the little self-aware thoughts that permanently reside in your mind appear, making you aware of the situation.

A loud moan from Gaz brings you out of it before they can materialise, and you come face to face to the fuck out face of Price after bottoming inside of Gaz. Having sex with Gaz was gentle, with more roll of hips and deep thrusts; but Price? He is obviously annoyed with the both of you, and his hard and fast thrusts are proof of it.

You can feel Gaz’s dick hardening inside you stretching you again. And even though he isn’t physically pulling in and out, Price's thrust forces his hips to roll against you giving you a delicious constant stimulus both inside and against your clit. That, joint with the fact that Gaz is moaning in such a filthy way against the skin of your neck quickly has you moaning in tandem with him. Bitting your lips to quiet them, feeling like they are not wanted, like you are just collateral damage to Price and Gaz's little get-together.

You force your eyes close when you feel Price look at you, he furrows his eyebrows when he notices you looking uncomfortable. Are you not enjoying it? Why do you turn away from him?

He switches his rhythm, caressing Gaz’s hips with a hand and bending down to cup your face with the other. He grazes your bottom lips freeing from your bite and drops his thumb inside your mouth making you lick it. He drops down to your ear to whisper: “Don't run from me, sweetheart. Not again, please.”

He raises his hand on Gaz's hips to hug him on his chest, pulling him close to him, and biting him on his shoulder. With what little space that earns Gaz, he begins to move between you and Price, earning a moan from everyone in the room. 

It is such a filthy scene, so porn-worth, still, there is such a palpable sense of care from everyone involved. Fuck, the moment they get bored of you it's going to hurt like a bitch. 

“I can't!” Gaz moans, the overstimulation getting the best of him. Poor boy getting his prostate destroyed and his dick milked at the same time. You can't barely manage yourself, you pity him. But again, that's what he gets for snitching. 

“Yes, you can. And you will.” Price moans against his neck, and at the same time he drags his hand down your body just to rub your clit causing a chain reaction when you clench for the reaction, causing Gaz to groan and clench as well. 

Is not much longer until you feel Gaz finish inside you for a second time, drooling against your shoulder skin while he hugs you needy of something to ground him. You quickly hug him back when you feel yourself spilling over the edge, and just a couple of seconds later Price finishes as well inside of Gaz. 

He drops himself over the two of you earning a groan from you for being squished by both men, but you only get a chuckle in return from the both of them. “At least like this, we know you aren’t going to go running again.” Gaz murmurs against your skin only for you to hear, warming your heart.

“The two of you are gonna give me a headache, I just know.” Price mumbles kissing his bite mark on Gaz’s shoulder while making eye contact with you. “Get washed, dressed and come down to the living room. We have a little meeting the five of us.” 

When he goes to sit up, you quickly grab his shirt pulling him close and ask softly. “Can we stay like this for a little more, please?” The neediness and clinginess being too hard to ignore.

Kyle and Price look at you as if you are the most precious thing on the whole planet and quickly nod going back to the weird body pile you were on. “Yeah, of course we can.”

Heyaa, how are you? 💗

Hope you liked the new chapter, please please drop a comment if you like it or if there is any scenarios you would like me to include 💗

Thank you again for all the support, you guys are the best

Taglist: @pagesfalling @thevoidwriting @darkangel4121 @tf141glory @skyler-loves-rick-grimes @ghostlythots @readerofallthingss @onewattson6529 @mynameismothra @xinyiline @shadowtfpcod @infpt-zylith @renabear88 @lolliepopsicle @reap3erslov3 @tooloudarts @dontworryboutitokie @cassiecasluciluce @sodavrr @missmidnight-writes @anirok2

[flamingpudding]

His son's children

When Alfred looked into the security video of the front gates, he froze for a moment. Taking in the image of the two children there. One was a tall, red haired girl with a teal headband, confident but with a look of wary in her eyes. Behind the girl was a younger boy, black haired and wearing a NASA shirt, appearing to be reluctant like what they were doing was a bad idea. Alfred's stomach dropped just a little when he saw the boy and his familiar features.

A second later worry flitted accross his face, but still, because of protocol, he asked them for their reason for this surprise visit. No one expected any visitors this late, and Alfred knew if he looked over his shoulder, he would find one of the children snooping, trying to find out who their visitor could be.

Yet when he heard the girls request to see him, not Bruce Wayne, but him, Alfred Pennyworth, his stomach dropped even more. Knowing now for sure that he hadn't seen wrong with the boy's features. He buzzed them in, while his mind remembered old cherished memories of two you black haired toddlers playing together, growing up together until that one day. When he chose to stay and his significant other chose to leave. Sometimes, he wondered if Bruce still remembered the one that could have been a brother to him if things had gone different.

He doesn't regret his decision, but when he looked at the two worn-out children, no his own grandchildren, before him he mourned the fact that he had let his own son become astranged from him and Bruce. Having believed it to be the best with what Bruce had started to get up to.

But maybe it wasn't to late to make amends he thought as the young girl, clearly of the same vibes as Richard, like someone who had grown up to fast and taking on responsibilities that shouldn't be theirs, tried to explain that they won't call him grandpa if it made him uncomfortable and that they would only need a place to stay for a couple of days before they could move on.

Alfred's heart broke for them as he listened to the girls, Jasmine's hurried explanation.

During her explanation, he studied them more closely. Marveling at how much the boy, Daniel, looked like him when he had been younger. But also noticing the clear signs of injury he was trying to hide. He suppressed a huff, years of taking care of his reckless charges and other grandchildren, and their wounds had made him an expert in spotting these things. But it also gave him a sickening feeling. The injuries Daniel tried to hide did not appear like your average kind of injuries.

They were going to stay, Alfred would make sure of it and he would also let Bruce know of his findings. There was clearly more to his grandchildren sudden appearance than Jasmin was willing to explain.

Whatever endangered his grandchildren from his own estranged son. He would ensure that nothing would hurt them ever again.

His granddaughter did not need to list reasons to convince him to let them stay for a couple of days. And his grandson did not need to look this cautious and wary of him like someone was going to attack him any second.

Alfred was going to give them a home if his son couldn't. And if Bruce had a problem with it, he could take it up with his children. Clearly, if he looked over his shoulder at the noisy little ones, all of his other grandchildren could see that these two before him needed a home to stay.

Besides from the looks of it, they would fit right in with this family.

[frmisnow]

MERLOT !

summary. nothing scarier then confronting past memories and being vulnerable!

notes. well! tbh i find it rly fascinating what events from their childhood make ppl act the way they do in relationships so i thought it would be intresting to dive into oc a lil further! hope y'all enjoy ˚⋆.✧˚

warnings /includes. ( 1.8 k / angst, fluff) comforting! 'let me take care of u'! ceo! jungkook x non specified! reader, hints at domestic abuse and daddy issues, angst, rly bad ex :/ , comfort!

the plane was once again quiet.

he doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, doesn't talk. you knew this would happen, you change people for the worse, that's what your father used to say. he became violent, blamed it on you and your 'reckless' behavior.

that's what happened to your ex as well; you used to like the innocence he asserted to you. embraced it, bathed in it because you finally felt like you learnt how to earn love. changed yourself for love.

but it was never enough, everything you offered at some point wasn't fulfilling to him. he changed too, not for good.

you don't want to ruin jungkook.

jungkook rarely even looked at you, didn't talk to you either besides business. and you are so scared that you had already worn onto him, that he was beginning to change as well.

not long after the plane landed, you're outside, wandering aimlessly through the city streets. the cold night air bites at your skin, but it doesn’t help to clear your mind.

you want to drown it out, drown him out. and it hurt because that was exactly what prompted you to meet him in the first place, you had wanted to drown your ex out. now the circle repeated itself.

why did life have to be so fucking unfair?

you push open the wooden door, it felt way to heavy, it was just a random bar you spotted while walking.

greeted an older bartender, ordered an whiskey. you happened to take a look at the bottle label: it was one of the ones jungkook had on his display. you were sure that your own life was actively playing a cruel joke on you.

but the pain is stubborn it doesn't go away with just a sip, clinges onto you, harder. you take another sip, bigger, it's another attempt — it was no use.

you want to go back to milan, at exactly 1:37am, walking around with him. but sadly, time doesn't cooperate so you motion for another drink, that's really all that you could do.

"drinking are we?" you hear a voice just as you settle the empty second glass on the table and you freeze momentarly. you don't have to turn around to see who it was, you knew the sharp and disapproving tone.

and suddenly the pain gets replaced with deep disgusting fear. earlier you had thought that you would rather feel anything else then the strong ache but you had been wrong. the misary had been better then this new emotion.

you give him the silence treatment, don't turn around, don't talk. in reality you were way to scared to look back in the first place.

"you're just like your father"

his words shouldn't get to you because deep down you knew he was wrong. you were nothing like the man he compared you to, could never be like him. but it still got to you, it stung.

it reopened wounds that you had worked tightly on wrapping and you frantically try to work on closing them again as he spat out more of his anger. the more he spoke, the more did your vision blurry and it made it impossible to tie them back properly.

he reaches his hand forward to touch your shoulder and you scream, tears coating your face. you think it would be a sight that would push him away, he hated seeing you a true mess, it wasn't the clean version he liked of you. yet he trys again, a smirk on his face.

you burry yourself behind the bartender's counter as the security drags him away, tears continue streaming down your face as you dial jungkooks number.

you don't remember what you tell him, you don't even quite understand yourself through the sobs but you do remember jungkook asking you if you were safe right now, that you should stay right there and that he'd be there in ten.

he makes it in seven.

jungkook holds your hand tightly while he leads you to his car, it was pouring. you wondered how he managed to be so fast without getting into an accident. he doesn't start the engine instead continues holding both of your hands calmly as you cry, doesn't ask any questions either.

he gives you a few more minutes, kisses your palms, tells you to breathe, tells you you're safe. you lean back against the seat, feeling the car’s warmth gradually ease the chill from your bones while he starts driving.

eventually, you make it to his house. you hadn't been able to fully register it back when you were drunk, but it was big, expensive, maybe a bit depressing with it's minimalist structure.

jungkook doesn't pressure you to talk inside too, wraps you in a fluffy blanket, prepares tea with a concentration that was admirable like he was perfecting it just for you as you watch him from your designated spot on the coach.

he sits beside you and brings your legs across his lap, handing you the warm cup full of tea. he watches you carefully as you blow on it gently before taking a tentative sip while he rubs your ankle comfortingly.

you take another sip from the tea, it's something cherry-flavored, burning hot. you rest your head against the familar coach, looking at him. you don't want to talk, don't want to disrupt the peace you felt right now, with the things your ex had done and said.

words full of anger and spite have no space and no use near jungkook, not now, not today.

he brings his hands to cup the back of your neck softly, "i can run you a hot bath, get you some clothes"

you close your eyes momentarly at his touch and your vocie cracks, "i'm sorry" you're sorry that you couldn't get over yourself and tell him what happened, sorry that the words of the man who hurt you so much still have so much effect over you, sorry that you hurted jungkook by ignoring him for the past few days.

jungkook shakes his head, "no, don’t apologize. you don't have to tell me what happened if you're not ready,” he pauses, “but i was really scared. when you called. i just-"

jungkook takes a deep breath. he runs his fingers over your shoulders before speaking again, “i just want you to be happy. just want you to be safe.”

you take a pause because those were beautiful words. but that's the thing with words, somebody says something beautiful, you want to remember but then you slowly start to forget. you wanted jungkook to tell you that everyday, so you'd never.

"i want you to be happy too," i'm just sure you wouldn't be happy with me. is the part you leave out, not wanting to ruin the moment.

his eyes soften as he watches over you, fingers brushing over your features, "i want to take care of you"

after you're finished with your tea, he guides you to the bathroom gently. helps you get out of your clothes, places light kisses on your back, makes sure the water is just warm enough.

he kisses the spot right below your ear while he begins slowly shampooing your hair, “do you want to talk about it now?” he asks quietly.

it's hard to get your tongue to speak but you feel jungkooks reassuring hands, it's the same hand which pull the words out gently. so you tell him about your ex, tell him about how he used to like you, tell him what he said, how he tried to touch you.

tell him about your father. not everything because some memories your brain simply locked for your own safety.

and he listens, doesn't interrupt a single time, kissing your shoulders as you talk about your childhood. "you deserve to be loved," jungkook says, so sincerely, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

the precious words sink into the sea of your heart, calm down the strom, fill you with inner warmth.

"i'm scared," you look down at your hands in the water, "i don't want to become him, i don't want to hurt you."

"you're not him and will never be," he says softly, as if he's stating a simple fact, "you're strong, kind and you care, so much more then anybody would"

there’s no hesitation in his gaze, no flicker of uncertainty — only a steady conviction that makes you want to believe him.

“you’ve been hurt, so much more than anyone should have to bear,” jungkook continues, his hands sliding down to hold yours under the water. “but that doesn’t mean you’re doomed to repeat the past. it doesn’t mean you’re destined to hurt anyone.”

his gaze wanders of to your intertwined hands shortly until he looks back at you, "you have the power to chose differently, to be better. and you already have chosen."

"and you deserve somebody who cares for you, loves you, cherishes you, i want to be that person for you."

you're still scared. the possibilties of you hurting somebody as precious as jungkook were deeply engraved into your mind but you ignore them, nodding slowly to brush them away. to be selfish for once. "i want to be that for you too"

jungkook smiles in response, wiping away the water droplets from your face, “let’s finish up so we can get you into bed, pretty.”

he helps you stand up, envelopes you in a towel, asks you if you can sit down for him so he can dry your hair. tenderly makes sure to not leave out a single wet strand until every bit of water was gone.

all that can be heard was the rain that was now a lot softer then it was a few hours ago, tapping against the window. you can smell jungkooks scent on the clothes he gave you earlier, you could feel his arms around you, the expensive sheets quality below.

he shifts slightly, his lips pressing little kisses over your jawline and cheeks, asking muffled, "what do you want?" as he continues his services, "i'll give you everything"

you think about it for a few seconds, "a kitten"

growing up, you couldn't afford to have a cat in your house due to the violence. there was no way that such a fragile little animal would've been safe in that enviornment. but you had always loved kittys.

he hums as you turn to look at his face, intertwining your hands together, "that's cute, we can name her cheonsa, you know what that means?"

you shake your head lightly, mouthing a 'what?'

"something that reminds me of you, i won't tell you"

the room is filled with comfortable silence for a few minutes while you listen to him breathe, "we should go back to milan, no business" “then we’ll go back to milan,” he whispers against your skin. “and we’ll come back home to a kitten. do you want that?”

🍓 tag list — @chansloverr , @marimarvelfan , @bxcndd , @1-in-abillion , @ahgasegotarmy116 , @copycat-namjesus , @malkaimoon , @geminiml95 , @taiwan0618 , @jungkookfics , @rrosiitas , @stuti2904 , @spiderlilyserendipity , @m00njinnie , @ririkookiemonster , @emptynessclub

[knightjpg]

analgesia

It's not the first time he's got himself skunk drunk when back home on leave, and part of you resents his decision for joining the military. Clearly that has to be the reason for him living it up like it's his last goddamn night on Earth at every opportunity, right? You're more familiar with his sloppy cheek kisses and wandering hands while you get him home than you'd like, but such are the burdens of best friend privileges. It's Johnny—harmless, familiar. A little stupid and a lot sweet.

tags: dubcon, johnny/reader, alcohol mention, unprotected piv (wrap it up kids)

“Fuck's sake, Johnny, keep your feet—!”

Johnny just laughs and leans all of his weight on your shoulder again, making you squeak and scramble for balance. 

“Le's dance, bonnie, c'mon, we gotta go dancin’,” he slurs in your ear. 

A laugh bubbles up your throat before you can help it. You're tired and annoyed and exasperated, but it's just so damn hard to stay angry at Johnny with his big blue puppy eyes and the way he's always smiling like a little boy caught doing something he shouldn't have. 

Dancing... Ridiculous. He can't even walk in a straight line. 

“No,” and you try to sound firm through your smile. “We're going home, and we're getting you a glass of water. You stink.” 

Johnny answers you with a full-on whine, burying his nose in your shoulder and scratching against your skin with his stubble. “Why're you s'mean. Why d’ye hate me.” 

"If I hated you I’d dump your ass at a bus stop and leave you to sober up by yourself.” You hoist his arm more securely around your shoulder while you walk, thanking every higher being you can think of for wearing sensible sneakers tonight. Johnny's leaning into you so hard you have to lean back an almost equal amount just to stay upright and keep shuffling forward. 

And so when he suddenly stops you almost fall face-first on the hard stone pavement. “What—” 

You can see Johnny turn pale even under the dim lantern light, and he presses a hand to his mouth before doubling over— 

“No no no please don't throw up—” 

...and retching his guts out in the gutter. You allow yourself a deep sigh and watch your breath turn into a puff of cloud while listening to Johnny heave the alcohol out of his system. It's so dark out you can even make out the flicker of some stars when you look up, winking in and out of existence as the opaque curtains of cloud drift by. 

When he's done you look down and wince at the stains on his shoes. He's shivering, and pity has you rubbing a hand over his shoulder. 

“Ah dinnea feel s’good,” he mumbles. 

“I can see that. C'mon, big boy. It's gonna be okay.” 

He unsteadily lets you help him to his feet again. He's been feeling off all night, and you watch him with a mixture of worry and sadness. 

It's not the first time he's got himself skunk drunk when back home on leave, and part of you resents his decision for joining the military. Clearly that has to be the reason for him living it up like it's his last goddamn night on Earth at every opportunity, right? 

You're more familiar with his sloppy cheek kisses and wandering hands while you get him home than you'd like, but such are the burdens of best friend privileges. It's Johnny—harmless, familiar. A little stupid and a lot sweet. 

But it's never quite felt like this. He was all smiles tonight until... 

Until when? 

You don't know what set him off. You were with the usual crew, old friends. Everything seemed fine—Johnny'd been playing darts with some of the other lads and you'd been with the girls, gossiping over dates and breakups and relationship advice. 

You'd shyly told them the bloke you'd gone out with last week called you back asking for another date, and were hounded afterwards for details. You'd been having fun until you weren't. Or rather, until you were too distracted by Johnny slamming back drink after drink with tense shoulders and tight eyes. 

You sigh again when you reach your apartment. You had plans for tomorrow, but... You glance at Johnny. His head's slumping forward till his chin is almost touching his chest. You don't want to leave him feeling sick by himself. 

Johnny's drunkenly mumbling to himself while you fish around your bag for your keys with one hand. One of his arms curls around your waist, making it harder, and then his hand wanders high enough to grope at your breast. 

“Chrissake, Johnny,” you smack his arm. “Play nice. I'm trying to—” 

“Love ye s’much, bonnie,” he mumbles against your neck, hand not moving an inch even with your nails digging into his skin. If anything it makes him cling to you more tightly, and you're worried he'll fall and break his thick stupid head if you push him off you with more force. 

“Yes, yes, love you too. Idiot. Now let go, I want to get out of the cold...” 

Somehow you manage to move around his iron grip and click open the door. You put up with his slobbering against your neck because it makes him a lot easier to deal with getting up the stairs and then, fucking finally, you're in your apartment where it's warm and cosy. 

You shuffle over to the bedroom because it's closest and there's just absolutely no way Johnny's going to fit on your couch. You've tried. It's not worth putting up with the complaining about back pain the next morning. 

Johnny flops onto the mattress and just when you think the finish line is in sight, his hand snatches yours so quick it's a blur. 

“Dinnea leave...” 

“Have to get you a glass of water,” you tell him gently, trying and failing to pry his fingers off your wrist. 

“Dinnea want ye t’fuckin’ leave...” his voice breaks in the middle and you stop short for a second—is he crying?  

God, how drunk is he...? You'd hoped throwing up would have counted towards sobering up, but apparently not. 

“Shush, it's okay, it's okay. We'll get you some water and you'll sleep it off, alright?” 

Johnny slurs something you don't catch and you take the opportunity to slip away and get him a glass. You make him drink it all, even manage to get him to rinse his mouth. He does as you say without fuss, wavering between stubborn as a rock and pliantly obedient as always. 

“You're a handful and a half,” you say, but without any real heat to it. You brush back strands of brown hair—his mohawk's been growing out. He'll probably ask you to cut it again before he returns to base... 

When he starts to slump over again you quickly take the glass from him and set it on the bedside table, and push against his shoulder to get him to lie on his back. “Christ, what are they feeding you,” you mumble to yourself. He's got to be bigger every time you see him—you don't think you could fit two hands around his arm. 

When you pull back to get Johnny a blanket he grabs at you again, and this time you're too caught off guard to keep your balance. You fall half on top of him with an ‘oomf!’ and narrowly avoid kneeing him in the groin. 

“Give me a fucking break,” you huff when he takes this as the go-ahead for a nice cuddle. Those thick arms immediately wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. 

“Love ye s’much,” he slurs again, mouth tucked just below your ear. Every time he moves his lips it's like he's kissing you, and despite everything you have to suppress a few shudders. “So fuckin’ bonnie. Was lookin’ at ye all night. Wanted t’go dancin’ with my girl, take ye home...” 

You flush. It always takes you by surprise, the drunk ‘my girl’s, to the point where you asked him about it one time. Johnny just laughed and shrugged. “You are my girl. Known you the longest since forever, aye?” 

You pointed out that's not quite what it means, and the only reply you got was that he wouldn't call you that if it bothered you. It's a promise he forgets every time he goes out, though... 

“You're drunk,” you tell him. 

“M'not,” he says, breath hot against your neck. It's followed by something wet, and you jolt in his arms. 

“What’re you—Johnny, gross, what the hell!” 

He licks at you again, and the twitch that follows is involuntary. Your neck is sensitive and, well, so what if it's been a while? The guy you're planning to see next week was going to fix that. Not Johnny. He's not... He's not supposed to be— 

“Taste s’fuckin’ good,” Johnny groans against your neck. The bed shifts and creaks, and this time there's a graze of teeth.  

“Wait,” you gasp, voice suddenly thin and airy and so distracted by Johnny biting at your skin it takes more than a few minutes for you to realise the bed is creaking because he's humping your thigh. 

An embarrassed heat zaps through you right to your core, and the intensity of it makes you break out into a sweat. 

“Johnny, Johnny, wait—” 

He outright moans when you say his name, hands squeezing your waist before sliding down to cup your ass and angling your hips to slot his own into. “Make it so good for you, kitty, need ye s’bad...” 

Jesus Christ. Mortifyingly you can feel yourself getting wet. Just—the proximity, the heat, the electricity running up your spine every time his big hands slide over your thighs. You feel trapped, suffocated, almost, and unfortunately the fact that you can't get away from him even if you try makes the dizzy feeling in your stomach spin harder. 

When Johnny sucks at your neck and roughly tugs up your shirt to knead your chest through your bra there's a few seconds of white-out bliss, and you seriously consider giving in and just— 

No. He's drunk. Probably barely has any idea what he's doing—never remembers what he said or did the next morning. You can already imagine the apologetic hugs, the huge pleading eyes. He'd feel terrible. 

“You're drunk—you're drunk, c'mon, Johnny, we can't, we gotta...” you cut yourself off to muffle the moan that threatens to slip when Johnny ducks his head down and starts giving your chest open-mouthed kisses.  

“No,” you protest weakly, unsure if you're telling him or yourself, because despite your good intentions you really don't want him to stop. Would it be so bad? Would it be so bad if you let Johnny make you feel good? He won't remember, will honestly probably pass out before anything actually happens, and... and... 

“We gotta be—gotta be smart, Johnny, oh—” his name comes out as a sob when he flicks your nipple with his tongue, and you squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Say my name, bonnie, sound s’fuckin’ pretty for me... Gonna make ye sing, make ye feel so good,” Johnny pants against your skin. One of his hands worms its way down, almost rips the buttons off your pants, cups your core right through panties. You shake from just that, back arching, hips stuttering away and then back towards him because this is unfair. Isn't drunk sex supposed to be shite? Why is he making it work? What's wrong with you? 

Johnny moans loudly, unlike you completely unashamed and uninhibited and very happy to let you know that you're “So fuckin’ wet for me—tha's for me, aye? All mine? Fuck, tha's good—Sweet little cunt...” 

You push at his shoulders with less and less conviction. You try tugging at his mohawk to get his attention, desperate not to have to be the voice of reason here, but all that does is make him shudder and bite at your tits. 

And neither gets him to take his hands out of your pants, though he very quickly decides just feeling you soak your panties isn't good enough. With a lot more alacrity than you should reasonably expect of him he pushes aside your underwear, starts flicking your clit, and sticks his tongue down your throat to eagerly drink down your sounds of pleasure. 

“Missed ye so much, miss my girl all the time,” he whines into your mouth. You can feel his cock thick and erect through his jeans, still rubbing against your hip, and you shiver, because Johnny's stupid big fingers are working you to completion at a rollercoaster pace. But when you start to tremble, breaths coming short and quick and needy— 

He stops. 

“No!” you whimper, sounding as pathetic and desperate as you feel. If he falls asleep now you're going to kill him. 

But Johnny hasn't fallen asleep. When you crack your eyes open you look right into his, glittering in the half-dark of your room. When he speaks his voice is husky, low and tight with desire coating the edges. 

“Tell me y’need me, aye? Wee lil’ cunt need me so bad?” 

To punctuate his question he flicks at your clit again, and when your hips jolt in response his free hand presses them down into the mattress. Keeping still. 

There's a split second of doubt, the voice of reason rearing its head in the back of your mind. This isn't right—he's drunk. You've just started seeing someone, kind of, not quite dating yet, but it wouldn't be fair—right? 

You can't quite catch Johnny's expression in the low light, but the edges of him seem to sharpen when you don't answer right away. In one fluid motion he pushes himself up to hover over you, knee nudging your legs open wider, and presses his forehead against yours before starting excruciatingly slow circles on your clit. 

You gasp and pant and can't do anything except lie there and let the weight of both his body and his gaze pin you to the bed, helpless and mortified at your own body's response. Because even though it's slow you are soaking him, him and yourself. Your jeans are ruined; your underwear is a joke. You're pretty sure if Johnny pulled away now his hand would be wet up to the wrist. 

And you don't want him to pull away. You almost cry in relief when he speeds up his rhythm, so glad you don't have to make a decision after all and can simply receive whatever the alcohol in Johnny wants to give you... 

Until he stops. Right on the edge, mean fucker, and this time tears slip past your lashes. “No, no, please, please, you can't—please, Johnny...” 

“Tha's better,” he says roughly, the hand on your hip travelling up to pinch at your nipple until you try to wriggle away from him. “Love ye so much, kitty. Tell me you love me, c'mon.” 

“I—” you swallow, mouth feeling dry despite all of Johnny's slobber. This feels like more than it should be. You love your friends. You love Johnny. But— 

“Y’want it?” One of his thick fingers prods at your entrance without ever really entering, and the promise of relief so close is what breaks you. 

“Yes,” you whimper. “I want it. Please. Please...” 

Your reward is one thick finger slowly entering you, and you squeeze your eyes shut and sob at the sensation. It's almost—almost—everything you've ever needed. Johnny's breath has gone ragged above you, eyes glued onto your every expression. 

“Y’need me, aye? Say it. Say you need me.” 

“I need you,” you manage to stutter out, the last vowel of which transforms into a drawn-out moan when it gets you a slow crook of his finger inside you. It's so fucking slow, Jesus H., but it's something. If he stops now you're going to lose your mind. 

Your desperation along with your evident arousal softens Johnny, and he coos at you while he fingers you. “Don't hav’ta go anywhere, jus’ stay right here with me, give you everythin’ you need...” 

It'd almost be sweet if you could think straight, and you should be, you're supposed to be the one keeping a clear head, but it's really hard to think anything at all when Johnny's messily kissing you again. 

“Pretty girl,” he groans when you squeeze around his finger. “My pretty girl. Ye love me? D’ye love me, bonnie?” 

Your stomach is tightening and with a spike of panic you rush to answer this time: 

“Yes, yes, Johnny, love you—” 

How unfair that that makes him stop. He looks at you, eyes big and wild, cheeks flushed, like a kid opening a Christmas present he was told his parents didn't have the money for. And then he pulls away entirely to rip your jeans off. By the time it catches up to you, you barely have the wherewithal to raise your hips to help him. 

His own clothes follow suit so quickly you fear for the fabric, and then realise it's yourself you should be worried for. You had an inkling of Johnny's size, have woken up to it pressing against your ass too many times to count, but... 

That's not going to fit, you think wildly, and Johnny must see some of the panic on your face, because while he lines his thick leaking tip up to your soaking cunt his other hand pets at your cheeks, lingers on your throat. “Doing so good, bonnie, gonna make ye feel so good, fill you up so nice...” 

His moan fills the room when he slides in another few inches, bounces off the walls and ricochets inside your head. It doesn't hurt, thank God—you're drenched and desperate and at this point frankly impatient. 

Johnny slides in deeper and tugs your legs around his waist, makes you keep them there when he bottoms out and lets out a wild groan from somewhere deep in his chest. You can feel it in your own, pressed against you as he is. 

“Perfect girl,” he gasps, slowly pulling his hips back and then slamming them back into yours. “Fuckin’ mine—all f’r me.” 

This time you're not sure who leans in for the kiss first. It doesn't matter anymore. Your moans and whimpers steadily grow in volume until you're crying under Johnny, clinging to him while he fucks you following a rhythm too quick and wild to try to meet. 

When he presses his thumb to your clit again it barely takes anything to ignite the fire again, wild and hot and ready to boil over. Johnny coos at you again when your mouth drops open in long, silent cry, cunt clenching around him hungrily. “Tha's it, bonnie, feel so good, aye? Pretty kitty feelin’ so good? Fuckin’ made for me, gonna fuck ye so full—” 

It doesn't take long for him to do exactly that. You can feel his cum filling you, hot and heavy, long spurts accompanied by Johnny's desperate moans and whimpers. 

You whine when he collapses on top of you to give you more lazy, open-mouthed kisses—“You're heavy, Johnny, get off”—and try to catch your breath in the two seconds of reprieve you get before he's pulling you into his chest. 

You're spent. Sweaty, flushed, and boneless. The sheets are no doubt disgusting, but it's so late and you're too fucked-out to care. You file it away for tomorrow, just like the hundred other things you're going to have to talk about somehow... 

Johnny lets out a deep, contented sigh, tucking you under his chin and pulling your leg over his waist like he's rearranging a doll. You don't have the strength in you to protest. It's only when you feel his cock prodding at you again that you jolt away from him and try to remove your leg, but Johnny frowns, clicking his tongue like he would at a disobedient pet.  

“I want to sleep, Johnny, 'm tired...” 

Johnny tuts softly, keeping you still with a firm grip while he enters you again. “’S just for keepin’ it all in, bonnie, dinnea fuss. See? ‘S nice all full like this, aye? Wake ye up all nice ‘n proper tomorrow.” 

You wriggle in his grasp with a soft whine—Johnny's cock is girthier than any other you've had before and you're sore from being used like a battering ram, even if it felt mind-numbingly good. But Johnny's arms are iron, and the more you try to move around the tighter he holds you to him. 

Eventually you give up and give in. Sleep is tugging at you insistently, and when you relax around him it's not so bad. Johnny kisses you when he feels you settle, his hand running soothingly over your bare skin. 

It's enough for you to be lulled into sleep. Before you drift off one last thought surfaces: 

Isn't Johnny supposed to be good at holding his liqueur...? 

[ceruark]

liquid courage

synopsis: aventurine leaves your drunk boss on your doorstep. notes: ceo! sunday x gn! personal assistant! reader. modern au (he's still an angel though, don't ask me how or why. the wings are important to me). fluff. cw: none! (implied aventurine/ratio, but nothing major) words: 3,147 inspiration: every kdrama ever

It was, for the first time in several months, a relaxing night.

After weeks of traveling between worlds and meeting with various business partners, you finally landed back in the place you called home: a rather luxurious unit in Golden Hour's finest apartment complex. It was far too big for one person and beyond what you dreamed of affording growing up, but it was necessary.

Not only were Golden Hour's Platinum Terraces a fifteen minute drive away from Dewlight Pavilion, but they also had the best security Penacony could offer. As the personal assistant of Halovian Corporation's esteemed CEO, you had a rather large target on your back. So, despite your initial hesitations, you'd agreed to live in the flashiest building in Golden Hour.

It wasn't like your wallet was suffering because of it. The astronomical cost of rent hardly put a dent in what the Oak Family deposited into your account every other week.

You sighed and stretched out leisurely on your couch, flipping through the channels until you settled on a showing of one of your favorite movies. You let it play in the background while you responded to messages from friends you hadn't had the chance to get back to during the trip. In between enthusiastic conversations and pictures of the fancy meals and hotels you'd stayed at, you scrolled through your social media accounts, grimacing at your feed when it recommended a picture taken of you without your knowledge.

It shouldn't have surprised you that being around Sunday constantly would put you under the same spotlight he grew up in. Heir to the Oak Family's fortune and beloved by Penacony's citizens, the only person on the planet who could complain about having more cameras shoved in their face on a daily basis was his darling sister. As his assistant, you showed up in almost every photo his fans snapped of him. Over the past four years, his fanbase picked apart everything about you: your appearance, your upbringing, your interests, and your lifestyle habits. You weren't quite sure what spurred them on— sheer jealousy at your proximity to him, or their infatuation for him extending to you— but they had all reached the same conclusion: you were rather unremarkable.

You were raised by your parents in a suburb about 30 miles out from Golden Hour. You performed well enough in university, graduating in the top percent of your class, but not as valedictorian. You managed to get hired at Halovian Corp out of college, and you'd been consistently promoted each year since then, moving from secretary to administrative secretary to personal assistant of a high-ranking director, until eventually, you ended up at Sunday's side.

Though your career was impressive, your life lacked intrigue that news outlets and Sunday's fans vied for. You didn't come from money, you weren't dating anyone famous, and therefore, you weren't worth thinking about. You preferred things that way, but it still didn't make seeing pictures of yourself floating around online any easier.

(Especially when people began overanalyzing how Sunday spoke to you in this video, or looked at you in that photo. Their theories had substance to back them up, and you didn't like to think about it. It took damn near two years to perfect the professional front you kept up with your gorgeous boss, thank you very much, and it had only been about a year since he started actually acting himself around you— you couldn't afford to start slipping up now.)

As you scrolled past a fancam of Robin, a message notification popped up at the top of your screen. You tapped on it, and raised an eyebrow at the sender.

Aventurine: hey. you in?

The IPC director was an unlikely friend, but after dealing with Sunday for years and becoming the unofficial point of contact between the IPC and Halovian Corp, you'd started seeing him often enough that you agreed to go to a bar with him one night when you were off the clock. He was good company, and the two of you kept in touch.

One day, after finding out you'd been talking with Aventurine outside of business ventures, Sunday was oddly insistent that he join you two on that night's excursion. You were hesitant to agree, given that Sunday and Aventurine were civil at best and downright antagonistic at worst. But, Aventurine had readily agreed to letting Sunday attend, so you said yes as well. The night had gone better than expected, and after a few more impromptu meetings, Sunday had started talking to Aventurine regularly as well.

You were glad to see your overly cautious boss make a friend, even if he would never admit that they were.

You: yeah, what's up?

His response was instantaneous.

Aventurine: great. let me in, will you?

Your eyebrows drew together. You'd mentioned you lived in the Platinum Terraces, but you'd never brought Aventurine back to your apartment. How did he know where you live?

You leaned off the couch and toward the coffee table to pick up one of the screens hooked up to the alarm system. You tapped a few buttons on the screen until the feed from the camera facing the hallway came up.

Aventurine stood in front of your door, talking animatedly to your boss, who was propped up against him. You couldn't see his face, but you didn't need to to know he was inebriated. He probably wouldn't be so close to the blonde otherwise.

"What the hell?" You muttered, rushing over to the door. Sunday hardly ever drank, and if he did, it was never enough to get him past the point of tipsy. You quickly undid the bolts and threw it open.

Aventurine and Sunday looked up at you. Amusement danced in the former’s eyes, and for whatever reason, he seemed to be very pleased with himself.

Sunday blinked slowly, adjusting his vision to the sudden disappearance of the door. His eyes scanned your face for a moment before his features lit up with recognition. His wings twitched a bit as he tilted his head to the side. The slightest of smiles pulled at his mouth, and your name fell from his lips in the form of a whispered question.

You flushed red. You suddenly felt very self-conscious of your Hanu themed pajama pants.

Your gaze snapped back to Aventurine, who smirked back at you. You ignored it. "What happened?"

"We went out drinking and someone—" He turned to Sunday, whose gaze still hadn't left you. "—got a little carried away."

"And you didn't think to take him back to Dewlight Pavilion?"

"I think you and I both know there would be consequences if he returned there in this state."

You grimaced. He was right. Undoubtedly, there would be paparazzi camped outside of the Oak Family's estate. There always was.

"Okay, you didn't think to take him back to your place?"

Aventurine moved his free hand to his chest in mock offense. "Bringing a drunken man home to my brilliant boyfriend who's already waiting for me in bed? You must be praying on my downfall."

You glowered at him, but before you could respond, the rustling of feathers caught your attention. You turned, watching your boss sway on his feet. He watched you with a frown, appearing more upset than you'd ever seen him.

"You don't want me here?" He pouted, and his wings fluttered dejectedly.

Your stomach flipped over, and you reached out to grab his other arm as he stumbled away from Aventurine.

"No, no, that's not it." He moved away from the blonde completely as you reassured him, leaning into your touch. You grunted as you struggled to keep him upright. "I'm just worried about you being somewhere you don't feel comfortable."

He hummed, leaning forward and nuzzling his face in your hair. "I'm far more comfortable with you than the gambler."

Aventurine watched the two of you, smugness rolling off him in waves. "Yeah," he laughed, "we can see that."

You were going to kill Aventurine. You were going to tuck Sunday into your bed, leave a glass of water and an Advil on the nightstand, and then you were going to hit the blonde with your car.

You shot him another glare before turning back to Sunday. You pulled one of his arms around your shoulders and wrapped one of yours around his waist to steady him. He turned bright red suddenly and you opened your mouth to ask him if he felt sick, but his wings started flapping again. This close, a few feathers smacked into your mouth, and you sputtered.

Aventurine's unrestrained laughter brought your attention back to him. You snapped at him. "Can you make yourself useful and get the doors for me?"

It took everything you had left in you to get Sunday into your bedroom and withstand Aventurine's teasing, but eventually, you managed to get there. You eased Sunday down on the bed, keeping a hand on his back to ensure he stayed sitting upright.

"Are you feeling sick?" You asked.

Sunday shook his head. He leaned over and rested his head on your shoulder. Fighting down another blush (you refused to give Aventurine more ammunition), you tried to pull yourself away from him, but he wrapped his arms around yours and held on.

"Sunday," you said, "I need to go get you water. Can you let go of me, please?"

His voice was muffled by your shirt. "Aventurine can get it."

Said man huffed, but he was too entertained to be truly annoyed, or to decline. "Sure I can," he agreed, before addressing you. "Where are your cups?"

"Top right cabinet," you answered, and he set off.

Sunday's head lolled to the side, rolling off your shoulder. His pout was still there, and it set your face aflame. "It's too hot," he complained.

And then he started to take his coat off.

Well, he tried to. His clumsy movements caused it to get tangled in his arms.

"Here, let me help you," you offered against your better judgment. You stood and reached behind him, carefully guiding his arms out of the sleeves. You turned around and walked over to your closet, hanging the coat on a nearby hook.

When you faced him again, he already had his shirt halfway off.

Xipe, give me strength, you thought to yourself, tearing your gaze away from his bare skin. Your gaze lingered on the wings sprouting from his lower back, which sat curled around his abdomen. When he managed to get the shirt over his head and onto the floor, he unfurled the second set of wings. They spanned the entire length of your bed and were much darker than the ones by his hair. He gave a few languid flaps before settling down, causing them to droop. You closed your eyes and pressed your palms against them. So much for keeping up your professional front. You had no idea how you were going to face him when he sobered up.

A choked gasp prompted you to drop your hands from your face. Aventurine almost dropped the glass in shock when he returned. 

"Well," he said as he placed the glass down on the nightstand. "Seems like it's time for me to leave."

You sent him one last scathing glare. "I can't believe you."

Faux innocence crept onto his face. "Whatever do you mean? I haven't done anything."

You crossed the room and shoved at him. "Out." You pushed him back down the hall and to the open front door. "Get out of my house."

"Wow. Eager aren't we?" He winked at you.

"Eager to get my revenge. Veritas will love the video I have of you drunk and blubbering about how much you miss him," you said. Then you slammed the door in his face.

As soon as the door shut, Sunday called for you from the bedroom. You'd heard him use a sickly sweet tone with clients before, but this one lacked the venom that usually accompanied it. It was like he was singing each syllable of your name, savoring the way each sound rolled off his tongue.

"I need to type up my resignation," you muttered to yourself. You could handle Sunday in the beginning when he was standoffish and paranoid, but there was no way you were making it through this.

You walked back to the room, willfully overlooking the way his hanging wings straightened up when you reappeared in the doorway. You stopped a few feet in front of him, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

"Hey," you said softly. "Let's get you to bed, alright?"

Sunday blinked at you, then looked down at the comforter under his fingers. "I am at the bed."

You snorted. "Well, we should get you under the covers."

His nose scrunched in displeasure. "No. It's too warm for that."

You sighed. There was no point in arguing with him in this state. "Alright, then. Lay down, and make sure to stay on your side. If you feel sick, there's a trash can right here by the bed. If you need anything else, I'll be down the hall."

You turned to leave, but his hand caught your wrist with surprising speed. He stared up at you with wide eyes. "Where are you going?"

You tilted your head at him. "Um, to bed?"

His brow furrowed slightly, the way it usually did when he was in deep thought. "But this is your bed."

"Yes, it is." You slipped your wrist out of his grasp, but he caught you again by the fingers. "I'm going to sleep on the couch. I won't be far."

The hold he had on your fingers was tighter than you thought. You pulled away, expecting to be freed, but tripped a bit when the rest of your body didn't follow your legs. He pulled you toward him and tumbled forward, falling onto the bed. He moved over and drew you closer to him, draping one of his wings across your waist and legs.

You didn't know if your heart had stopped, or was just beating so fast you couldn't feel it.

"Um, Sunday," you said, the rest of your words coming out as a babbled mess. You tried to untangle yourself from him, but he just clung on to you, refusing to let go.

"Please don't leave me," he mumbled.

You finally managed to put enough distance between you two that you could look him in the eye. "Sunday," you said, "you're drunk. You're going to regret this in the morning."

He frowned. "I will not regret something I've dreamed of doing for months."

In the end, it was neither. You were certain your heart was beating so hard it burst, and now you were dead. When you tried pulling away again, he placed a hand on your cheek, freezing you in place.

"Please," he whispered. "Just give me five minutes."

The desperation in his voice whittled away at the rest of your resistance. You settled down on the mattress, allowing him to hold you but not getting close enough for it to be considered cuddling. Staring at the ceiling in silence, you mulled over his words.

He was dreaming about cuddling, or intimate touch of some sort. It shouldn't be surprising that a twenty-seven year old man longed for that kind of companionship, but whenever other members of The Family had brought up him not having found a partner yet, he always shrugged them off. You figured it was because he generally wasn't interested in finding someone, but maybe it was just that he didn't want the rest of The Family involved in something as personal as his love life.

"I can talk to Robin about suggesting eligible suitors for you, if you want," you said. "We can even outsource their background checks to the IPC. Aventurine will be annoying about it, but I'm sure he'll agree to do it."

There was a long stretch of silence. Sunday finally spoke just as you'd begun to regret your words. "Why would you do that?"

You looked at him, confused. "You said you've dreamed of this."

"Yes," he said, "I did say that."

Was he really going to make you spell it out for him? Well, it had to be more embarrassing for him than it was for you. "If you desire... intimacy, it's only natural we start looking for potential suitors for you."

His eyes darkened, and a slight scowl pulled at his lips. At least this face was familiar: disappointment.

"I just told you I've dreamed of this," he muttered.

You nodded in agreement. "You've dreamed of holding someone."

"I've dreamed of holding you."

Oh. That complicated things.

You swallowed back a fit of nervous laughter. Your face felt like it was going to melt off. "I'm sorry." Your voice came out as hardly more than a croak. "I wasn't aware that's what you meant."

He leaned forward, eyes earnest. "Do you still want to look for other suitors for me?"

You considered your words carefully. "Not if it's something you don't want."

He hummed, then laid his head against the pillow. His breath fanned over your face as he spoke. It smelled like mint and whiskey. "Do you want to be my suitor?"

You pulled your gaze away from his lips and to his eyes. You didn't even know how your eyes got there. "I think you should ask me again when you're sober."

He studied your face for a long moment, then let his eyes flutter shut. "Fair enough," he said.

You laid there for a moment, allowing your heart rate to come back down and letting yourself take him in. His lips were slightly parted, even breaths slipping through them as sleep claimed him. His face wings twitched ever so often, usually followed by a twitch of the larger wing still wrapped around you.

You weren't certain how long you stayed there, just studying him, but at some point your blinks had grown heavier and you were fighting to keep your eyes open. You gave one last shove against Sunday's arm and wing to try and free yourself, but even unconsciously, his resolve could not be shaken. He huffed at the disturbance and buried his face further into the pillow. His wing tightened around you as he tried to curl in on himself, dragging you closer to him.

You sighed and rested your head on the pillow again. It was going to be impossible to get away from him now that his limbs were heavy with sleep. Knowing it was futile to try again, you let your eyes slip shut. You shifted into a more comfortable position, moving one of your arms to rest on top of the wing.

Five minutes, you lied to yourself. I'll try again in five minutes.

[ch3rry-wink]

Become Human (AU)

Pairing: android!Miguel x f!reader

Summary: Your android assistant is mad because you have a date

CW: +18, smut, kinda yandere Miguel.

Author's note: inspired by Detroit Become Human

The first time you saw Miguel was in your first year of university, a gift from your father so you wouldn't feel alone.

"I am Miguel, and I will be your assistant" sounded robotic but human enough.

"Thanks, Dad." Your parents always found a way to replace themselves and others with technology, so it wasn't surprising that your nanny was a Lyla.

Having Miguel was the best thing that could happen to you; during university, he took care of household tasks, allowing you to focus on classes. Over time, he became your manager, friend, chef, bodyguard, even your muse. However, your life revolving around him made you a complete hermit, something your mother constantly complained about.

"You're just like your father, always locked in your world"

"I know, no need to remind me always."

"You should stop fucking your robot and start dating real guys" you blushed, even though it was very normal you had never wanted to cross the line with Miguel, even though he had made the suggestion.

"Mom, I don't want to talk about that."

"I wouldn't blame you; he's a muscular six feet man," she always found a way to make you uncomfortable.

It wasn't in your plans for your mother to scold you for not having dates, and your android to complain about having them. Yet, there you were, dressed up, meeting someone from an app, and listening to the android's complaints.

"What's so special about him?" Maybe his jealousy didn't exist; you had read about viruses and updates simulating feelings in androids.

"Miguel, you're just my robot assistant." His eyes welled up as if about to cry.

"You know I care about you."

"Enough! Stop talking nonsense." You were in denial, you knew he was right, especially when his touches became softer and lingered, as if adoring you.

"I've thought about us." You covered your ears like a tantrum-throwing child.

"I want you to shut down," you yelled; he left the room, and you stayed fixing your makeup.

You headed to the door, tried to open it, and it was stuck; pulling the handle a couple more times, you remembered Miguel wasn't just a physical body but an AI controlling everything from the oven to the security system. Things you needed to know but ignored because Miguel controlled them.

You knew you wouldn't make it to your date; Miguel had sabotaged it, not that you were excited to go.

Walking to the kitchen, you saw Miguel sitting at the bar with a glass of wine he offered. First, the security system, and now this—something was wrong, and fear started creeping in.

"I ordered you to shut down; why aren't you off?"

"I didn't want to do it."

"I want you to shut down." You took out your phone. "If you don't, I'll call the technician and have you destroyed," sounding like your mother, arguing with some manager.

"It doesn't matter. You said I'm your robot assistant, so I'm replaceable." You knew it wasn't true; you and he had been through a lot, and the affection you had for him was sometimes your inspiration to paint.

"Shut down." You saw him advance towards you, cornering you between the bar and him. "Back off." He ignored your command, held you by the waist, and started kissing you.

"I just want you to love me." His hands went to the zipper of your dress, lowering it, sending shivers down your spine as his lips kissed your neck.

"We shouldn't." Your words and actions didn't align; your body was getting closer to him.

"Relax, just this once." You nodded, and he lowered the dress straps; it fell to the floor, and instinctively, you covered your nudity. He laughed, took one of your hands, and guided you to your room.

You sat on the edge of your bed as nervous as your first time, he knelt on the floor, caressed your legs and began to give short kisses on the inside of your thighs, he brought his hand closer and with his thumb began to rub your intimacy over your underwear, little moans of pleasure escaped from your mouth.

"Tell me you need me" Miguel wanted to hear you beg for him; even though he knew it was he who was begging for you.

"I need you" you said that through the moans you couldn't control.

Miguel stopped rubbing with his finger to replace it with his face, you lost track of space and time, you could only think of the sensation he was causing; how his hands caressed your skin while he slid your underwear down to your ankles and his mouth did not leave your sweet spot.

The room was a concert of your ragged breathing, your pathetic whimpering and the splashing of your fluids, Miguel felt accomplished after so long waiting for you now he had you bent over, completely exposed and vulnerable for him alone.

"Miguel stop" Miguel watched your cramped body barely coming down from the high he had put you on.

You lay on the bed looking up at the ceiling, Miguel lay down next to you, he caressed your cheek and you turned to look at him.

"I love you, Miguel" wiped a tear that escaped from your eye. You said you loved him but there you were trying to hold back the tears — What was stopping you from loving him the way he loved you?

You stood up and straddled him, Miguel didn't expect you to take the initiative, but there you were on him caressing his chest and abdomen until you reached the waistband of his usual grey pants which you pulled down to the middle of his thighs exposing his cock which you stroked a couple of times and directed to your entrance.

Miguel didn't expect you to be so eager to feel him, but there you were making the effort to feel all his length inside you, you started to bounce on him and a grimace of pure pleasure started to appear on your face.

Your cheeks were flushed, you were starting to feel tired from the effort; but you didn't care, the only thing you wanted to do was to continue on top of him.

"I love you" Miguel said between moans, you stopped to give him a slow and sweet kiss, he didn't hold back his joy and in a few movements you were under him, he came back inside you and started with his rhythmic thrusts, your nails dug into his back and your eyes met his eyes as bright as stars.

No matter how many times you screamed, cried or writhed in pleasure he was still over stimulating, enjoying you, the fluffiness of your insides and in how your lips kept worshipping his name after begging you so much to love him.

"You are beautiful" the intimacy of the moment brought out the artist who saw beauty in everything, in how his hair moved and his muscles tensed with every movement. Miguel was the epitome of science, technology and art, something so perfect it couldn't be real.

[heavenlyhischier]

𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐨

word count: 4k

summary: Friends with benefits never works out. Someone always falls, but will they fall, too?

warnings: mild angst, drinking is mentioned, MINORS DNI 18+ content under the cut -> unprotected sex, slight hair pulling from reader to john, that’s it i think?

note: first johnny baby fic. hope you guys like it<3

The first time you met John Marino was in some dingy bar when your friend invited you out after a particularly long and strenuous day at work. Her boyfriend and a few of his friends were going to be there, and she thought it would help ease some of the stress that had accumulated over the last few days. You were initially hesitant to go, knowing that Jack’s friends were likely going to be his hockey teammates, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to be around that specific group of people, but you went anyway.

You ended up having a great time, mingling with some of the other girls and guys who were there, and you also met John. He introduced himself to you, casting you a bright smile as his brown eyes bore into your own. He didn’t bother to be subtle in his advances with lingering touches and brief glances to your lips, but you didn’t mind it all that much. After all, he was easily one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen.

You end going home with him that night, spending the rest of your time out tangled in his sheets with his sweaty body pressed against your own. When you slip out of his apartment the next morning, you tell yourself that it was just a one time thing, that it was never going to happen again, but then it did. And again. And again. It happened so many times that the two of you had to have The Talk about what you were, ultimately agreeing on the notorious “friends who just hook up sometimes”.

It was a bad idea, and you knew that. You know that no matter how many times one says that there are to be no feelings involved, someone always falls. Someone always breaks the one rule that shouldn't be broken, and of course it was you who did. You had fallen for John Marino, and you didn’t know what you were supposed to do.

Going out wasn’t exactly something you wanted to do. In fact, you would have much rather stayed home in the comfort of your own bed and slept through the weekend. You’d had yet another shit week at work, and nothing seemed to go in your favor from the moment you woke up Monday. All you wanted to do was relax, but, in true Macy fashion, she convinced you to come out with her and the guys to celebrate whatever win they had secured.

At first, you were having a decent time surrounded by a slew of hockey players and their friends as they drank and had fun. You did your best to avoid John like you had done for the last few days, not wanting to think about the way he made you feel. You wanted to temporarily forget about all of your stress for the night, and that was arguably the most stressful of them all.

You were pressed against the bar, sweaty and sticky bodies bumping into you as they passed behind you. It was taking all of your willpower to not turn around each time someone would push into you a little too hard, but you kept your composure to preserve your decent attitude. You thanked the bartender and told him to put it under Jack’s tab before turning around to rejoin your friend, but you froze when you saw him.

John was sitting on one of the stools, a beautiful girl leaning on the table as she talked to him. She was slightly leaning forward, her chest on full display before him as he smiled at her, and even from there you could see his eyes dart down below her face. From where you stood, it looked like he brushed the skin of her arm with his hand when he brought it up to adjust the hat on his head, but if you were closer you would be able to see how uninterested he was. Yet the thought alone was all it took to ruin your mood.

The sight in front of you suddenly made the urge to go back home trump any desire you’d previously had to stay at the bar. Initially, you came to appease your friend because you knew she’d tease you all weekend, but now your obligation was out of the window. There was no coming back from the sour mood you were in, and you didn’t want to ruin her own, so you chose to place your still full drink on the bar and beeline to the exit.

You ordered an uber the moment you stepped outside, leaning against the brick wall as you hugged your arms against your body. Of course you knew you had no reason to be upset. It was you who made the suggestion that you could still see other people because you weren’t dating. It was you who made a point to stress that there were to be no feelings from either of you, but you’d always been bad at listening to your own advice. After all, it was you who fell for him.

When your ride pulled up to the curb, you finally sent Macy a text telling her that you were going home and that you would see her later. You knew she’d come outside had she known you were out there waiting, and you were too frustrated to deal with what would’ve been her pleas to go back inside. You loved her, you really did, but you just wanted to go wrap yourself in your blankets and forget about everything before you had to do the same routine next week.

Pulling up to your apartment complex, you thanked your driver and slipped out of the car. The air was cool against your skin as you walked into the building, greeting the overnight doorman who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than there. The elevator ride to your apartment felt like it lasted a lot longer than usual, and you’d never felt more relieved about anything than when you had finally stepped foot in the comfort of your own home.

“Finally,” You muttered to yourself as you stepped out of your shoes.

Your clothes felt too tight and your skin felt sticky and disgusting. Your hair felt like it was a knotted mess and you know your makeup had ran a bit while you were in the bar. On top of that, you felt like you wanted to cry out of sheer frustration. All you wanted to do was shower, crawl into bed and put on some shitty tv show until sleep graced your exhausted body.

You had just slipped on fresh clothes after your shower when you heard the sound of someone rapidly knocking on your door. Initially you ignored it, but it happened again a few minutes later, so you begrudgingly went to see who was bothering you so late at night. When you looked through the hole in your door, you saw the last person you wanted to see.

“What do you want,” You snapped as you flung the door open, glaring at John as he stood there with his hands in his pockets.

John looked slightly startled at your harsh tone, but he quickly recovered before speaking, “Macy said you left because you weren’t feeling well, so I came to make sure you were okay.”

It was your turn to be taken aback as he looked down at you, the nerves radiating off his body meshing with your own. Every feeling you had been trying to suppress came flooding to the surface the second you looked at him, and him standing outside your door with his soft brown eyes was doing nothing but making that worse. You needed him to leave so you could force yourself to swallow your feelings and move on.

“I’m fine. You can go,” You grumbled, attempting to shut the door, but his hand slapped the wood, keeping the door open just enough that he could see through it.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been ignoring me,” He rushed out, voice hesitant as his eyes stayed focused on your own.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, slightly caught off guard at the directness of his question. When you didn’t answer for a few moments, John caught you off guard and shoved your door open enough for him to slip inside your apartment. He ignores your quiet protests as he shuts the door, his body so close to your own that you can clearly make out the scar on his cheek.

Blood was pounding in your ears, your heart thudding so loudly in your chest that you’re certain he was able to hear it. He was peering down at you, a multitude of emotion swirling within the depths of his dark irises. Your fingers twitched towards him, aching to pull him close, but you forced them at your side as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“What did I do,” He asks, his voice so quiet that it was almost a whisper.

You let out a sigh, running your hand through your hair as you look at the ground, “Nothing, John. You did nothing, but you need to go. I’m sure you have some girl down there waiting for you.”

“The only girl I want is standing right in front of me and she won’t tell me what’s bothering her,” John admits, his gaze on you unrelenting and unwavering.

Your body stills as you let his words ring in your ears, coherent and well-strung thoughts fleeing your mind as you try to wrap your head around what he had said. Surely he hadn’t meant it in the way you wanted him to. Surely he was just saying that because his bar girl fell through and he knew all he had to do was mumble a few words and you were putty in his hands.

John whispers your name like it was delicate, like it was going to shatter if he uttered it with too much force. Your eyes snapped to meet his own, both of you staring at each other like you were afraid of what could happen next. Neither of you spoke, letting the silence envelope you in the most uncomfortable and nerve wracking hug as John’s words echo around you.

“Nothing is bothering me,” You whisper, tears threatening to prick the corners of your eyes.

“Then why haven’t you been talking to me? You didn’t even look at me in the bar,” He forces out, voice laced with sadness and uncertainty, “Talk to me, please. I want to know what I did.”

He had stepped closer to you now, your back pressed against your door as you looked up at him through glassy eyes. When John notices the uncried tears brewing in your eyes, his hands are cupping your jaw, his thumbs rubbing against the skin of your cheeks. His tender affection is what breaks the dam, and you’re squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to slow the rush of tears.

“Baby,” He murmurs, “I need you to work with me here. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me. Is it– Did you find someone else?”

You can hear the way he has to force himself to say the words, almost as if he’s suppressing anger or disgust at the thought. It almost makes you want to laugh; the fact that he thinks someone else is the reason for your behavior rather than yourself. You were the cause of your own heartache.

“Of course not,” You shake your head, breathing shaky and uneven, “It’s just— John, please don’t make me say it.”

“If it is anything close to what I want it to be, I need you to say it. I need to hear it come out of your mouth,” He’s pleading with you, begging you to give him exactly what he needs to make his next move, “I need you to give me a reason to stay, or a reason to leave.”

With his eyes unrelenting from your own, you force yourself to speak through the nauseating nerves, “You’re the only one I want, too. I don’t ever want anyone else.”

Not even a second later, John surges forward and slams his lips on your own in a kiss that would’ve sent you toppling over had you now already been pressed against the door. You’ve kissed John before, plenty of times, but this was different. This was searing, blinding in a way that made you feel like you were floating above the clouds.

John tastes the salt from your tears on your lips, his own meshing with yours in a way that leaves him wondering why he had ever kissed anyone else before. He always thought you were made for him, that you fit perfectly against him, but this was different. This was much more real than it ever had been.

You dropped your hands down to the hem of his t-shirt, slipping them underneath the material so you could delicately drag your nails across the toned muscle. John falters, his teeth accidentally clashing against your own as his body shudders underneath your touch. You can’t help but smile against him, relishing in the fact that you had the same effect on him that he did you.

“Johnny,” You mumble, every nerve in your body desperately screaming for his touch, “Let’s go to my room.”

“Are you sure,” He asks, pulling away so he can clearly look at your face, “We don’t have to— We can just hang out.”

“John,” You start, voice serious and flat, “I don’t want to “hang out”. I’ve been stressing myself out trying to avoid my feelings for you, and I’ve had a shit week. I need you to take me to my bedroom.”

“Fuck. Yeah, okay. Let’s go,” He rushes out, his hand falling down to carefully grab your own and drag you down the hallway to your bedroom.

He shoves through your bedroom door, tugging you back into his chest as he reattaches his lips back to your own. Your hands fly up to tangle in his hair, gently pulling on his curls as you move your mouth against his own. John’s hands are on your hips, keeping you steady while he walks the two of you backwards until he feels the mattress on the back of his knees. Without breaking apart from you, he sits on the bed and guides your hips so that you’re straddling his waist.

You grind your hips down against him, your hands dropping to the hem of his shirt as you began tugging up his torso. John pulls his mouth away from yours so you can pull his shirt over his head, him doing the same with your own. His eyes immediately dart down to your naked chest, his tongue swiping across his bottom as he cups one of your breasts in his hand. You’re grasping at his shoulders, trying to keep yourself steady on his lap as he begins to suck on the skin of your neck.

Your fingernails dig into his back, breathy pants passing though your lips as his teeth graze over the sensitive spot he’d marked. John groans when you push yourself further onto his bulge, squeezing the flesh in his hands as he drops his head to your shoulder. You slowly grind your hips, creating enough friction to your core that a quiet moan of your own fills his ears. You’re able to find a painfully slow rhythm, but John drops his hands to your hips and keeps you in one place as he meets your lips in a hungry, painfully needy kiss.

“John,” You whisper against his mouth, “Need you now. Please.”

He doesn’t hesitate to lift you off of his lap and place you on the bed, moving away so he’s kneeling in front of you and able to slide your shorts down your legs. He briefly falters in his movements as his eyes drag down the length of your body, drinking in every inch of you as he silently worships you like your body was sculpted for him. Your cheeks flushed, like they always did when he looked at you that way, and you dropped your eyes to the waistband of his jeans as you unbuttoned them.

John watches your fingers fumble with his zipper, his breath hitching in his throat when you flatten your palm against him and press down on him. He throws his head back, but the feeling of your hand was gone almost as soon as it arrived and he felt you tug the material down his toned legs. He kicks them away from him before looking down at you, a smug smile forming on his lips as he watches you clench your thighs together at the sight of his cock in front of your face.

No matter how many times you’d seen him before, the sight in front of you made your mouth water and the wetness between your legs worsen tenfold. You carefully grasp him in your hands, rubbing your thumb over the precum that coated the sensitive head. You feel him shudder from your touch, and it only encourages you to lean forward, but he stops you by taking your chin between his fingers.

“Not tonight, princess,” He lowly speaks, his thumb ghosting over your lips, “I’ve missed you too much.”

You swallow thickly, your eyes wide with anticipation as you look up at him. He’s got his head cocked to the side, his curls an untamed mess on his head as the corner of his mouth twitches. He drops your chin, jerking his head to silently urge you to crawl backwards onto the bed. As you’re doing that, you watch as he walks towards your nightstand and moves to open the drawer that typically houses a small box of condoms.

“John,” You call out, pulling your lip between your teeth, “We don’t— It’s okay tonight. Just don’t, you know.”

“Are you sure,” He asks, dropping his hand away from the handle.

“Yeah,” You nod, “I’m sure.”

A few seconds later, John is back on top of you with his lips on yours as he uses his forearms to bear most of his weight. You tangle your hands in his hair, tugging on the curls as your mouth moves in sync with his own. You can feel his stiff erection pressed between your thighs, and you lift your hips up in a desperate attempt to get any sort of friction. John moved one of his hands down to grip your hip, his fingers splaying against the skin as he pushes you back down.

“I’m getting there,” His laughter vibrates against your lips, “Just wanted to kiss you first.”

“Wanna feel you,” You whined, his fingers lighting the skin underneath them on fire.

John mumbled under his breath, his eyes darkening as he slides his hand from your hip to grasp his length. He glances back up to you, keeping hold of your gaze as he slides himself between the slickness of your folds. Breathy whines begin to spill from your lips as you pull at the strands of his hair, the teasing anticipation making your heart race more than it already had been.

He slowly pushes himself into your entrance, hissing as your walls clench around him when he bottoms out inside of you. He carefully rocks his hips into your own, keeping himself steady above you and his movements short. Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth, your eyes screwed shut as he lets you adjust to his size for a moment. Small, shallow whimpers are the only thing he hears as he slowly increases his rhythm as he dips his head down.

“That’s right, pretty girl,” He whispers into your ear, his chest pressing against your own, “You’re doing such a good job. You always take me so well.”

“Harder,” You choke out, pressing the back of your head into the pillow beneath you.

John doesn’t need to be told twice as swiftly grips the bottom of your thigh and bends your leg over his shoulder before he harshly slams into you, your cries bouncing off the walls of your bedroom. Your hands fall down to his back, fingernails digging crescent shaped indents into his tanned skin as he finds a pace that he’s learned drives you insane in the best way possible.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, filtering in through his ears and making the blood rush straight down to his cock. He loves watching you slowly fall apart underneath, feeling your pussy clench around him like it was made for him. One of his favorite sounds were the moans and whimpers that you made when he was buried inside of you. That sound alone could make him cum.

“Harder,” You repeat your plea from moments ago, deliberately digging your heel in his lower back in an attempt to push him further.

“Fuck,” John groans, his curls sticking to his forehead as he does exactly what you ask.

Skin slapping against skin echoes around you, your whines lacing with his low grunts as you explore the planes of his back with your hands. You feel yourself reaching your release, nearly toppling over the edge as John hits into you so deeply that it was the only thing you could register. You know he’s close too, judging by the way his hips keep faltering and stuttering against your own.

“Johnny,” You murmur as the knot in your stomach begins to come undone, “I love you.”

John swears his heart stops beating in that moment, but he doesn't stop his movements as your walls flutter around him and your nails scrape down his back. He fucks you through your orgasm, his head buried in the crook of your neck as he forces his own back just a little longer. He wanted to feel you wrapped around him for as long as he could, but he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“I love you,” He whispers against your neck, peppering small kisses to the skin as he feels you relax underneath him, “So much.”

John feels himself reel into his own orgasm, and he quickly pulls out of you, letting your leg fall back to the mattress as he grasps his length in his hand. He releases his load on your stomach, careful to not get anything on your mattress or your face as he lets deep moans fall from his lips. Your eyes were drooping, your body coming down from the blissful high still hazing your mind as you watch his head fall backwards.

His chest is heaving as he tries to catch his breath, his lips parted and his eyes closed in a way that makes him look unreal. You’d always thought John was pretty with his curly hair, his brown eyes, and his soft features, but the way he looked before you completely took your breath away. There truly was no one else who even came close to him.

He carefully leans over you and presses a small kiss to your lips before he slides off the bed and darts into your bathroom. He’s back almost as quickly as he was gone with a towel in hand, batting your hand away when you try and take it from his grasp. He wipes away the warm, sticky liquid from your skin, making sure to clean you up entirely before he does so himself. He makes sure to put the dirty towel in the basket of already dirty clothes before he returns to you.

“Up,” He instructs, “I can see the goosebumps on your arms, you’re getting under the blanket.”

“I don’t think they’re from the cold, John,” You snickered, but you pushed yourself off and shoved the blanket down underneath your body.

John’s cheek slightly flushed at your comment before he was slipping back in bed, pulling the blanket back up over you and tugging you into his arms. You placed your hand on his chest, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck as he dragged his fingertips down your back. For the first time in a long time, you felt yourself truly relax, and it was all thanks to some guy you met in a rundown bar.

[blockedbykei]

REQUEST FOR DAD!TSUKKI!!!!

him bringing hoshi to his vb play w karasuno, and babygirl accidentally got hit/smack by a ball!

mmmm wanna see his reaction👀👀

had fun writing this. thank you for your request!

kei and his old team had a pact to meet once a month to play in their old gym at the karasuno campus.

this was the first time hoshi was allowed to come.

he was always reluctant to allow her watch a match in fear of getting hurt; or maybe the heat inside the gym would give her a fever. kei had always said that it was best she stayed home until she was old enough to understand the game.

but hoshi, as she got older, became more pushy. six was an age you'd both underestimated, thinking she was obedient and would listen that it wasn't the time for her to watch a match just yet. but she was as strong-willed as kei– reasoning that she was a big girl (a statement he hated; he didn't want her to be a big girl just yet) and that she was with you so she would be okay to watch.

and hoshi was kei's weakness.

so now she sits beside you on one of the benches, resting her elbow on kei's gym bag as she hands him his waterbottle. he takes it from her small hands and rubs her head, before drinking.

"hoshi-chan!" hinata comes running buy, his arms open to engulf the little girl in a hug. she squeals and runs to him. "long time no see, little tsukishima."

"uncle hinata!"

her little voice rings out in an echo. yachi and kiyoko comes greeting you in side hugs and cheek kisses, setting their own bags down beside yours on the bench.

"feels like i'm back in high school," kiyoko sighs. "except now i'm married to one of these children."

"hi, hoshi-bear!" yachi squeals, running towards your daughter. "i've missed you so much! let me put your hair up! it's so hot in here..."

"tsukki," yamaguchi nudges his shoulder. "has she met our seniors?"

kei shrugs. "she has but i don't think she's remembered them." he looks behind, seeing hoshi perched between yachi's lap, her hair in yachi's hands to be tied. "hoshi when you're done, come say hi to them."

"okay!"

when she meets them, though, it felt similar to when yachi had first met the volleyball team; she hid behind kei's legs, peeking over his right thigh, gripping his shorts into little fists. kei chuckles, a hand reached down to place on her spine.

"it's alright honey," he hushes her. "they're nice. you can take their money."

hoshi points to asahi. "he's scary."

you bring her finger down, holding it in your palms, tutting. "what'd we say about pointing, sweetheart?"

asahi pouts, back slumping and his expression falling. "why am i still the scary one?"

daichi approaches, crouching in front of hoshi with something in his palm. "hello, little tsukishima. you can call me uncle daichi. here's a sticker," he sticks a yellow star above her chest, fingers gentle in placing them firmly on her shirt. "for being brave enough to come to our games."

she finally steps out fully from behind kei's leg, a hand over her heart to secure the sticker. "i forced papa because he said it was dangerous to be here."

sugawara shakes his head. "you're letting your father tell you what's dangerous without experiencing it yet? don't listen to him, hoshi!"

"please don't tell my daughter that," you laugh nervously. "kei's going to be sad if she does it."

kei bites back a sneer from his senior. but he bends down to pick hoshi up in his arm, the other one wrapped around your shoulder to lead you both to the bench.

"i think the introductions are enough," he kisses her temple. "sit here and watch, 'kay? if you're bored, just take papa's phone and play. don't run around."

hoshi nods. kei moves to you, leaning down to give you a quick peck, and then whispers. "if you're bored, fake getting your stomach hurt and we can sneak out like we used to."

you raise a brow at his innuendous smirk. "and hoshi?"

"everyone loves her. she'll be fine."

"maybe i should be the one who shouldn't listen to you." you shake your head in laughter. kei kisses your forehead before he turns around, and you slap his bottom when hoshi looks away. "go and play, tsukki."

an hour in the game and you're surprised at how hoshi has kept her attention only at the group of boys passing balls at one another on the court. she awes at hinata and kageyama's quick attack, she claps at kei's blocks, and she cheers when yamaguchi serves.

hoshi's eyes glisten in excitement at what she's watching and you think of her playing the same sport years from now. kei would be enlightened, watching his daughter do the same thing he loved since he was a child. her hands clench into a fist on her lap, a sign that she wants to join.

and as if he had fatherly senses, kei whips his head to hoshi when everyone had decided to take a break. "baby, you wanna come try?"

"yes!" she runs to him immediately.

you watch as she stands in front of kei, his back hunched to be on her level, his hands on her little arms, cradling the yellow and blue ball between her fingers. he was teaching her an underhand serve, ball on her left hand, right into a fist as he pulled it backwards, his palm enveloping her fisted hand. hoshi brings her arm up front, all her energy into that tiny ball of fist, which was enough to send the ball flying only to hit the net.

kei cheers, lifting hoshi up and placing her legs on his shoulders. her fingers grip his silky hair for assistance, cheering with him. "you're the next ace, hoshi bug!"

you'd been too excited to take a picture of the two, eyes settled on their smaller versions on your screen behind the camera to notice the ball that hinata sent flying towards the two of them. the ball comes in contact with hoshi's cheek, which sends her down kei's shoulders. but his reflexes are fast, his arms reaching out to catch her to stop her from falling onto the ground. your gasp coalesces with everyone else in the court.

hinata's shoes come to squeak, his hands over his mouth, kageyama's arms left in the air with his fingers stuck into a setting position, face horrified at the sight of hoshi limp in kei's arms. you run to them, almost dropping your phone on the ground, taking hoshi's face into your hands.

"hoshi?" you call out in panic. "oh my god, are you okay?"

"her cheek is red," kei sputters out. "her cheek is red- hinata, you dumbass! absolute dumbass!"

he sets her into your arms; hoshi immediately nuzzles her face into your chest. kei takes heavy footsteps towards the smaller man, ducking beneath the net to tower over him. daichi, tanaka, and sugawara all take a hold of the back of kei's jersey.

"i'm sorry! i'm sorry! i'm sorry!" he cowers, hiding behind kageyama. "i didn't mean to! i'll pay for her hospital bills! i'll pay for her tuition, you wouldn't even have to lift a finger!"

yachi comes over with a cold water bottle in her hands. yamaguchi's eyes are wide, and maybe even on the verge of tears, as the others peered over your shoulder.

his chest is heaving, eyes lowered into a steaming glare, and you swear his face was a darker shade of pink from his anger. but when you call for his name, all the anger dissipates as if it hadn't even existed, turning around to you.

"kei, come here!"

he puts his hand on your waist, the other brushing hoshi's hair out of her face. the side of her cheek remains red, but not swollen, and had it been swollen, maybe he'd be banned from the once a month games.

"hoshi?" he turns her head. "you okay baby? does it hurt? you wanna go to a hospital?"

her eyes are closed, whining just a little, her arms curled against her chest. but her pouting lips begin to curl upwards, and soon her closed eyes were even smiling, her dimples evident when a laugh begins to escape her, giggling brightly.

kei makes a sound of query.

"that was fun," she giggles, eyes opening, her hand coming up to touch her cheek. "ouchie, but fun!"

"hoshi!" he carries her again, a smile replacing his old scowl, leaning down to whisper in her ear. you can sense the relief that was evident in the way his chest begins to relax from the heavy rising, his lips placing kisses of care on her sweating skin.

and when he's done, he takes the cold bottle from yachi and places it gently on her cheek, his lips on top of his head as hoshi says (or quotes from her father): "uncle hinata, papa says if you don't pay for my education until college, he will break your kneecaps."

hinata runs to you, his hand running through his orange hair, looking at hoshi. "tuition plus toys. this won't ever happen again! i'm sorry little tsukki!"

"pay for her volleyball lessons."

your lips purse. "kei, don't be a freeloader."

[illyrianbitch]

Handsome as Life and Poison

For @erisweekofficial Day 6: Retellings

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Defying your father’s sacred command, you wander to the grove where Spring and Autumn blend, only to encounter a sinfully divine figure with glowing amber eyes.

Warnings: sexual content/smut, nsfw! religious & biblical undertones & allusions, reader is overly innocent/naive, implied loss of virginity, sinner eris

Word Count: 3.5k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You shouldn't be here.

You can feel it in your bones.

You've never traveled this far, never managed to make it to the border. Your father warned you about this area, where the bloom of spring meets the decay of autumn.

He says that there is evil that lurks under the canopy of fire trees, that the blood of Autumn is so cruel it's cursed their very ground. Father has warned you that if you were to come across a fall beast, you would never return. At least, not the way you once were.

You understand his concerns—to a certain extent. He's protective. He has a certain plan for your life. Safety, purity, security above all. And father has been stressed recently, twitching hands and sharp reprimands.

Your High Lord has descended into madness, moving on all fours, his paws sinking into the mud, more beast than man. He prowls in the darkness now, no better than the creatures he once cared for, and your father believes there’s safety in the small village you call home.

It’s far enough from the heart of Spring to grant a quiet, predictable life. The faces around you never change, familiar and worn like the stones that line the village paths. It's peaceful, quaint—a life promised to you forever once you marry Adramis, the neighbor’s son.

Until then, your father urges you to stay safe, to temper the curiosity he knows stirs within you, the kind that might lead you too far, too soon.

Yet, despite his warnings, you find yourself here, day after day, drawn to the very place you’ve been commanded to avoid.

It's prettier, somehow, at this time of day— in the dim dusk, when the birds are beginning to tire. The air is tinged with an unfamiliar chill, a whisper of the season’s change that beckons you closer. You can see the colors of the autumn leaves clearly, watch as they sway in an intricate dance of red, orange and gold.

The movements stir something within you—a call like the ancient siren songs your father once spoke of, drawing you into the twilight's fire embrace. You take another step further into the shifting hues of the forest.

The rustling of leaves comes to your ears—soft, hesitant, as though a beast moves swiftly through the underbrush. The sounds intensify, multiplying by the second.

Beasts, you think, multiple.

You catch a fleeting glimpse of red hair through the tangled foliage, a figure half-hidden by the encroaching shadows.

You stop, and a sickening thrill rolls through you. You should turn back. But a phantom hand seems to beckon to you, an invisible thread leading you deeper.

Then you see him.

His clothes, finer than any you’ve seen even at your High Lord’s court, cling to his tall, lean frame, the dark green fabric glinting with gold thread that catches the last remnants of the fading sun. Each detail—his long, tailored coat, the sharp lines of his collar—speaks of wealth, power, and a meticulous cruelty you’ve only heard whispers about.

Your breath hitches. You know, deep down, who he is.

He’s surrounded by beasts, ferocious creatures with eyes gleaming in the half-light, their snarls low and guttural. Their presence should terrify you, yet you can barely hear them over the thundering in your chest. You count more of them than you have fingers, but with a subtle motion of the prince's hand, they fall still. Regal, patient, they sit at his side, watching you with the same unnerving calm as their master.

He studies you.

You want to take a step forward, to speak to him, but a rustling sound breaks through the stillness behind you. You turn sharply, scanning the underbrush.

From your side, a firm hand clasps around your arm, jerking you back with startling urgency. Almost immediately, once your body has been moved, the touch leaves you.

You meet the frantic gaze of your fiancé. His eyes are wide and his chest is rising and falling with uneven breaths. He ran here, you conclude. Past the border of Spring.

He's scared. Not just for you—but of something else entirely. Adramis is afraid of your father more than he is of what lurks in these forests.

"What are you doing here?"

“I saw—” You turn quickly, pointing toward where the figure stood moments before, but the woods are empty. The fire hue of his hair, the regal presence, the hounds—all gone, swallowed by the shifting shadows of the trees.

You glance back at Adramis. He's staring at you with furrowed brows, lips pressing together as if he's unsure whether to scold or comfort, wary as if you were troubled in the mind. His eyes scan your face, searching for something. You're not sure what.

“It’s almost dark,” he says, his voice calm but insistent. “We should get back.”

There’s no question in his tone. It’s not a suggestion, not really. He’s telling you—gently, but still telling you. He'd never force you, no, Adramis is sweet. Simple. But he’s a male and you are his promised bride. What good would you be if you were to get lost in the autumn woods?

Nothing at all, you suppose.

You don’t answer him. Your mind wanders to the fire-haired prince, to his amber eyes and the strange pull that brought you here.

Your silence seems to worry Adramis more. He steps closer, his hand hovering near your skin but never making contact, as if he’s afraid to touch you.

“Are you feeling alright?”

His voice is soft. Too soft, almost, to where it makes you shiver uncomfortably, like the touch of something too light, too ghostly.

You momentarily expect him to reach out, to place his delicate hand on your forehead or gently touch the flushed skin of your neck. But Adramis only hesitates, his hand hovering in the air for a moment longer before pulling back.

Too good for his nature, too holy to even touch you with a bare hand.

With a slight shake of your head, you dispel the strange sensation that lingers.

“No, I’m alright." You blink and muster a smile. "Thank you.”

He nods, though his eyes remain troubled. You follow him back toward the familiar warmth of home, casting one final, reluctant glance at the encroaching shadows of where autumn's decay kisses the air.

The leaves are aflame with fading light, but beyond them, the darkness waits—quiet, watchful, tempting.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You're grateful for the familiar routine of your father’s sleeping hours, for the certainty that he wouldn't wake for another few hours.

The sun is still waking now, too, its low, gentle light spilling into the navy sky. It is as slow and tentative as you, quiet in its bearings.

The air is cool and biting, the kind of chill that lingers in the space between night and day.

You wrap your cloak tighter against yourself. It's a thin fabric, white with green thread. It does little to ward off the morning’s bite, but you don’t mind. You welcome the cool breaths that manage to slither past the soft cloth.

The scent of the autumn forest is sharper, more vivid than the soft blooms of home, where everything is neat and ordered. It smells richer, more alive. As traitorous as it feels, you almost prefer it.

It’s only a short walk before you find yourself in the familiar patch of trees. The autumn leaves sing their song, that same siren call that led you here again.

And he’s there—alone this time. Waiting.

His amber eyes gleam and shine with a glow that you’re certain is sinful. You know, deep down, that you should leave, that holding even his gaze, with that burning stare, is treacherous. But you do not.

You're unsure of what to say, unsure if you should wait for him to speak. He pushes himself off the tree he'd rested against.

"Hello again, little lamb."

His voice drips with a smooth, hypnotic cadence. It wraps around you like an incantation, compelling and unholy.

It's strange to see him before you, to have him acknowledge you, to hear his voice directly. You glance around him almost instinctively, as if expecting his hounds to materialize from the shadows, to form a regal, beastly, floor-lain crown once more.

As if he senses your question by look alone, he lets out a small laugh.

"It's early," he says. "Even beasts must sleep at times, too."

Against your better judgment, the corners of your lips twitch upwards. He scans your face, taking another step towards you. You stand still, remain in the spot you had froze in. He begins to study you, walks around you like a shrine.

"A bit far from your home. Curiosity must be a powerful force."

He stops before you. You can smell him now. It envelops you—rich and intoxicating, a blend of autumn leaves and something darker, more primal. You clench at the sensation, a sweet tingle spreading through your body. It courses from your head to your fingertips, settling deep in your now aching core.

"My father says it's my nature."

Eris hums. The answer seems to please him. "And what else does your father say?"

You admire him for a fleeting moment. When the gentle breeze rakes its fingers through his hair, it glows like a live fire. Freckles dot his skin, spread across the pale coloring like the stars you adore in the sky. His eyes are a molten gold that match the detailing on his fine coat.

"That I shouldn't be here," you finally respond.

A serpent-like smile curls at his lips. It spreads slowly.

"And yet here you are."

You nod. The faintest shiver of fear lingers in your veins, but you're unable to tear your eyes from him. You feel an inexplicable pull, wishing for him to come closer, to feel the brush of his presence against you. 

Eris takes a step forward, his hand extending to graze the edge of your cloak. The touch is feather-light, a barely-there whisper of contact that sends a jolt through you. But it's firmer than Adramis's touch. It leaves you wanting more.

"Do you know who I am?"

You nod again. "Prince," you say, almost timidly. Quiet like a prey. "Son of the High Lord."

"Eris," he corrects. "My name is Eris."

"Eris," you repeat, his name falling from your lips like a comfortable prayer. You want to say it again, to taste the sweetness it offers your senses.

"And you are?"

You pause, brows furrowing slightly as you hold his gaze. His eyes still gleam, still glow with something so deliciously sinful, but something in them coaxes an answer from you.

"Y/n."

A moment passes. Eris takes a breath.

"Why did you return, Y/n?"

The way he says your name—a silky caress, a whispered secret—makes you yearn for him to repeat it, to let it roll off his tongue again and again. You have never heard anything so beautiful, so mouth-watering. You've never felt a desire this strong.

You struggle to find words, your head shaking slightly. “I-I don’t know.”

Eris’s gaze drifts to your lips, eyes darkening with a predatory curiosity. You're acutely aware of your lip trapped between your teeth and self-consciously release it, swallowing hard.

His eyes are intense as he meets yours again, almost devouring. But not scary. Not terrifying like you'd once believed.

"Does your village bore you?"

He knows where you live. That buried sense of fear begins to flare and you blink, swallowing hard as you take his presence in once more. He doesn't move, doesn't say anything else. Slowly, the fear dissipates.

"Yes," you admit. There is a stillness in your home that bores you. It makes your bones ache with craving. "But it is all I know."

He studies you for what feels like an eternity, his gaze intense and all-consuming. His hand, almost imperceptibly, brushes against the fabric of your cloak once more.

"You should return home, little lamb. Your father is going to worry."

Eris turns and leaves before you have a chance to respond.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The secret should make you feel dirty, feel guilty like a reckless child, but it does not.

You wake before dawn and, like clockwork, you're traveling before the first ray of morning.

It's become routine now.

You approach the familiar area, where the border of Autumn seems to hold its breath, waiting for you. And there, amid the crimson and gold of fallen leaves, lies Eris.

He’s sprawled on a blanket laid out on the ground, a feast spread before him. The array of foods is a vision plucked from your most indulgent dreams, an array of rich, and tempting dishes. Your mouth waters at the sight—at the lavish feast and the male who has provided it.

"Come," he beckons and pats the blanket beside him. "Sit."

You lower yourself, the fabric soft beneath you. The scents of the feast rise to meet you, mingling in the crisp autumn air. You turn to him, your large eyes drinking in the sight before you, the face of celestial allure: hair like a smoldering fire, eyes glowing with the golden light of autumnal sunsets. Eris’s features are etched with an ethereal grace that seems both ancient and timeless.  With each passing day, you find yourself yearning to worship at his feet, to forge a devotion just for him. 

“Eris?”

A melodic hum leaves his throat. “Yes, little lamb?”

“Why do you call me that? ‘Little lamb.’”

Eris's fingers graze your cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle, almost reverent. "I believe you know," he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing caress.

"Why did you seek me out again?” You ask him, “Why do you wait here?"

A smile curls at the corners of his mouth. He lets his fingers trace the line of your lips, his touch light as a sigh. “I believe you know that, too.”

Eris's eyes glint with something that seems almost divine. It is unlike anything that you’ve ever known, nothing like the stories your father has told you. Your gaze drifts to the feast laid out before you. You reach for a small, perfectly ripe apple, its glossy skin catching the muted light. The fruit feels cool and smooth against your fingers. 

Somehow, autumn's bounty surpasses even the lush abundance of spring. 

A sense of longing stirs within you.

How naïve you had been to think that your village, your court, held all the wonders the world had to offer. You had planned to stay, to settle into a life of security and predictability, never daring to venture beyond what was known.

You turn to Eris once more. His eyes flicker, amber catching the light as he reaches out, fingers brushing against your arm. His touch is featherlight, yet it sends a ripple of warmth through you. 

Your voice is barely a whisper as you confess, "I want to know a life bigger than my village."

“You wish to be free, little lamb?” He trails his hand down to where the apple rests in your grip, and with a slow motion, he gently takes it from you. "I can show you," he murmurs, turning the fruit over in his palm. His voice is like honey, rich and smooth. "You’ll know life—pleasure, want. All of it."

A tingle spreads through your body at his words, your breath shallow as you nod, leaning unconsciously into the heat of his presence. 

“Yes," you breathe, the word barely a whisper. "I want to be free.”

Eris’s lips curl into a grin, a quiet satisfaction settling in his gaze. He looks pleased, eager, as if he’s waited for this moment since time itself began. He draws closer and you can feel his presence everywhere, consuming, enveloping.

His lips brush against your ear. “Then let me show you.”

The apple falls from his hand, forgotten. He inches closer, the space between you dissolving as his warmth spills over you. A hand finds the delicate line of your throat, fingers grazing against your pulse.  With the lightest pressure, he lifts your chin, tilting your face toward his. His touch feels like a benediction.

He’s so close now that his breath melds with yours, the air around you thick with the scent of earth and fire. The world shrinks and the only thing that exists is him—his heat, his gaze, the slow, measured closeness that steals away your reason. His lips hover just above yours, and the ache of not touching nearly brings you to begging.

The first brush of his mouth against yours is light, a whisper, a tease, and you tremble beneath it. And then he claims you, his lips pressing against yours with a slow, haunting fervor. Your body goes slack as his movements seem to weave a spell, binding you to him with every caress of his tongue, every sigh he draws from your lips. 

You feel him guiding you, lowering you gently onto the blanket beneath, the world beneath you falling away. Eris hovers above you and dips his head, pressing his lips to the soft skin of your neck. His mouth sears your senses as he works his way down, the press of his touch growing heavier, more possessive with every inch.

“Such beauty,” he murmurs, “Unfolding before me like the dawn. You were meant to be here.” 

His words fall like a decree, a promise, and his lips continue their journey down, parting from your skin only to explore further. His fingers find the fabric of your dress. 

The air shifts around you, something soft brushing against your skin, falling away with the gentleness of leaves in autumn, leaving you bare to the elements—and to Eris. The cool air grazes your skin in places untouched by even the sun.

His calloused hands explore your bare form, one cupping your breast, fingers pressing and kneading with a practiced touch. His lips follow, settling on the other, and your hands grip the blanket beneath you— knuckles white as he demands your gaze to remain on him. His tongue circles your nipple, amber eyes locked with yours, burning, all consuming. 

Eris continues his careful exploration, moving downward as his lips follow the path of his hands. 

Fingers spread you apart with a confident touch. 

The sensation is profound and awakening, a mingling of sacred heat and cool anticipation. The essence of your very being is laid bare before him. You feel the brush of his fingertips against the tender places, feel as his lips follow with a similar reverence, their touch becoming a worship of its own.

And then he devours you with his mouth and hands. 

His tongue traces every inch of your throbbing core, flicking and teasing your sensitive nub. Your entire body quivers beneath him. You’re overwhelmed by a tidal wave of sensations you’ve never known before—an innocent purity being slowly unraveled and transformed by his touch alone. You tangle a hand in his auburn hair as his fingers plunge deep inside you, scissoring and pumping, working you over until you’re a quivering mess of desire.

Your body responds instinctively. You’re writhing and squirming, small sounds of pleasure falling from your lips. He bathes in the moans, groans in response as you repeat his name like a prayer. 

Eris sits up and soon you’re staring at his sculpted form, bare before you, ready to be worshiped, touched as he had explored you. His hardened length rests against you, blunt tip against your aching core, and you tighten your legs around him, pulling him closer. The crown of him splits you open with a steady pressure and he fills you completely, a divine intrusion that makes you gasp with the pleasure of being so thoroughly claimed. 

Eris stills, his body pressed flush against yours, your walls clenching around him as you adjust to the new, overwhelming sensation. His face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his hand cupping your breast, thumb teasing your nipple in slow, deliberate strokes.

“Let me show you how pleasurable life can be.” Eris leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a tender caress. “Just tell me you’re mine.”

You arch into him. “I’m yours,” you whisper, voice trembling with surrender. “Free me.”

And as he begins to move, begins to roll his hips against yours, you turn your head, gaze falling to the apple lying beside you, untouched yet no longer gleaming—its perfect surface now bruised, smeared with the dirt of the earth.

Father was right about one thing.

You'd come across a beast, indeed, and you could never return.

Not fully.

Not the way you once were.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

author's note: happy retelling day from ur local exmormon!! im an eve defender till i die. biblical lore goes crazyyyy

as always, thank you for reading <3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound-blog

@melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos

[yawnderu]

My life is falling apart - could you write how Ghost might save reader from her emotionally abusive and toxic husband? I thank you, maybe one day I'll have someone like Simon.

Whoever you are, I'm here for you if you need to talk. Stay strong sweetheart, this too shall pass. 💖

CW: Emotional abuse, toxic relationships, hurt/comfort, protective Simon Riley.

Simon had sneaked his way into your life with the same stealth he uses on missions— a man who barely spent any time at his apartment and was always away for what he said was just ''work''. The same man who after a few conversations, started bringing you small gifts from his missions, always something different that he thought you'd like.

Simon isn't dumb— far from it, he's always aware of his surroundings and throughout the years, he knows how to read people well. That's why it breaks him to see the way your smiles now came accompanied with a nervous look in your eyes whenever your husband was home, despite you and Simon simply being friendly towards one another.

Whenever he was back at his apartment, he started listening more and more. Paying even more attention to you, ear pressed against the wall while he listened to your husband berate you for a plethora of reasons, all of them more absurd than the other, the truth heavy on his shoulders, weighting him down like Atlas holding the sky.

Oh, how he wanted nothing more than to go inside your house and ravage your husband the same way he does so casually in the battlefield— but he can't. Simon Riley is not Ghost. Simon has to lay low, to ensure both his safety and yours, so he starts planning. Planning how to approach the issue, how to get you out of the situation and understand you better. He'd never admit it, but he spent the entire night reading the experiences of other married women when it comes to abusive marriages, restless dreams full of ideas on how in the bloody hell he'll get you out of this.

He waits until the next day once your husband leaves for work, waiting out five minutes that feel eternal just to make sure he doesn't come back. Unmasked and with very faint stains of eye black that he never seems to be able to fully remove, he knocks on your door. You answer with teary eyes, sniffling softly as you try your best to give him a small smile, yet he can see the pain. The same pain he saw in his mother's eyes his entire life.

''Simon!'' You greet, moving aside so he can enter your house, closing the door behind you as you both go to the living room.

''Would you like a cuppa?'' You offer and it takes him a few seconds to decide, ultimately nodding his head. Maybe this will be easier if you're both having a nice, warm drink. You come back minutes later with a tray and some crumpets, something you started buying when he casually mentioned liking them.

''Thank you.'' He takes a sip of the perfectly made chamomile tea, done the way he loves it— with two teaspoons of honey and hot. You give him a happier smile, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a secure blanket, a far cry from your marriage.

''Love...'' He begins and your full attention goes to him, noticing his serious tone and pensive expression.

''There's no easy way to say this, but with this place having thin walls, I sometimes hear things I shouldn't.'' You immediately know what he's talking about, but before you can apologize on behalf of your husband, he keeps speaking.

''You deserve so much better.'' He puts his cup down, eyes looking down to his hands— the hands he keeps ungloved just for you, the hands that are protected by his skull gloves whenever he's out in missions, so he can come back to you free of sin. He sits down next to you, one of his arms wrapping around your back reassuringly.

''Why are you still with him?'' There's a hint of desperation in his tone, thin eyebrows furrowed as he looks at you. You want to look away, but his brown eyes are almost hypnotic. So expressive, so telling whenever words aren't enough.

''I... I don't know.'' You reply with honesty, tone strained as you hold back tears and try to dig into your brain for any reasons you're with the man, yet nothing comes up. ''I don't have anywhere else to go to.''

Your words hurt him as much as they hurt you, looking at the potential you have that is being wasted on some ungrateful wanker who berates you for the smallest things.

''Run away with me.'' He suggests in a spur of the moment and before he can even process his own words, a small giggle escapes your lips. He raises an eyebrow as he looks down at you, curious as to what's so funny. Your giggling stops when you notice the expression on his face.

''You're serious?'' You ask carefully, not wanting to make a fool of yourself despite knowing he'd never joke about something like that.

''I'm serious, love. We could go somewhere far away from here, safe. You can leave all of this behind, just say the word.''

''I...'' He can see your hesitancy, his warm hand rubbing circles on your back while the other one holds your hand, thumb rubbing the back of your hand reassuringly.

''What if he finds me?'' It's the first question that comes to mind, not wanting to deal with more of his abuse if you ever manage to get away.

''He won't, doll. I can promise you that. I'll get some of my mates to watch out for you when I'm busy at work, if it helps you.'' He knows it will, and he already has highly trusted friends from the 141 in mind to watch out for you whenever he goes on solo missions.

It took almost two hours of convincing before you agreed, and that's where you are now. He's helping you inform the police about your situation and why you're going away, just in case your husband tries to report you missing.

Most of your belongings were left at the house, but... it surprisingly doesn't bother you. It'll be a new beginning, the same furniture that has witnessed years of abuse is now left behind, only a few clothes inside his car while you both leave the police station. You take a deep breath, the warmth of the sun washing over your skin as you close your eyes, a sincere smile on your face for the first time in years.

''Thank you, Simon.'' My angel, my savior.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I came back from the movie theaters (Fnaf Movie) My lord I FREAKING LOVED IT THE WHOLE THING IDC AHHH Ahem-

I saw that requests are open, SO a Platonic Headcanon Request if you don't mind, Fnaf (Movie) Animatronics with Gender-Neutral (17-soon to be 18) Reader as the new security guard? or maybe tags with Mike and possibly Abby? (Reader ain't tall just-idk 5'2 maybe I am projecting-)

(I know this request doesn't make sense because of the tiredness due to staying up late because of excitement. Feel free to delete this ask if its too complicated)

bonus: If you want to, You can also Include Chica's Cupcake

Have a nice day/night, From 📞 ☕ (PhoneCoffee) Anon

Oh I can definitely work with this ^^

......

When you started working at Freddy's overnight, you hoped this would be your last summer job ever before you turned 18.

"Steve" said it was all pretty straightforward: watch the cameras and make sure nobody broke in.

Easy as pizza pie, right?

Well, when you realized one of the animatronics very subtly moved from their usual spot, you wanted to check them out for yourself.

Plus, sitting in the office for six hours every night would def get boring as hell.

So you head to the main stage area, finding the whole gang mysteriously gone--Foxy included.

Then you get surprised by them emerging from different places in the pizzeria, eyes glowing a sinister yellow as they surround you, wary of your intentions.

"O-Oh hey..um..Fazgang?" You try your best not to look so terrified.

Surely someone was controlling them, right? They couldn't possibly hurt you.

Yet they stop and collectively realize "wait, isn't this a teenager? And why are they working this job??"

But since you're not wrecking anything in the pizzeria (or screaming bloody murder unlike the last guard), they spare you and are just very chill overall.

You now start to believe all the rumors of them being haunted by little children.....although not even that scares you.

On the second night, you learn that they can understand simple drawings--and that's how you pretty much communicate with them and build up trust.

While Bonnie is regarded as the "most aggressive", he was a real sweetheart who let you shine his guitar and hugged you tightly to express his thanks.

Alas you haven't found a way to stop it from constantly short-circuiting when he strums it...but you vow to figure something out.

Chica was equally as sweet, although for some reason Carl the Cupcake made you feel nervous.

The way he can be on the plate one moment and then disappear the next makes you worried that he'll sneak up on you and bite your ankles off.

But as long as Chica's around, that won't ever happen.

Although Foxy looks quite dangerous, you try your best to patch up the hole in his chest using some spare parts from backstage while being oblivious to the deadly Freddy mask saw trap in the corner, something he's grateful for.

He even sang you a little sea shanty as thanks!

Freddy was the first to be suspicious of you, but after seeing a drawing you made of him, he grows to like your presence, too. Especially after how nice you've been to his bandmates.

So you definitely survived more than five nights at this place--longer than anyone so far.

When Mike gets hired and comes in for his first shift with you, he's surprised that a teen is training him.

He suspects this was some lousy summer job you were forced to get and thinks you're gonna act miserable the entire time you work together and not actually teach him shit.

But as it turns out, you love your job!

You show him the Fazgang during their "showtime" performance and assure him that while they may look creepy, they're not bad at all.

And while you're not getting paid extra to do simple maintenance on them, you still enjoy trying to keep them in tip-top shape (especially Foxy, who needs repairs the most).

Mike seriously thinks you shouldn't be doing that as it's not in the job description AND it could be dangerous.

Even if you have expertise in robotics, he still thinks it's not worth losing a limb or finger to those complex contraptions.

Like he almost did after getting near a springlock suit.

But you just teasingly remind him who the trainer is..and he goes quiet.

Foxy overhears this, and you see him snickering from behind the Pirate's Cove curtain, amused by you basically schooling this 25-27 year old man.

Unfortunately he startled poor Mike, who looks over quickly.....only to find the fox standing in his usual position, acting completely normal.

"Was he just laughing at us...?"

"Nope." You play dumb, shrugging. "Must be his voice box malfunctioning....c'mon. Let's see if we can fix that."

Least to say, you're not gonna let him sleep on the job anytime soon.