#lil gray thinks he's annoying

[alkillyou]

dont ask me why his task is doing a family tree cuz i also dont know

[wyniepooh]

Snow

snow rarely falls in district twelve. but when it does, it always takes something, or someone away with him.

peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x district!reader. reader meets snow at the hob in district twelve. Written with blonde buzzcut white tee blue uniform and dog tag in mind ofc. In which reader peaks an unhinged corio’s interest post lucy gray… whether it’s a pure or toxic interest is up to u babe (but it’s meant to be a lil toxic okay).

“You can’t be here if you’re not gonna dance. Or drink.”

A flash of blonde swished towards you, so bright it seemed to reflect even under the dim light.

“excuse me?”

You chuckled as you stepped into the corner he was hiding in, hopping onto the stool and grabbing two pints of the watered-down beer before sticking an arm out. his arms remained crossed, eyes focused on into the bubbling liquid.

“Oh, come on, mr. peacekeeper. You’re off duty. I won’t tell,” you teased, winking with a chuckle.

his lips thinned in an attempt to smile, and he finally grabbed the glass from your hand. you took a sip, using the opportunity to scour the quiet man in front of you. peacekeeper, obviously. if the classic blue uniform and dog tag didn't give it away, the buzzcut identical to an array of people in the room certainly did.

Although, his hair was a brilliant shade of blonde, white, almost, forcing a separation from him and the rest of his comrades.

you set your cup down, wiping your mouth with the frilly sleeve of your dress. "so, why aren't you dancing?"

he opened his mouth, then closed it. you raised your eyebrows, chuckling lightly at his wooden expression. "well?"

He sighed. “I’m leaving this district tomorrow. I've been reassigned to district two," he finally spoke. "I'm here because they," he swiped a hand over at the men behind him, "wanted to celebrate. I don’t… care for it."

you blew out an annoyed breath, rolling your eyes lightly at his response. his eyes squinted, silently assessing the way you gulped down the last of your drink and the way in which you brushed your tongue over your lips.

"you're looking at this all wrong..." you paused.

"coriolanus."

you grinned, "...coriolanus."

you hopped off the wooden stool, patting down your fluffy skirt. "you think they have bars like this in district two? you think they have beer, music, and dancing like this over in that fancy district?"

"well, I assume-"

"Well, stop assuming,” you ran your hands through your hair, staring into his blue eyes as you strode in his direction. “And simply live. You never know what might happen. tonight's your last chance to celebrate in the best district there is, corio. your last chance to dance, drink..."

going on your toes be at level with his face, you stepped even closer, close enough to smell his freshly washed shirt and feel his slow breaths on your eyelashes.

"...kiss," you whispered. the corners of his lips perked up ever so slightly, his blue eyes glossy from the flickering candles. you backed away with your eyes still locked together, only looking away when you slotted your way into the expanding dance circle in the middle of the room.

you laughed and yelled as you twirled and tapped your feet, linking arms with the seamstress you always see at the supermarket, holding the hands of the baker that always snuck you an extra muffin. when the lively music finally came to an end, you instinctively looked in his direction-- but he was no longer there, cup still half full on the worn-down table.

Wiping your forehead with a cloth, you panted as you opened the door leading to the outside. you relished in the cool breeze, feeling an immediate relief from the humid dancing quarters. you looked to your right, and there you spotted the same shimmering blonde hair, the same shiny blue eyes making their mark on you.

your feet were moving before you even realized. when you neared him, he looked down at you with an unexplainable gaze in his eyes, hands clenched by his side.

you opened your mouth to speak, but your words never got a chance to escape. In one moment, you were close enough to touch the brick wall in front of you with your hand, and in the next, your back was up against the prickly surface.

He inhaled sharply before he pressed his lips against yours, his fingers skimming your chin as yours grazed the back of his head. you couldn’t help but smile at the bitter taste of beer still on his tongue, pushing his head harshly against your mouth while you relaxed against the wall.

his lips lingered on yours for a long moment before he pulled away.

"snow," he breathed against the flesh of your lips.

you scoffed, still dazed and breathless. "what?-"

"coriolanus snow."

you slowly reached for the silver tag dangling around his neck, turning it around to observe the cold metal. "if you ever come to the capit-"

"I am never going to the-"

his hand came up to clutch your hand, which was still latching onto his chain tightly. "if you ever come to the capitol..."

pressing his forehead against yours, his other hand danced along your waist while he pulled your chin closer to him again.

"come find me.”

-

a/n: hey guys... did I just write a pic about president snow? yeah I did. I would like to formally apologize to katniss, finnick, peeta, johanna, etc and suzanne collins I’m sorry but I’m just a girl

Btw everyone I’ve only ever seen the movies n have never read any of the books (shame on me ik but I’m planning on it) so pls excuse any inaccuracies in setting, timeline, etc, etc.

[onlyseokmins]

lusty gallant • c.s.c.

Pairing: choi seungcheol x afab!reader

Genres: smut (minors dni!), roommates!au, fwb!au, lil angst if you squint

Warnings: monster dick cheol <3, swearing, breeding (mentions of pregnancy), size kink, lots of cum and cumming inside, fingering, bantering ofc, choking, lil bit of praise and degradation, hair pulling, man (dick) handling, prolly unhygienic sex tendencies, teeny possession heh, basically reader and cheol are pussy/dick whipped and heathens, sassy, and lil shits (affectionate). pls lmk if i missed smth I'm sleepy

WC: 2.6k

A/N: happy birthday to my beloved soulmate @duhnova <3333 you've been such a lovely presence and have become one of my favorite people from tumblr ❤️ ty for always matching my pace and being so loving and bright always! i really hope you like this heh i tried smth a lil different and we all know I'm secretly feral for cheol and love you lots <3 hope your special day is the best day ever! also happy 1st fic of 2023!! Many more to come I promise 💖 update: 9/6: sequel

When Seungcheol walks through the door with the biggest shit-eating smirk on his stupidly handsome face, you know he's up to something. It makes you want to tear off the beanie snug around his head. Oh. And maybe the rest of his clothes too.

"What is it?" you grouse out as he stands expectantly in front of the television screen. "This better be important because I'm missing the finale."

He knows this but still blocks the screen. Because he's also unbearingly smug, aware of how you can't stop checking him out. Where else are you supposed to divert your eyes when he's in the way though?

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Seungcheol has the audacity to wink at you through his clear-rimmed glasses, "you'll like it lots."

You easily feign disgust. "Why in the world do you think I will?"

"Because," he rocks back on the balls of his feet. Hands burying deep inside the pockets of his gray sweatpants only helps exemplify the outline of his big, long, thick dick inside. "You like me."

"Please. I've kept my end of the bargain so don't go assuming that I haven't."

It's the way his smirk grows wider that stops you from throwing even more daring accusations his way. You also know what kind of man he is. It was very obvious what you signed up for after agreeing to be his roommate. 

To ignore all his minor inconvenient and annoying tendencies in exchange for basically living without having to drop a dime for rent or groceries in a nice apartment.

"You like my dick."

Oh. And free cock. The best and biggest kind of cock you might have ever encountered and probably will ever again. No strings attached.

Except everyone knows that those nonexistent strings very much so exist. And are attached. To Seungcheol's cock. Not the man himself. Definitely not. He knows it. Your best friends know it. His own friends might know it too.

Even the couch knows. You grimace. Thinking back to the night before. And the night before that. And last week — 

Yeah, the couch definitely knows.

"Yeah occasionally, and?"

You continue to glower straight at Seungcheol's crotch as it seemingly moves closer to you. Every step he takes causes his cock to jostle slightly in his pants. Your jaw aches instinctually and you know you're probably drooling.

Disgusting.

But you are a dedicated whore.

"Occasionally, my ass," Seungcheol mutters in disbelief, more to himself if anything, already half hard. 

It's truly unfair how you frown cutely, seated below him so prettily with a rebellious glint in your eyes. Oh, how he loves to fuck that attitude out of you. Even now, the way your lips curl down in faux disgust causes his hips to jut forward.

"You're insatiable," you mock when he shifts even closer until his clothed cock nearly presses against your nose. Suddenly enveloped in his scent, you can't help but go ahead and nuzzle teasingly against his bulge.

"Says the one who begged to be filled up this morning."

His words make your hole clench pitifully, causing you to purse your lips. Soaked and stickied fabric sits between your legs. Not just from being constantly wet around this man. But the same stupid man who had naughtily pulled your panties back up to cover your poor spent and abused pussy after a long, hard sleepy fuck to ensure not a drop was wasted after cumming deep inside.

And you loved it. There was something special, something you treasured about feeling full of his messy release coating in and all over your cunt. It surely beats the warmth of his arms you've never felt when he nonchalantly throws the covers over your shoulders and saunters out with a literal bounce in his step.

You wonder why Seungcheol even bothers paying and staying in a two bedroom apartment when you both end up in the same bed. Maybe the variety of wondering who will crawl under whose blankets makes it all worthwhile.

"What did you want to show me?" you fire back.

"Oh," an eyebrow raises, "you think you deserve to see?" 

The feeling of his hand pushing your forehead back is harsh enough that your tongue automatically pokes out with the expectation of a heavy cock laid upon it. Instead, his fingers that stroke your cheek are gentle. Seungcheol is not a kisser. But the featherlight tracing of circles along your neck make up for it.

Your eyes roll back when his thumb rubs along your throat, the rest of his fingers wrapping around with a gentle squeeze.

"Hm?"

"Of course."

"I don't think so." Seungcheol's decision makes your jaw drop but he's not finished yet. "Always acting out and misbehaving like a total brat. Have I still not fucked you hard enough?"

You wince, shifting in your seat lightly, because that statement is not entirely untrue. For sure, you can't recall the last time you weren't at least a little bit sore, struggling to sit comfortably with how brutally he's had his way consensually with you. Still. Nothing will ever be enough to fully rid you of your brattiness.

It's simply a part of your wonderful personality that everyone should appreciate more. And Seugncehol does. He adores everything about you.

Not that you would know. You don't even attempt to understand the pondering look in his dark brown eyes while he casually squeezes and releases his grip around your throat. Unaware that he's thinking about purchasing that cute collar and leash set he saw. Gifting it to you as a one-year anniversary celebration present since you moved in. Wondering what color would suit you best.

"Shirt off, wanna see your pretty body."

It's easy to maintain eye contact and a naughty smile until the shirt has to be pulled off your head. There's no need to wear a bra at home, nipples already perking up before your upper body is bare. Surprisingly Seungcheol doesn't focus on your tits as expected and you meet his eyes again with a questioning stare.

"Show me," he coughs, changing his tune, "show me if you kept your tiny lil hole filled up."

Your cheeks burn. Not out of shame. It's just his stupid effect. Legs already shaking, you stand. He backs up, giving you space and crosses his arms, eyebrows pinching together as he observes every single movement. Your trembling hands tug at your sleep shorts that barely cover anything.

"Turn around."

You obey, of course. Sucking in a harsh breath and bracing yourself as you throw your shorts on the floor, sticking your ass out on purpose. You're sure your panties are an absolute mess to look at — you can feel it — and Seungcheol's loud grunt only confirms the truth that it's a visual to die for.

Even though the best part hasn't even started yet.

Continuing to bend over, you ease them down slowly. Slower than necessary. Every slide down further and further makes the fabric stick to your center, a filthy mixture of arousal and Seungcheol's cum drenching it. A clear string of your essence clings to the material when you finally get them off and his low curses only make your pride swell, pussy lips fluttering and pushing out more of a mess.

"You touched yourself." His disappointed tone is obvious. But the pleasant reminder of flicking lazy circles on your clit over your panties while dipping an occasional finger to play and move around the cum inside makes your body thrum in pleasure. "Seriously? And you thought I was insatiable?"

"What's the matter? I was bored while you ran your silly errands and left me all alone," you purr. "You can just fill me up again. Maybe try and keep your dick deep inside this time. Or let me cockwarm you after, promise I won't waste a single drop."

When you lick your lips and wiggle your hips, Seungcheol scoffs. "Desperate little thing."

He shuffles closer, taking time to lick his palm like a heathen before roughly cupping your pussy. It's not like there's a need to wet his hand. But the heady way you can't help but watch how stupid sexy he looks through your eyelashes only eggs him on. Fingers spread your lower lips so the rest of the thick white globs can fall out and then he's slipping one inside your cunt.

"Not like much can fit in this tiny hole. Surprised you aren't pregnant yet after being stuffed full." Feeling you squeeze and suck his finger in more taunts him to add another. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? That's why you keep asking for it."

There's no time to adjust to the way he curls his fingers just right that you're already dizzy with pleasure. And then he speeds up, shoving them in at a rapid pace that fills the room with loud squelching sounds and whimpering moans.

Your hands brace the back of the couch for dear life, upper body already lurching forward with the way Seungcheol can render your body to his will completely. You're sensitive but it feels so fucking good. Any twinges of discomfort are drowned out by fuzzy pleasure.

Then suddenly, you're left empty. There's not much time to complain about it though before he's rubbing his hand across your ass, smearing it with the glistening sheen coating his fingers. Watching how your cheeks jiggle in time. 

You hear a hum, a tickling sensation tracing down your back before he's pulling you up by the back of your neck to lay flush against his chest.

Hips rut against your ass, betraying his desperation and messing up his sweatpants — not that the man cares. He probably revels in it. There's something that makes you weak in the knees, though, with Seungcheol fully clothed while you wait naked and bare for him to make the next move. 

One moment his hand slides from the back of your neck to the front in a gentle chokehold, muttering something about "had to make sure you're nice and empty to take another load" and the next moment the world spins as he pushes you down on the couch.

You land on your back, supported by his strong arms so you barely actually fall. Hovering above you, he finally rips off his beanie and you gasp when pink strands flutter out down to tickle your nose.

"You dyed your hair?"

"Yeah, thought it'd look prettiest between your legs." Your pussy flutters at the mention and so does your damn heart. "Besides, you know what the color is named?"

"What?"

"Lusty gallant." Seungcheol beams when you erupt into delighted laughter. "See, isn't it perfect?"

"It really is!"

"Knew you had a crush on me."

His pompous smirk makes your teeth grind and you spit out, "Where did that come from?"

"You think I'm gallant. Brave. Heroic. A gentleman."

"Did you know?" Your finger pokes at his firm chest, sliding down, down, and down. "It also means a big… fucking…" you grab at his cock hard, "flirt. Yeah, it is perfect."

He hisses at the harsh contact. "I'm not a flirt!"

"Hm, sure."

Of course, he relents when you squeeze him even tighter. "Alright… maybe just with you, though. You know you're the only one I fuck. Can't help but rile you up, it's sexy."

You stick your tongue out in pure spite at him only to quickly retract it before he can pull at it like he enjoys. 

"You kept it long?"

It seems like such a hassle. You remember him pouting about doing something new with it and figured it'd be easier to cut before coloring it.

"You like pulling at it, so…"

"You like me pulling at it."

"Takes two to tango," he grins and leans back to tug off his pants. His cock slaps against the t-shirt covering up abs. Red. Hard. Angry. Oozing loads of pre-cum. "I could sit here all day instead?"

You go to sit up, ready to ride the smirking man into oblivion and shut him the hell up but he clicks his tongue, caging you in between his arms and keeping you on your back. 

"No, sweet stuff. I'm on top today. And you're gonna have to put what you want inside you yourself." 

As if it's a challenge. You bite your lip to try and stop your coy smile from lighting up your face. One last, tight clutch around his thick cock for good measure before you rub it along your outer pussy lips. 

"No," Seungcheol huffs out, "no teasing." 

It's a goddamn power trip for this man to be so close to losing control. You guide the large head inside your hole, knowing if you take it a bit too far any longer, you'll be in trouble if he has to beg. 

Despite the slow pace you take to ease his fat girth inside, once he bottoms out with his balls settled against your asscheeks — the brutal thrusts of his hips begin. They snap at an unbelievably fast pace, so much so that your body jerks uncomfortably against the scratchy material of the couch. Head dangerously close to bumping against the arm rest. 

"Hold on to me, baby." 

Unlike most cases, you don't grab onto Seungcheol's shirt or even cling to his powerful shoulder blades. Instead, you grip onto the long pink strands of hair on the back of his neck. 

His head jerks back with a deep groan echoing in his throat before he buries into the crook of your neck. Biting as he also buries his cock deep within in your sweet cunt, hitting that spot only he is able to reach every single time. 

"Knew you had a thing for hair pulling." 

"If you're able to talk nonsense," he sits back, holding your hips harsh enough to bruise. "must not be fucking you hard enough, again." 

He says, "Sorry, baby," dripping in a copious amount of pathetic degradation that you clench so hard around him like a vice. Seungcheol chokes. But when you start to moan non-stop, he smiles like a victor. 

"Could fuck this tiny pussy so many times but it never loosens up. Gotta relax for me or I won't be able to fill you up properly." 

The bastard isn't helping much, the dirty talk and desperate need to be bred only making your head spin more. Legs wrap around his waist to pull him in even as your pussy threatens to push him out. 

Seungcheol falls silent himself, too entranced by the creamy ring forming around his cock where your bodies connect. 

Promises of filling you up finally fall from his mouth as he nears his peak. Whispers of "mine" and "yours" he thinks you can't hear in your state but you always do. Reminiscing over them when you're alone at night. 

But that's not what matters at this moment as white noise fills your ears, almost blanking out as another incredible orgasm rocks your entire body. Seungcheol's release hits right as yours finishes, pelvis pressing close against yours to make sure you take every single drop as promised. 

He hates to even move away. But a couple shallow thrusts are enough to satiate his need to ensure your sweet pussy won't waste even a little bit until you whine from the oversensitivity. 

The urge to kiss your forehead is strong as you come down from your high. Instead, he simply stares at you with starry eyes in the vulnerable moment. 

One day, Seungcheol convinces himself that he'll be brave enough to utter what traitorously rings through his heart and entire being when he's with you. He's sure it's not the after-nut feelings but maybe it's best to wait until he's not balls-deep inside, too blissed and fucked out that he accidentally blurts it aloud. 

Perhaps he will when he gives you the collar and leash, a diamond-encrusted heart with his initials on the front and yours on the back. Tilting his head, he still isn't sure if pink, black, or red suit you best because you're too perfect. 

Maybe he'll consider white? Totally not a thought influenced by the gorgeous stains coating your most intimate parts and inner thighs. 

Definitely not. 

taglist:

@joshibambi @junhui-recs @pandorashbox @rubyscoups @woozluv @nonrevblr @charcharfairy @httpswonwoosglasses @yeosayang @buffhoshi @horanghae8star @noraehey @misssugarlips @onlymingyus @tinkerbell460 @aceofvernons @dejavernon

onlyseokmins: January 2023 ©

[axeoverblade]

Morales Twin Au x fem! reader

Morales twins x fem! reader

Synopsis! It was fairly obvious you had crush on your long term best friend, Miles Morales. It was also obvious that his twin brother Milo, was a pain in your ass.

PT 1 > PT 2 (current)

MASTERLIST

Genre: Fluff, slight angst if you squint, slight suggestion if you squint

Warnings: strong language I think that’s it

Word count: 3.3k

Authors comments: if you were in the taglist but not @ it’s because someone deleted it! sorry for my long break guys but I’m back, Been a lil stressed but hopefully this makes up for it <3

MORE ABOUT MORALES TWIN AU IN NAVIGATION

E! 1610 Miles > Miles

E! 42 Miles > Milo

Do not copy! All rights reserved to ©axeoverblade

Miles was irritated to say the least.

Everytime you would come over to see him, somehow his counterpart always got involved. It had gotten to the point that when you left, he would find himself angry with Milo.

Sure he knew it wasn’t Milo’s fault he was mad. Truthfully there wasn’t anything wrong with you interacting with Milo.

But this wasn’t how you two normally interacted.

Miles saw the way Milo’s eyes lingered when you would walk away, a little too long for his liking. Or how you would just somehow always find yourself play-fighting with Milo. And not the usual MMA brawls you two used to have-, no. Just somehow, it would always end with Milo holding you waist and you two laughing, screaming at him to let go of you.

Miles didn’t know why this made him so annoyed. I mean, he knew it was different to see you and Milo being kind to each other, but it shouldn’t have made him mad.

For the longest, Miles knew he was the only twin you enjoyed being around.

He knew how much you hated Milo. You would talk about how much you wanted to stick Milo’s hand in a dish disposal.

But now? You looked at his hands carefully to see the designs of his rings, sometimes even trying them on.

He should be happy if anything, all he’s ever wanted was for you three to be able to hang out peacefully.

But this was too damn peaceful.

Every weekend you found yourself at the Morales home, this weekend being no different.

And just like usual, you were arguing with Milo. “You talk too much” he mumbled as he rolled his eyes, grabbing a cup from the cabinet. You glared at him as you leaned on the counter next to him, scowling. “Boy you know good and well I will not hesitate to pop you in your throat.” You scoffed, taking a sip from your water.

He chuckled, “stay mad I beat you. Not my fault you trash.” He shrugged as he filled his cup with juice, looking at you amused as he put the lid back on.

“You won barely.” You held your thumb and pointer finger up together in close proximity to further your point. “And you got in my way, I would’ve won if you didn’t wave yo’ hand in my face.” You smacked your lips, looking away from him with an eye roll.

“All I’m hearin’ is excuses ma. Just admit I’m better than you will ever be.”

“Shut yo daddy long leg ass up”, you rolled your eyes looking at his figure up and down. The gray sweats and black wife beater combo he was wearing clearly showed how lanky (yet oddly muscular) he was. He smirked at you, “you just wanted n’ excuse to call me daddy”.

A small ‘tuh’ left your lips, “if I wanted to call you daddy I would’ve said so”. He turned to fully face you, walking slightly closer so he was right in front of you.

He grabbed your chin, forcing eye contact with you as he licked his lips. “We both know you want to”.

You stared at him wide eyed, ignoring the feeling of heat slightly raising to your cheeks.

Milo burst out cackling, almost spilling his juice on you. “Your face! You look like a lemur.” He held his stomach, closing his eyes, thinking what he said was so funny.

Furrowing your eyebrows at his odd (and somewhat disturbing) comparison, you rolled your eyes and walked past him. “You doin too much. And hurry up Miles is waiting for us-, annoyin’ ass”

“Wait for me King Julian!”

“Milo swear I won’t kill you”

Another weekend at the Miles Morales home.

This time Rio was cooking dinner. She had assigned you and Milo to go to the small store on the corner and fetch some more cilantro and lime.

Usually, Miles and you would be the ones assigned store duties, but Rio decided today was the day she would teach Miles to not burn the house down with his cooking.

…

“Ew look at that rat” you pointed disgusted, seeing the large half bald rat scurrying around quickly a few feet away. Milo turned his head away from the creature “why would you point that out.” He scowled, walking a little quicker. “Aye don’t leave me with that!” You caught up to him, turning back a few times to make sure it wasn’t getting any closer.

The trip to the store was quick. It didn’t take longer than a few minutes, plus you had picked out a few snacks for the twins and you to share.

As you were walking home with Milo, you saw a small cardboard box with the word free written across it.

With a quick glance at Milo, you realized he hadn’t noticed. Before he even saw that you were walking away from him, you were already crouching in front of the box.

Milo halted realizing you weren’t next to him anymore. Mildly concerned, he looked around quickly.

He spotted you a few feet back with your hand in a random box.

Quickly walking over to you, the furrow in his eyebrows never left. “Y/n ‘the hell you doin?”

When he got closer, he saw the black kitten in the box. He also noticed how the kitten had taken a liking to you.

“No.”

You turned to him offended, “Milo, we can’t just leave it here.”

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do. Now get up and cmon’” he lightly tugged your free hand. “Milo what if it dies out here?” He sighed, “The next person will get it. Ain’t our concern.”

You frowned, looking into his eyes. “Milo I can’t leave it. It has no one.”

“Ma, neither one of our homes has room or the time for a kitten. They pee everywhere and they stink. Plus they mean as hell. No.”

…

The wide smile on your face could’ve been spotted from a mile away. It didn’t take much after to convince Milo to take the cat with you two; it now in your coat pocket as you walked home.

He was annoyed at first, but after you forced him to interact with the kitten, he was quick to mumble out “maybe we can sneak 'em around”.

Milo wasn’t going to tell you the real reason the cat could tag along was because he simply couldn’t refuse with the way you were looking at him. Your face painted with big doe eyes and a slight pout made it almost impossible for him to ever say no.

And the wide happy smile that followed after he said yes?

Folded him like a damn chair.

…

You figured out she was a girl, and both decided on the name ‘Mila’.

Though Milo would never admit it, he loved the name. He loved even more the reasoning behind it.

“What should we name her?” You said, staring at her as you held her like simba in the opening scene of lion king.

“Ion know, it’s your cat.” He shrugged, lightly pulling you and kept walking so you could get back to the house.

“It’s our cat, we found her together. We’re her parents now.” You said mindlessly tucking her into your pocket, lightly rubbing her head as it stuck out.

Milo glanced at you. He knew you didn’t mean the way it came out but his brain immediately ran with the implication of having a kid with you. And even if it was just a cat, it brought an unexpected swelling to his heart.

“Mila.” He said softly, looking at you.

You smiled at her, not noticing Milo was gazing at you, “awe, that’s yo name from yo daddy, girl. It’s probably the only contribution he will ever make but at least it’s something” you said jokingly, petting her head.

He smiled at you, lightly licking his lips with a small head shake before looking away.

“Welcome to the family Mila.”

Another weekend at the Morales household and you found yourself in the kitchen.

Tonight was movie night for the three of you, which meant endless snacks and drinks were going to be shoved down your throat until you were stuffed to the brim. Was it healthy? Absolutely not. But does it taste good? 100%

But there was a predicament. Your “assigned” cup was on the highest shelf, and happened to be right out of your reach. You would’ve climbed on the counter to get it, but last time you tried to Jeff damn near killed you for “putting your nasty feet on his fresh cooking counters”, so that was off the table.

Usually Miles would be the one to get your cup because of the location. But when you called out for him to come in and help there was no response.

That was until Milo walked in, a slight hunch in shoulders as he walked lazily into the room. He smacked his lips, “He’s setting up the movie, whatchu want?” His tone, though somewhat annoyed, was oddly soft.

With a quick roll of the eyes you pointed to the cup in question. “Can you grab that f’me?”

He looked at you blankly for a second before nodding. “You know you don’t always gotta use that cup right?” He said amused, seeing the other cup selections that you could reach.

“Yea but that’s my cup.” You said matter of factly, facing your back to the counter so you could lean against it. He shrugged, walking closer towards you. “Whatever helps you sleep at night ma.”

He reached over you grabbing the cup.

His cologne was strong in your nostrils, such a gentle yet masculine scent wafted through your senses. It was intoxicating, yet not enough to be overwhelming.

You noticed the slight freckles that rested through Milo’s neck ran up his jaw. He had a very small amount of soft beard hair he had started to grow, barely visible had you not been looking so hard.

“Starings rude ma.” Milo said as held the cup, breaking you out of your trance.

You looked into his eyes, “Don’t flatter yourself sir.”.

Milo was oddly close, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable by any means.

If anything it felt natural, as if this is how close he should be at all times. “You seem to be flattering me ‘nough for the both of us.” He teased, his voice stringing deeper and huskier than usual.

You didn’t miss the small glance he held at your lips, his eyes lingering for a second before meeting your gaze again.

The air became thicker. It didn’t feel nauseating or suffocating though. It felt like a blanket had been placed over your body, effectively making you feel hot inside.

It was a feeling you had only ever felt at the thought of Miles.

Milo licked his lips as his eyes trailed up and down your features. There was an unrecognizable look in his eye. And even though unfamiliar, the way he was gazing at you sent a rupture of butterflies through your stomach all the way to your heart.

“Guys I got the movie on.” Miles walked into the kitchen, his attention placed on the phone in his hand.

Milo swiftly placed the cup on the counter next to you and moved back to the opposite counter. “You guys ready?” Milo asked as he looked up, a large smile playing at his face.

Milo looked at you once more before answering “yea.”

The Morales household was quieter than usual. Jeff and Rio had left for the night on a ‘one night parent only’ vacation, trusting you and the twins to be civil for their night out.

The soft moonlight shined through the window of Miles' room, caressing his floor.

As you were laying in his bed, he was sprawled out on top of you holding you close; something that would happen often at your sleepovers.

Miles had fallen asleep on you over thirty minutes ago; leaving you staring at the ceiling as he cuddled you.

Saying you were bored was an understatement. But you knew he often didn’t get to sleep well, so waking him wasn’t an option.

Letting your state of uninterest in sleep win, you attempted to wiggle his limbs off of you to make leeway to leave.

He mumbled gently under his breath, telling you to ‘stay still’. You stopped for a second, contemplating listening to his drowsy pleas.

Had you not been bright eyes and bushy tailed you most likely would’ve, but laying in a dark room with nothing to do but stay still absentmindedly was beyond even your infatuation for the boy. Sighing out a quick apology and a promise to return soon, you snuck out of his grasp.

Making a split second decision, you decided on heading to the kitchen for a snack.

The home was calm, an unoften serene that only happened in the dead night. It was just you and the JBL that stayed in the kitchen together.

Connecting your phone to the speaker, you turned on your soft Spanish playlist. You decided to take the initiative to clean the dishes that you three had piled up over the night. Even though you created the least amount of the mess.

…

The late night snack you had originally planned on getting had been tossed out the window.

The Music aided dearly in making the cleaning process quicker, swaying your hips to the soft sounds of guitar and humming along to whomever was singing as the songs ran on. Even if you could only pick out bits and pieces of the words they spoke as the dishes clinking was sometimes louder than the music, you mumbled what you could make out.

You were truly at peace.

You were unaware that Milo was still awake in his room playing on his console.

Hearing the soft Melodie’s coming from the kitchen, he hopped off the game to see what was happening. After sneakily making his way to the kitchen, he saw your dancing figure cleaning.

Leaning against the entrance to the kitchen, he watched you attentively; eyes following every movement you made.

Milo knew the way he felt in his chest was beyond infatuation for you at this point. He truly wasn’t sure to be relieved at the fact that you were unaware of his feelings, or want to crumple up into a ball. But as long asn you still liked his brother, it was for the best you didn’t know.

As the song came to an end the humming from your lips continued. Finishing up washing the dishes and setting them aside, Milo crept up behind you.

Placing his hands lightly on your hips, you jolted, startled by the presence behind you. You quickly turned around breaking the grasp he had on your hips, looking to see who had broken your serene. Of course.

Lightly punching his chest, you glared at him annoyed, “what the hell Milo! I damn near had a heart attack.”, you carefully whisper-shouted, in hopes to not wake Miles.

You turned back around to rinse out the sink, expecting him to move away from you, but he stayed behind you.

The soft sound of Natalia Lafourcade's voice filled the room, gentle music of “Soledad y el Mar” playing over the speaker.

Still feeling Milo’s presence behind you, you tilted your head over your shoulder.

“Do you need somethin-”

“Dance with me.”

He cut you off, his hands gently making their way back to your waist. You stared at him bemused, “I-what? No. I’m cleaning-” “dance with me.” He reiterated, “One song, this song and I’ll leave you alone.” You narrowed your eyes at him. You sighed, wiping your hands with the towel next to the sink. “You’ll leave me alone?” He nodded lightly, “For now. Damn just baila conmigo mujer.” Rolling your eyes, you nodded.

A lazy grin made its way to his face as he grabbed your hand gently turning you around, pulling you into his chest.

…

Oddly enough, you two quickly fell in sync. It was almost- nice.

He placed his hands around your waist again as you hummed lightly to rythm, swaying your hips against his.

He nestled his head into your shoulder.

A soft sigh escaped both your lips at the same time. You were surprised as he hummed with you to the cadence of her voice, “You know this song?” You whispered lightly, but loud enough that he could understand you. “Mi mamá plays music like this all the time when she cooks. It’s usually Ismael Rivera, but she has a few different people.” His mumble fell gently into the cusp of your neck. You hummed, nodding understandingly; recalling all the times you would hear Rio play her music as she cooked when you would hang out with Miles.

What he failed to tell you was that his dad would do just as he did when he saw his mother humming to the soft sounds of Spanish serenades in the kitchen. Jeff would whisk her away and dance with her; sweet affirmations of his love falling into her neck. Milo would catch them all the time when he and Miles were in their rooms, usually coming out for a moment to get water but instead ending up watching them silently from the hallway.

As the song neared its end he held you close, the rhythm you two had built slowly turning into a soft rock.

The feeling was oddly domestic, too domestic. It made you wonder- more of a realization than piqued curiosity- if you wouldn’t mind doing this again.

If you wouldn’t mind seeing Milo’s face when you went to bed or woke up in the morning.

If-, that you wouldn’t mind having a future with Milo.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Miles woke up noticing the warmth from your embrace was gone indicating you weren’t in his room anymore.

He decided to get up, thinking you were in the kitchen getting a snack. As he walked out his room quietly, he heard the sound of two voices, your and his twin.

He stood silently in the hallway watching the sight in the kitchen. His face contorted from tired to a very displeased look, jealousy enveloping his body as he watched what was happening.

You would only do things like this with him, only share such loving embraces with him, not his counterpart.

When did you two become so close?

As his eyebrows furrowed, he went back to his room; choosing against ruining happiness that radiated from the two of you,

choosing to return to his bed cold and alone.

BONUS:

As the song ended, Laura Fygis rendition of “sabor a mi” replaced the tune. Milo gently let go of you with a small sigh, turning to leave you alone after one song as promised.

With a quick bite of your lip and a moment’s contemplation, you gently grabbed his bicep stopping him from leaving.

He turned his head over his shoulder to look at you, “you and I both know it’s criminal to not dance to this song.” You raised a brow, avoidantly asking him to dance with you again.

A smirk reached his lips, his eyes glistening, “Just say you can’t get enough a’me ma.” His hands swiftly lead right back to waist, smoothly joining your footing in sync once more.

“Don’t ruin the moment morales”

©axeoverblade

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[madamecaos]

Sun and Rain

Where Ghost x Witch fem!Reader are Soulmates

Tag: Angst, lil gore, trigger S. Assault

He should’ve known this wouldn’t be a normal mission. He should’ve had a clue, recognizing that everything was all wrong from the beginning.

The intel, the secrecy of whom he was hunting had been cloaked, even from his superiors. But alas, a good soldier only follows instructions.

If only his precarious situation wasn’t annoying. Ghost had experienced the world through the missions he’d been sent to. Deserts frying him with scorching heat or skies blinding with white blizzards. And yet, the humid mild heat of the jungle was the most uncomfortable.

Mosquitos were the bane of his existence, since even batting them away, they would still somehow bite him through the mask. The sweat sticking to the back of his neck made him itch. And Soap noticed.

“You a little twitchy there, Lt,” said Soap, eyeing him, gun pointed to the front as he trekked through the shade of tall trees. A sea of trunks surrounded them, too many possibilities of an enemy hiding.

“Mosquitos,” he said, nothing more to explain.

“Even through the mask?” Soup asked, genuinely surprised like an inquisitive kid.

“The things are monsters.”

From the back they heard a slap, and all turned around in sharp alarm, pointing. Only, to reveal Captain John Price grumbling about the ‘bloody beasts.”

“Keep walking straight, less than a meter away.” Laswell instructed through the comms.

“Roger.” Price answered.

Ghost’s neck prickled in anticipation. He wondered how dangerous was the enemy, since they have them walking in the unamed jungle, with unspecified instructions, step by step directions. Odd.

But the trust in his captain was enough to put him in this position. He promised the intel was good. To trust him, or whatever that means.

And the instructions had come loud and clear. Kill the rising druglord in said coordinates, somewhere in Columbia. But no name was given, no information, no concrete intel. The information found of their own investigation and scouting lead to believe the new druglord was pairing with the top dog, Ignacio “El Brujo”. The new addition in the Colombia cartels had the government nervous, but they had no clue why.

Soap’s money is on technology. Gaz bet it was terrorism, pushing drugs not being enough to move Special Forces into Colombia. Serbia was more his pace.

The pink and orange sky glared upon them as they reached a peak in a jagged hill, giving away downhill to a beautiful mansion. Capital was spent on the vast of its structure. It was a wonder how NASA hadn’t just only seen them from the sky. It was huge.

Even with the sun shining, droplets peppered from the sky, some of it gray clouds.

“Would you look at that,” Soap muttered, the expanse of the rest of the property, a blanket of green and plantain crops in the middle of the sea of mountains. They were literally nowhere he recognized, the tropical sight taking his breath away, pink and orange glowing.

“There’s a saying about this,” Gaz pointed to the still sunny raining sky. “Here in Columbia I think, that a witch is getting married.”

“What?”

“That when its raining and still sunny, a witch is getting married.”

Laswell interrupted. “Approach with caution, we need the target in our hands. Keep conversation tight, over.”

Price answered on their behalf.

And to think, this wouldn’t even be more weird. The mansion was empty.

Only when they broke the entrance, there realized it wasn’t necessary to break in. The door was open, no guards at the entrance.

Until they got to the living room and and saw a sea of dead bodies… dead parts of dead people. The body guards or… and their families. He even had to blink away from the image and its carnage. Some blood on the curtains.

“What the fuck,” Soap spoke out of turn, Price giving him a reproach look, as they had already shut them up.

But as he stepped to the sight, getting in front of the two muscle giants, he realized he would’ve said the same. A whole dinner room that had seemed like a regular family gathering, only bloody with someone’s arm without its owner.

“Ok then,” Price braces himself, steps through to limbs and corpses, acting as normal as possible. Their steps left bloody footsteps on the carpet, a red river in one direction.

They scouted every room, even found one in the bathroom, head banged to death in the mirror, as if he had gone insane.

If he were asked, he would’ve confirmed he felt nauseous. Not himself. Yet, he said nothing.

Room after empty room received the Special Task Force, no other soul in sight. Until they got to the master bedroom.

He couldn’t help but notice the bloody cuffs at the corner of each four post of the bed. Dread curled in his stomach, sweat going through his uniform.

“You ok there, Lt?” Soap asked at his paused posture, not registering.

“Intel finds there might be a secret basement.” Laswell says as if they could do something with that. It was secret.

“Any clue whatsoever?”

“Do you hear that,” Gaz said from the left, heading for the bathroom, gun raised. He pushed the door open, and in the middle, a middle aged man had a gun pointed upwards, pressed to his chin.

“Sir?” Price said, placating. “Put the gun down. We only just want to talk.

“I did it.” He sobs, index finger shaking at the trigger. “I did it.”

He repeats, eyes hazed, over and over again.

“I think he’s high.” Gaz commented, standing the closest.

“Grab him”, Price instructed, and Gaz did so with a side kick to the gun. Slipping the weapon away from the suspect.

“On the floor!” As Gaz brought the suspect for questioning into the bedroom, Ghost offers to check the perimeter for said basement.

Soap invites himself to the exploration.

It was more obvious than not, the only door heading a uncared for pair of stairs, leading into darkness.

“Lights on.” Ghost instructs Johnny from the front. Ghost with a head light, and Soap pointing with a flash light. Gun in the other hand

But nothing was amiss, except Ghost was cold as ice. As if he couldn’t help but shake, jaw trembling inside his mask. He fought through the shakes as they headed down and down, until they reached a normal basement. Walls recently painted white, except the floor. The modern decor was severed by the seven star pointed pentagram spray painted red smack in the middle of the center.

“Look down.” Ghost says.

“What the fuck, “ Soap repeats.

“Soap.” Price commands.

“Found the basement. Two doors to the left. A pentagram drawn in the middle of the room.” Ghost informs, heading closer to the infinite back. It seemed to go on and on, the space beneath the whole mansion. Empty like a parking lot.

“Roger that, see what else is there.” Price says nothing else.

As they get closer to the back, the see a set of doors, turning left to the kitchen.

His ears started ringing enough to be annoying, but not enough to hinder him. His heart started to pound, set on heading a certain direction.

It was sudden and electric, like a fast acting energy drink. The need to be somewhere else.

And he followed the trail. Back to the wall, driven, not knowing where’s he’s heading.

Soap followed silently, not understanding Ghost shift in direction.

Another left, another stairs to a lower floor.

“Damn,” Soap the commented. “Stairs to hell.”

At a sound from bellow, they raise their guns higher.

They were at a disadvantage, the lower floor being darker and not knowing what’s expecting them, Ghost throws a flash grenade, being answered with multiple screams.

Girl screams, and some might be children.

“Price, we got a situation.”

“Possible civilians down in another floor. Might be hostages.” Ghost adds.

His rapid heartbeat hadn’t decreased.

A curious pair of eyes, greeted them, scrunching at the flashlights.

“Special Task Force, put your hands up.” Soap intervenes, being the people person.

Everyone sitting on the floor did so, except one at the back. A girl, head lolled back on the lap of a woman, worrying a cold towel to her forehead.

The girl was still, clothes bloody, beaten to a pulp. Barefoot, naked west down.

Ghost thought her dead, until she moved. With trouble, she turned her neck, carrying a heavy head, curious at the sudden silent.

Lazily looked side ways, eyes barely open.

Eyes made contact briefly before the others closed with exhaustion.

But it was enough for Simon to see something drove him here, and that something was you.

Electricity zapped him from the spine, bringing him to his knees. And in a second, he lost consciousness with Soap’s worry echoing in his ears.

A/n: Sorry for any mistakes, here’s a balloon 🎈.

[hayffiebird]

How do you think Effie and haymitch met?

Hi anon! And thanks for asking! (mini-oneshot, under the cut) I always imagined Effie being Haymitch’s second escort when she was a young woman and he was a sorta young man. On the train to Twelve, new on the job, she’s very “first day of school! First day of school!” and eager to make a difference sort of like Sejanus Plinth. She’s ambitious and driven and also naive enough to think “with me on board we will have victors left and right!” Before the Reaping she decides on her own to visit the Victor’s Village and introduce herself personally to her now co-worker. She’s quite star-struck I think, on the way over there - what with the romanticized image the Capitol has of him. Obviously she doesn’t know the truth about Haymitch’s murdered family. No one really does in her city. She’s also super impressed that he won The Second Quarter Quell - one of the most difficult Games in Panem's history, and without a mentor at that! She’s probably a little smitten too (or at least she was as a young girl). Taken by those dark curls and intense gray eyes in a sort of “toughened by life but love will set him free” kind of way. But when she actually finally meet Mr. Haymitch Abernathy he effectively smashes all the illusions Effie ever had of him in less than five minutes. She goes from dazzled to disbelieving to annoyed and they end up having the first of many arguments. I imagine it went something like this:

Standing there in the middle of the kitchen Effie felt the mentor’s eyes travel up and down her body. He held a bottle of spirits in one hand, elbows on the unbelievably filthy table. And in the other, a knife - an actual KNIFE! “Who sent you?” he finally asked. “It ain’t m’birthday.” The shadow of a crease re-appeared between Effie’s eyebrows but then the smile was right back on. “Mr. Abernathy!” She stepped forward and extended a hand. “Euphemia. Euphemia Trinket, the new escort. My friends call me Effie. You can call me Effie if you want. Delighted to make your acquaintance and might I just add what an honor it is to finally meet. I’ve heard so much about you! I’m sure we’re going to make the most fabulous of teams!” Haymitch ignored the outstretched hand. Instead he brought the bottle to his lips, having a few good mouthfuls. “What happened to Dandruff?" he asked in a bored voice. "Ol’ bat finally bit the dust?" “Mrs Dandridge decided to retire. I’m here in her place. Arrived just a few days ago, and my, am I already in LOVE with your … your … quaint district.” “I know right,” he mimicked her voice, dripping with sarcasm. He poured a good amount of the clear liquid into a cracked glass full of sticky fingerprints and extended it to her. “Well, this calls for a toast, don't ya think? Bottom’s up, lil’ lady." “Um, tempting but no thank you,” she said. “I don’t make it a habit of drinking when I'm at work. Especially not this early. Got to keep a level head," she thrilled. "A big big big day today!” Haymitch tsked, eyes on the ceiling. "I'd say." And he downed the drink for her. “Guess this is my lucky day, huh? They finally got rid of ol’ Ice Crotch and now a squeaky lil’ duckling fresh out of the egg’s gonna help me out.” “W-wha … excuse me? Duckling? Squeaky?! I think you’ll find me more than qualified for the job. I graduated from the Academy at the top of my class!” “Yeah, takes a lot o’ brains to send kids off for slaughter.” Effie stared at him. “B-being chosen to participate in The Hunger Games - the biggest event of the year, is a great honor and …” “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he snarled. “Save it for the cameras, why don’t ya?” At a loss for words Effie watched the man finish his bottle, down to the last drop, only to reach for the next. “The Reaping is in an hour,” she said. “So?" “So maybe you ought to slow down? And I trust it you’ll freshen up before then? Take a shower and find an outfit that’s a little more, um, suitable for the … special occasion.” “Meh,” Haymitch shrugged. “Haven’t decided if I’m gonna go.” “You have to go!” The words burst from her lips before she could stop them. “You’re expected! I’ll look like a fool!” In reply, Haymitch snapped the seal on the bottle. With one expert twist. “Don’t need me for something you already accomplished, sweetheart.” He tipped the liquor into his mouth. “Guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

[talkshowboyluvr]

lil treech rant bc i'm ANNOYING

the perception of treech has changed so drastically from the fandoms understanding of him when the book first came out to the movie. before the movie, the main agreement on treech's character was that he was a circus performer (still gen one of my fav he's, i love the idea of him being a performer im some way, though i usually make his parents past circus performers instead of himself) he had some clear trauma with touch (i personally make him autistic because of this, imagining sensory issues to be the main reason, though there are older theories abt past sa happening to him) and - one of my favourite ideas - was him being a foil to lucy gray.

both book treech and lucy gray were fairly passive until the ending of the games, both of them preferring not to engage in confrontation and instead kill in more sneaky ways (when someone wasn't looking, with poison and both seemed to be popular in the capitol.

i almost think the movie gives more proof of this with treech having the highest sponsor count after lucy gray and being the only other tribute we see struggle with guilt and morality during the games. both clearly cared about their district partners, both had a hand in their partners death. both seem to charm the capitol.

so, the majority of my own depictions of treech come to down to making him a sort of twisted version of lucy gray. his life is slightly harder than hers - i usually write him to be looking after his two sisters, struggling with a job in the lumberyard and being incredibly poor (more on that in a minute) - so he's naturally lost some of his spark.

he enjoys preforming, but sees it as a chore more often than not due to how tired he is these days, he's no longer truly happy in life.

i believe he's poor simply due to his outfit in the movie. everyone seems to be wearing something intricate, something that clearly has work and money put into it, while he's in his work clothes. i also imagine this would make him weak and much like katniss, i think he'd be underfed in his attempts to provide for his sisters and put them above himself.

a lot of the time, i see people act as though him joining the pack in the movie didn't make any sense when compared to the book, and though i agree it does change the plot, i don't think it at all changes his character. he's a coward in both book and movie, he avoids confrontation in the book, only steals from the already weakened and hides the entire games. in the movie he leaves lamina despite wishing to stay with her as he's more concerned with his safety that with being courageous.

personally, i think book treech may have also joined the pack if given the chance. i do think his survival would always come above morality for him, no matter how clear it is that the guilt tears his up about it.

treech's death, however, is the most impactful for me in both the book and movie. in the book you see a boy so desperate for comfort that he latches onto lucy gray's embrace, or you could instead see a boy so fearful of touch that he freezes in her arms. either way, he's clearly filled with rage when the snake bites, because book treech knew he was going home. he could have beaten lucy gray and reaper had rabies - treech had practically already been basking in his victory.

then a snake latched onto him and in his final moments he bashed the snake to death in revenge as he couldn't reach lucy gray.

movie treech, however, was in agony. he didn't digest the poison as dill did, meaning it instead would have had to enter his bloodstream, which would have been more painful and slower. you can see him covering his face, shaking, retching and practically sobbing before he dies, all while he's ignored and left to lay there forgotten.

movie treech is also never placed in the morgue and book treech's body is dragged around by lucy gray, so even after death he's the only tribute never left to rest :)

[sirdindjarin]

Streetwise Hercules - (Sierra Six x F!Reader)

Sierra Six is paid to safeguard you. Too bad he's bossy and sarcastic and hot as shit.

A/N: This was supposed to be a 3k blurb and it is ... not. I'm so sorry lmao. I love this man and I want to hold him and never shut up about him.

This is a prequel, but - like Part One - I think you can read it alone. I think it's best to read Parts One and Two first since I wrote this last lol.

Shoutout to @crownofdecit for hyping me up 🥹

TAGS: Angst, Fluff, Lead Up To 👉👌, Snark, Six Being a Sassy Sexy Bitch, Idiots to (Eventual) Lovers

WARNINGS: None. Curse words? Sheer horniness without relief?

WORD COUNT: oh god I don't even want to tell you guys (it's 9.9k. I'm adding lil dividers and breaks because I know it's long)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How exactly was this place designed to be a “safe” house? 

The house was a single story with more glass than wood. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the east side, while trees guarded both sides. The lot sits on a downward slope, a valley in the background. 

The amount of glass made it look insecure if anything. But, you had no say in it - if you wanted to be paid, you’d work here. You’d not given your employers a timetable on your project, and you had hoped they wouldn’t request one. They hadn’t. Unfortunately, that meant your stay here would be indefinite.

After a long ride across a border you hadn't been able to read, a mysterious driver had dropped you off in the gravel driveway. A single custodian had been sweeping when you pulled up, and he had been less than welcoming. You’d said, “Hello,” but the young man had simply inclined his head at you and continued his task.

In less than half an hour, you had found your room and unpacked most of your belongings into the rattan dresser. It was evident the money spent on this secluded hide-out was in its design and the protection detail, not the furniture. You notice there is no en-suite bathroom, and the nearest one is down the hall. 

That’s annoying. 

The only other room along this hallway must be the bodyguard’s room. It’s at the opposite end, facing yours. You suppose that’s so he can keep an eye on you, and you sigh. It’s hard to believe you could need all of this fuss. You’ve worked in high-security locations and needed top-tier clearances before, but having to leave your apartment to live in this place while an unknown man supervised you? That was not something you’d get used to quickly.

It was Sunday, so, seeing as you preferred to keep a regular work week, you decided you’d survey your workstation tomorrow. You tour the kitchen. 

A marble countertop complete with a coffee machine, stovetop, and hanging microwave mark the space. Next to the coffee machine, you notice a crystal vase filled with an amber liquid.

Don’t mind if I do. 

The whiskey flows smoothly into your glass, the smoky aroma soothing. You then take a seat at the island bar. The late afternoon light comes through the glass patio door, heating the space. Your head cranes to the right to study the view, mentally wandering through the hills, the trees, and the city far below. The whiskey is excellent, burning your throat pleasantly.

The hinged squeak of the front door opening rings through the house. You swivel counterclockwise on your barstool. A man in a dark gray suit steps over the threshold and into the living room, shutting the door behind him. It’s darker in that section of the house, so he flips the switch to his right. A ceiling fan blinks to life above him, and his blonde hair is highlighted. 

“Oh, hi,” you smile.

You hop off the stool gracefully and stroll through the large, open doorway between the living room and kitchen. Extending your hand, you meet him between the couch and the flat-screen television.  

You’re stunned by how handsome he is. His eyes are kind and brilliantly blue. His hair is parted to the side and lightly gelled, and his suit barely covers the fact that he is rather muscular. That last part you had expected given his job title. 

   “Hello,” he says simply, shaking your hand with the slightest grip.

His jaw is working, and you realize he's chewing gum. When he drops his hand to clasp them together, as if he’s at ease, you notice a tattoo of a palm tree and a sunrise on his left hand. 

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet. I haven’t had a chance to look around.” He chides. 

“Oh,” you’re taken aback by his directness. “I was just given the address and told to be here today. They didn’t give me a time. I wasn’t told anything, actually. Didn’t even tell me who I’d be meeting.” You laugh, hoping he’ll tell you his name without you needing to ask. 

“They didn’t tell you -?” He’s frustrated by the poor organization. Anyone could’ve met you here and you’d have believed anything they said. He decides to make further progress in his planning than he’d originally intended for tonight. “Alright. I’ll get to work. I’ll stay out of your way.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” you insist in reactive politeness. Taking into account his brusque, business-like manner, you amend quietly, “I’ll stay out of yours.” 

He nods once in agreement. 

Taking the hint that the conversation is over, you turn around and head back toward your barstool. The kitchen is dimmed in the growing dark, so as you walk through the doorway, you reach out for the light switch.

From behind you, you hear steps, firm and determined, which make you instinctively turn your head to face him.

“Actually, can you sit here on the couch while I…?” He trails off and makes a circling motion with his index finger. 

“Sure, yeah.” You’re getting nervous about how seriously he’s taking his job, so you sit as he requested. 

Is there an actual threat to me? Am I actually in danger? You eye your whiskey glass on the counter. 

As he steps into the kitchen, he sees the alcohol and quizzes, “Did you bring that yourself?” 

“No,” you answer, already knowing he’s about to tell you that you can't drink it. 

“Don’t drink it.” 

“I believe it was courtesy of my employer. I’ve already had several sips - it’s fine.” You assure, a touch annoyed.

You know caution is his job, so you’re mindful of your tone. His impersonal manners are disappointing given how long you'll be around him.

He doesn't reply. Instead, he looks blankly at you before grabbing the drink and delivering it to you. Your fingers close around his as you take the glass, and you smile in gratitude. 

Something tells him this is going to be a frustrating assignment; you don’t seem to feel at risk. And truthfully, you don’t. He’s here as an extreme precaution on part of your company. But this man appreciated better than anyone that life could change in an instant.

           

The next morning you’re awoken by your alarm. You silence the phone and grab a change of clothes. You crack open your bedroom door, hoping the bathroom is free so you can shower. Luckily, the man from last night is nowhere to be found. 

He never told me his name; that’s so weird, you realize. 

He had checked the house and found nothing of interest, then returned to the living room, motioning to you that you were free to go. He'd spoken no further, and you'd kept your word about staying out of his way.

After getting ready for your day, you walk into the living room to find your workspace. You open the only door you’d not been through: a nondescript wood-paneled barrier beside the kitchen. Sure enough, inside is an array of equipment and a desktop computer. Everything you’d need to perform your job is located in this garage-sized space.

You march into the kitchen to make yourself a pot of coffee. In a cabinet, you’re drawn to a mug with an artist-rendering of the sun. It’s a cloudy morning, so you find it appropriate. 

You stand in front of the coffee maker, waiting patiently for it to stop brewing, drumming your fingers on the counter in time with the song stuck in your head. The hair on the back of your neck prickles, so you turn your head to look around. Seated at the bar behind you is the man, dressed now in a bright blue suit, focused on his laptop. 

“Oh, my god!” You exclaim, nearly dropping the empty mug. “When did you get in here?” 

“You didn’t hear me sit down?” The man queries, his eyes jumping from the mug in your hands to your face. 

“Obviously not,” one hand presses over your heart. You can't help but notice that his eyes match the color of his suit.

He snorts once in levity at your misplaced distress and returns to his computer.

“I’m glad you find it funny, Mr. - ?” You prompt.

"You don't need to call me ‘mister,’” he says politely without looking up. 

“Okay, well, what do I call you? 'Chatterbox'?” You’re irritated by his lack of apology for scaring you and poor conversational skills. 

He looks up sharply, but his eyes are entertained. "I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot,” he states. “You can refer to me as Six.”

Given that this man is your only source of human interaction for an unknown length of time, you're willing to take the second chance. 

You reply, “Okay, Six. The right foot sounds good. We’re stuck in this house together. Let's not make it weird.”

“We’re on the same page, then,” Six observes drily, his eyes returning to his laptop. 

The coffee maker audibly spits out the last few drops into the pot, and you quickly pour yourself a cup; without speaking another word to the man, you disappear into your workspace to begin. 

               

Four weeks later, you’ve established a routine: each morning, you’d pull out the same mug, make your coffee, and wait for Six to make an entrance somehow. He was generally unable to form routines due to his lifestyle, but each morning he would enter the room from a new direction, laptop in hand, and sit. 

The first week, Six’s stealthy entrances had caused you to jump in alarm. He would be standing around the corner or appear behind you when you least expected it. On mornings when you’d slept well, you’d laugh. After that first time, Six started to kindly apologize when he scared you.

He didn’t speak much outside of a “Good morning,” unless you spoke first. Forcing an intimidatingly attractive man who doesn’t want to speak to do so was nerve-wracking. Sometimes you felt too shy to talk to him, but some mornings you were brave enough to ask him how he slept, or what he had planned for the day. He'd always respond with the fewest words in a courteous tone, but you found his patience in indulging your questions somehow charming. 

Six started to find the morning routine oddly compelling. He enjoyed watching you drink from the same mug, the same amount of coffee, and make the same well-mannered smile at him. Technically, it was something mundane, calm, and normal - but not to him. To Six, this was fascinating. He knew that letting himself enjoy the company of another person, however silent he remained, was dangerous for his psyche, but this wasn’t a permanent job - he could be reckless short term.

             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One Friday evening, you send out a week’s-end report to your company then wonder what you’ll do for the next two days. You’d spent the past three weekends working. It’s not a major problem considering your average time off was spent reading or watching your favorite movies on rotation, but you could go for a normal conversation with normal people tonight. 

Unfortunately, you’re not able to leave the house unless approved by Six, and you’re pretty certain that will never happen. He had been nice, but distant and a touch paranoid. Maybe you’d work for a couple of hours to get ahead instead - then you’d be able to go home sooner. 

You stand from the computer in your lab, powering it off. Exiting the room, you’re nearly run into by Six as he leaves the kitchen. 

 “Oh!” You exclaim. “I’m sorry.” 

You’re not surprised by the sudden butterflies in your stomach. He may be reserved, but his physical appeal was impossible to ignore.

"It’s okay,” his arms had gone up automatically to grab your shoulders, but he drops them before touching you. “I’m sorry, I normally hear you.”

“Huh?”

“I usually know exactly where you are because I can hear you. You’re not very quiet.” He speaks without a hint of scorn, but the accusation offends you.

“Of course you can hear me. This is a small house and we’re the only two people in it.”

“You don’t seem to hear me,” Six argues, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He pulls out a stick of gum and pops it in his mouth.

“Because you do your best to scare me to death at every opportunity,” you chastise.

“Scaring you to death would defeat the purpose of my being here."

You have no retort to that, so you brush past his sizable shape and laugh, “Touche.” 

You squat in front of the shelf beside the TV. If the only person you’ll get to be around is Six, you might as well try to make friends.

“Want to watch a movie?” After passing little pleasantries for a month, you figure it’s a normal enough thing to ask him.

You hear him question from behind you: “It’s Friday night; you don’t want to go somewhere?”

“Am I allowed to?” You don’t look at him.

“Not without me.” 

“As much as I’d love to go on a date with you, Six, I think I’ll just sit here.” 

He doesn’t respond, and you hear nothing, despite straining to make out his footsteps. If he is still there, you refuse to turn around and give him the satisfaction of knowing you regret your words, so you try to focus on the movie.

It becomes obvious that he did leave at some point as you hear the water running in the hallway bathroom to your right. You feel your body relax. 

When the movie ends, you pick up a book and retire to your room. As you close the door, Six leaves the bathroom in only a towel. He doesn't see you as he walks toward his own room. His bare back fills your vision despite the distance, and you find yourself staring. He's built powerfully. His smooth skin is broken on his left arm by a jagged, discolored scar. 

You inhale sharply at the visual representation of the kind of life he lives, and his head whips around at the sound. You slam your door shut, praying in vain he didn't perceive you. 

He stares at your now-closed door, one eyebrow raised. Did you just gasp at him being half-naked? Maybe you weren't expecting him to be there and he scared you again. Six decides to ignore it. Or to try to.

Trying to forget the moment yourself, you pull up some music on your phone and lay across your bed, your hands rubbing your eyes. Your phone’s low-quality speakers mean the Bonnie Tyler song you choose isn't loud enough for your liking, but it's so nice to hear something other than silence that you sing along. You sit up and start folding some of the clothes you'd washed the previous night, still singing along. 

A quick knock startles you into standing.

He never talks to me after I shut my door, you're curious as to what he wants and you hope it's not to tell you to stop ogling him.

You move to the door and pull it open cautiously. He's fully dressed in a gray t-shirt and sweatpants. You focus your eyes above his neck, but that doesn't help the blushing, either.

"What's up?" You successfully sound casual. 

"I can't hear."

"Can't hear what?"

"Myself think," he gestures toward your phone as the last notes of the eight-minute song begin to fade.

He just can't let me have a single shred of pleasure. Your embarrassment abruptly changes to frustration.

"Can't imagine there's much to hear," you snort. Then you grimace, reminding yourself again it's his job to be alert. You cover your eyes with one hand, "I'm sorry. That was not nice." 

But he laughs one, short chuckle. He actually laughs, and the shock of it has you drop your hand to gawk at him. He has a nice laugh; it's soft, ironic-sounding. But he isn't explicitly smiling. It's almost as though the sound escaped him at gunpoint. 

"Alright. Continue," he allows with an impassive wink, turning away from you. He leaves you standing there gaping after him.

A wink? What the fuck? This man's getting off on flustering me. When he shuts his door, you swear he's hiding a smile.

You can’t quite pin down your feelings. You’re not afraid of him, but he makes you nervous. Though he’s unsociable, you can see there's something soft behind his professional mask. Maybe it was the gentleness of his eyes or the warmth he unwillingly emanated, but it was impossible not to like him. 

Periodically, if he felt secure enough, Six would sleep during the night. He was able to get by with five hours' sleep, and he often took that around lunchtime, but tonight he'd let himself rest. After all, this contract was a farce. There'd been no credible intelligence; your company was paranoid. Six could get behind that, but after a full month with no issues, he was confident he'd be able to sleep.

Of course, he kept his laptop on, flipped multiple alarms, and set a timer for every hour. His reputation wasn't for nothing.

He sits on his bed, wondering why he knocked on your door. Yes, he could hear you - you honestly were not quiet - but it wasn't bothersome. Six found himself relaxing at the noise, at the knowledge that another person was nearby, untroubled.

Your openness, even your petty irritation at him, was fun. You were genuine, natural around him. Most everyone treated Six only two ways: with respect or fear. You treated him as if he were an average person. Was that why he found himself paying attention to you?

Six decides that he doesn't want to know why he sought you out, and he lies back, falling asleep nearly immediately.

                   

You spend the weekend alternating between watching movies on the couch and walking laps around the acre of land. It's boring, so you start working again late Sunday evening. While bent over your desk, you hear a rap at the door.

"Yeah?" You call, unwilling to walk away from your task.

"Are you staying in there much longer? You're typically in bed by now." 

"Oh, shit, what time is it?" You ask rhetorically as you pick up your phone to check. Eleven-thirty. "Uh, yeah, I'll head to bed."

You organize your materials for tomorrow, then open the door to see Six, arms folded, waiting for you. 

"Are you gonna escort me to my room safely?" You tease him, offering a conspiratorial eyebrow raise.

"Would you rather I got you there unsafely?" He rejoins, his brow imitating yours.

"I'd rather not need anyone to get to my room, but I guess I don't have a choice."

You traipse through the living room. You make it just past the couch before it hits you that he hasn’t done this before. 

"Why tonight?"

"Sunday Special," he deflects.

As he walks you the few paces down the hallway to your bedroom, you feel faint heat against your lower back, then a tingling sensation at the base of your spine. It feels almost like someone is touching your skin. Brushing it off as anxiety, you slip into your room and away from Six. 

"Okay, job well done. Goodnight, Six,” you remark, shutting your door without looking at him.

He makes no noise, but you can almost feel the nod of his head.

One of the cameras had failed. The other four were fine, but Six was nothing if not proactive. If someone was sneaking around, he needed you in your room. As soon as you are out of harm’s potential way, he pulls his weapon. 

Six carefully sweeps through the building, checking corners. All clear, he steps out the back door, utterly silent. The malfunctioning camera was the one overlooking the driveway, but if someone had knocked out only one camera, they likely expected him to check there first. He tediously makes his way to the front of the house.

Above the front door, pointed at the ground, was the camera. A small feather clung to the broken piece of tech. Six looks around for the poor bird who must’ve smacked into it, but finds nothing. He reaches up and unhooks the camera. He’d need to either repair it or find a new one. 

Satisfied you and he were not under attack, he returns inside. He won’t be going to sleep tonight; his body will remain alert. He begins to tinker with the camera, already looking forward to his afternoon nap. 

                 

Several days later, after having had to stop exactly zero intruders, Six feels comfortable enough to continue sleeping overnight. It’s a treat he enjoys too infrequently, and he wakes early Friday morning with energy to spare. He ventures out into the kitchen, enjoying the sun’s rays creeping over the trees. He retrieves his laptop and sits at his usual spot.

Having slept badly, when you walk into the dim room, you're startled by the shape of a man at the bar. Then you notice his profile silhouetted by the sun, and you exhale in recognition.

"I should really just expect you around every corner, shouldn't I?" 

He raises his eyebrows at you in jest and shrugs, “Might be best.”

His elevated mood lifts your own. Your smile lights your face. If only he could be this relaxed all the time. You breeze past him to your coffee pot to continue the morning ritual. 

Waiting for the machine to brew, you turn, leaning against the counter, and tilt your head toward the window.

"It's not a bad view, huh?" 

"I have noticed," he says honestly.

Though that sounds nearly sarcastic to you, to Six it's another slip in his exterior. He doesn't often get the chance to enjoy something for its beauty, but he has been taking full advantage lately. 

Your workday is long, but you take a break near lunchtime to find Six seated where you'd left him. You grab an apple from the stocked fridge, then pull a clear glass from the cabinet. In the shiny reflection of the stainless-steel fridge, you notice Six's head tilt to look at you. You fill the glass with water from the tap, then turn and set both items in front of the curious blonde. 

"What's that for?" 

"You. This is food and water." You grin. More seriously, you wonder, "Have you eaten? I don't think you have." 

Six was typically excellent about fueling his body, it was his livelihood as well as his life, but you were right, he had neglected it this morning.

He blinks for a moment, unsure what your angle is. "Why- are you giving it to me?" 

"Because I can," you state. "I didn't poison it." You smirk at him and make a face like maybe you should have. 

"A poisoned apple would be cliche. I'm sure you have something more creative in mind for me." He examines you, his eyes shining.

You can see his lips fighting a smile. It makes you want to try harder; you need to make this man lighten up.

"Nah, I need you, Six. Who else would I not talk to every day?" 

Six licks his lip and shakes his head in defeat. He huffs a short laugh, and you chalk up a victory. 

You slap the counter and cheesily announce, "Alright, see you around." 

The weight of his eyes on you as you leave the room makes you feel giddy. 

Been a while since I've had a crush, you laugh to yourself. From his wit to his patience, his profound eyes to his muscular build, Six makes your stomach twist.

Six is left sitting in turmoil. Why did you care? Do people normally look out for each other like that? He'd done it for his brother, often making him meals, but that was a close familial bond. Six is essentially a stranger to you, despite the month of small talk and close quarters. Worse than a stranger, he was a tool, a product… wasn’t he? Six feels something shift in his chest. A tiny pull, like a bond creating itself. He does his best to push the thought away.

You wake the next day much later than usual. After showering, you leave your room ready to spend the day similarly to last Saturday. As you exit the hallway into the living room, however, the housekeeper is walking out the front doorway.

"Hey! Good morning," you call, excited to see another person. "How are you?" 

The youthful-looking man acts flustered, but answers in an accent you don’t recognize, "I'm fine, thanks. You?" 

"I'm great. Do you mind me asking your name?" 

"Ma'am, I was told not to speak to the residents here. I hope you understand."

"Oh! I'm sorry to have put you on the spot, then." You feel deflated. 

"I restocked the pantry and the fridge, and the kitchen is clean," the kid reports. 

"Thank you. Can I offer you anything?" 

"No, ma'am, I'm on my way out for today." 

You thank him again and let him go. You're hidden away so thoroughly that you're not even allowed to speak to other people. The depressing thought makes you seek out your only source of relief.

You find him in the garage, messing with a black, foreign-looking car. Though the sunlight from the open garage door makes you squint, you notice he’s wearing a dark t-shirt and tactical pants today. Six makes your heart spasm when he looks up to greet you.

Goddamn him, you swear internally like it’s his fault you’re attracted to him.

“Morning,” his voice is rough as though he hadn’t spoken in a while. Probably not since the last time he spoke to you.

“Morning. Is this yours?” 

“It’s technically the house’s. ‘In case of emergency.’” He explains, disappearing from view as he leans into the trunk.

“Oh. Is it bulletproof?” You joke.

“Yeah,” his voice is muffled.

Your brow shoots up. Is he serious?

His head rises from behind the trunk lid. His eyes are full of amusement.

“You’re fucking with me,” you accuse. 

Laughing, you walk around the car, knocking on the windows. You can’t tell.

He chuckles once, then slams the lid. It echoes in the concrete space. Six walks around the opposite side of the car, so tall that the vehicle barely comes up to his ribs. He leans his forearms on the roof, hands clasped, looking at you.

“The windows in the house aren’t normal glass, either,” he smirks at your innocence. He doesn’t tell you they’re not completely bulletproof. He figures they’re close enough.

For your own health, you’re ignoring how seductive he looks propped against the car. 

Changing the subject, you tell him, “The housekeeper was here a moment ago.”

“He’s not just a housekeeper,” he corrects but doesn’t expound. 

“Ah. Okay. Is anything around here exactly what it looks like?” 

He turns his head to look out the garage door.

“You are,” he says after a moment. “I am.”

You tilt your head, "You know what - that's absolutely true."

"I have a question. Can we quit listening to 80s music?" He taunts. He must've heard you again last night.

"We don't. I listen to it, and you invade my privacy." You whip back. 

"Once you're singing over sixty-five decibels, it stops being private and starts being a neighborhood nuisance."

His left cheek pulls upward, and he shifts onto one elbow. The movement causes a lock of hair to fall onto his forehead, and you're disarmed - unable to form the scathing rebuttal you want.

Smiling, you do your best, "Well, the neighbors can fuck off. I've got to do something to stay sane."

You know you're barely loud enough to be heard. He was just hellbent on giving you shit for it and you had to admit, it was kind of funny. 

Your stomach growls. "Are you hungry? I’ll make breakfast.”

“It’s 11 a.m.” 

“... and I’m going to make breakfast.” You walk inside, directly into the far side of the kitchen. 

Six follows a few minutes later, shutting the garage door with a click. You’re in the middle of breaking eggs into a mixing bowl when he sits at the table - a rare move for him. He can’t see you well from this seat, and that’s intentional. He keeps his focus on the acre outside.

“Do you want any?” You call to him.

“No, thank you. I'll eat later.” 

You wonder why he’s sitting in here with you. You make extra, just in case. When you’re finished cooking, you sit at the bar to eat, feeling on edge about sitting at the table with him.

Six takes the hint and gets up to leave the room. As he passes the stovetop, he sees you’ve made him some anyway. His heart tugs at him once more. He changes direction and picks up the plate.

Without looking at you, he murmurs, “Thank you.”

You smile warmly, “Anytime.”

He takes the plate to his room.

                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That evening, as you curl up in a couch corner watching a mindless TV show, Six sits on the opposite end. You're cold but feel too awkward to grab the blanket from Six's end of the furniture. Feeling his mood, you wait for him to say something first. He never does. After several minutes, you break.

"Were you lonely in your room?" You rib him.

He looks over at you, and you meet his eyes with a quick grin. He shrugs.

"You get used to it," you tell him.

You look back at the TV and rub heat into your upper arm with your left hand. Maybe I should get up and turn the ceiling fan off.

He scoffs. You? Lonely? Compared to him? Then he thinks about it for a moment and realizes you haven't contacted anyone since you've been here. 

"You don't have people waiting for you to come home?" He means family, friends, anyone.

"Nope. I got nobody." You say it with lightheartedness, though it makes you sad.

"I got nobody, too." He mimics your phrasing with a frown. 

You turn to him again with a smile and offer, "Well, we can be nobodies to each other."

Six's mouth twitches and his eyebrow quirks up. You feel a rush of heat, embarrassment. 

But then he makes a soft, pleased grunt and he hands you the blanket.

               

That next weekend, in the kitchen, you find Six shuffling a deck of cards. Curious, you make a face at him.

"This was how we passed the time in prison." He begins laying out a game of solitaire.

There's so much about his statement that makes you sad, but you ask the obvious question: "Prison?" 

"I was in prison, yes."

"Violent offense, I assume?"

"Yes."

"Was it deserved?"

"The crime or the punishment?"

"What you did," you clarify.

"I thought so. Still think so." 

Needing nothing else answered, you climb up on the barstool next to him and take the cards. You pick up the few he'd already laid out for solitaire. You weren’t letting him play cards alone.

"Have you ever played 'War'?" You shuffle the deck and begin to deal.

He hides his astonishment at your nonchalance. He'd never told anyone who didn't already know. But to you, it wasn’t a surprise. Your employers had been sure to tell you they’d hired one of the most elite assassins. You’d never expected that person to have lived a privileged, easy life. And you'd always been an excellent judge of character - Six's character was as solid as they come. Whatever his crime had been, it was justified. 

"Yes, I've played War. Good way to get into a fistfight." He says, thinking of his long, terrible eight years.

"I could take you," you lie. 

Your challenging look is met by his intense eyes, and he grabs his dealt cards.

"Loser has to make dinner." 

"Deal," he agrees.

Later that evening, you stand at the stove top, cooking dinner for the both of you. After he beat you soundly in War, you'd insisted on a rematch, but he'd won a second time. Losing somewhat graciously, you told him you hoped he liked poorly made food. You weren't a good cook.

He'd done a perimeter check after that last game, but he was back in his favorite spot now, leaning forward on his elbows. As you flitted between the cabinets, the stove, and the pantry, he watched in near-awe. He didn't care how bad this food tasted. Watching you make it was enough. He didn't think he'd ever get used to how pleasant domesticity was. 

As you walk past the stainless-steel microwave, you realize it's reflective enough to see behind you, and Six is currently hyper-focused on you. The fierce look in his eyes sends butterflies soaring in your stomach.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Six is just bored. The poor man hasn't seen another woman in over a month. Of course he’s going to look at the only available one.

You plate the food, setting one in front of him, for which he thanks you sincerely. You take your own into the living room to escape the air between you two. You flip the TV on, hoping for some background noise to distract you from Six. It works as he remains in the kitchen. After finishing his food, he washes his dish, then retrieves yours and does the same. 

"Thank you, Six," you swallow thickly. 

"Mhm," he grunts. 

Why does the energy between us keep changing? 

"I have some things to do outside," he reports. 

Oddly relieved, you cheerfully tell him, "Okay, have fun."

He glances at you with a look you can’t identify, then exits through the patio door.

We're both going stir-crazy. 

After changing into a tank top and pajama pants, you figure the decanter had been left lonely for too long. You down a couple of shots and put a movie on. This time you pick something you're only vaguely interested in, knowing the alcohol will do the work for you. 

You hadn't seen Six since he walked out, but you know he's somewhere nearby. You'd love to offer him a shot, but it's hard to imagine him being willingly impaired.

After a few hours, another glass, and a consecutive movie, you stretch out on the comfy, tan couch. As you lay there, you feel the waves of drunkenness rocking you to sleep. 

You're awoken by a masculine voice calling your name. Your eyes crack open to see Six standing over you.

"Six! You wanna shot?" You sleepily propose despite having stopped drinking yourself hours earlier.

His voice is decisive, "No, thank you. Are you planning on sleeping out here?"

"Maybe. 'm I allowed?"

"No," he asserts.

"I thought we were friends, now," you grumble, glaring.

"We're nobodies, remember? And I'm not sitting out here all night making sure you don’t puke," he clears his throat to disguise a laugh.

"Why not? It'd be like a sleepover."

You snuggle down into your blanket and try to find unconsciousness again, but you feel his hand on your shoulder. Your stomach lurches - not from the alcohol, you're barely tipsy now - and your eyes fly up to his face. He's never touched you. 

He attributes the blush spreading across your face to the alcohol.

"Don't make me carry you," he tries to threaten, but the idea sparks an evil grin on your face, so he repeats himself, "Don't make me do that." 

His jaw clenches at the knotted pit forming in his stomach. Deep down, he wants you to make him.

You sigh dramatically. "Why can't you leave me alone out here? Is it really any less safe than my room?"

"Yes, actually." He doesn't elaborate. "Am I going to get to sleep myself or am I gonna stand here arguing with you until dawn?"

"Okay. Fine. So demanding," you sit up and fold your fluffy blanket as his hand retreats. 

He sighs. His biceps jiggle when he crosses his arms tightly.

“You really can’t stand me, can you, Six?” Your voice is sultrier than you intended. You look up at him through your eyelashes.

You watch with confusion as he blinks and swallows hard. He doesn't move or look away from your pouting face. His body heats up as he valiantly fights the temptation to look down your tank top. 

Shaking off his lack of response, you stand, and step over to the entertainment center. You then bend to turn off the TV. When the screen blackens, in the reflection, you see Six’s head cock to the side, then snap away from you.

Was he just checking out my ass? No way. I'm drunker than I thought. God, I'm a lightweight now.

Since you’re inebriated, you decide to push your luck, so you turn and brush your fingertips across Six's forearm as you walk by him, murmuring, "Goodnight."

You’re almost to the hallway when you hear his husky voice.

"’Night, sweetheart." 

Your theory is confirmed. You must be absolutely black-out drunk because there was no possibility Six called you "sweetheart." You curl up and pass out almost instantly on your bed, laughing at your love-sick, impaired brain's desire for him. 

Was he drunk? Six's jaw clamps shut as soon as the word leaves his mouth. He'd never called anyone a pet name. He didn't even know he knew any. He had been headed to bed, but now he couldn't face laying there in the dark with his thoughts. Six walks out the front door, intent on performing unnecessary checks. His thoughts follow him anyway. 

He's not sure what's happening to him. Six isn't going soft, he's still hyper-alert, still deadly. But he is softer, somehow. When he looks at you or thinks of you, he feels a protectiveness that has nothing to do with his paycheck. He feels like he could be happy if he could just keep looking at you.

And really what was the point of being freed from prison if he didn't take every opportunity to live before he died? He could allow himself to feel an attraction to you, as long as he didn't name it. As long as he didn't act on it. Six decided he wouldn't fight this, but he also wouldn't encourage any feelings from you. He wouldn’t drag you into this. He would let himself have a friend - no more - if only for a little while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, you keep your ritual. You have no hangover despite being sure you’d drank too heavily the night before. As you reach for your mug, your fingers brush empty space. It's missing from its place in the cabinet. Groggy, you take a better look around you, and you blink when you see the mug next to your coffee pot. 

Weird - did I leave it out yesterday? Hm. Must have. 

The telltale squeak of the barstool echoes in the quiet room. 

Without turning, you greet him, "Morning, Six. I hope you slept well." 

"Oh, you can hear me now?" is his fond response. His tone makes your heart skip.

"I'm sure you're just being louder for my benefit."

A chuckle leaves his lips. You aren't wrong. 

Six watches you brew the coffee, imagining what it’d be like to have this view forever. He knows that’s a concerning thought, and he knows he’s torturing himself. It doesn’t stop him. It feels too good to let himself believe this could be his life, just for a moment. In some alternate universe, he could have a wife who loves him, a home, simple mornings, and peace. Six wants to imbibe as much of this as possible.

You finally turn after filling your mug. You peer out the window, but it's still relatively dark outside. Instead, your eyes dart to Six. He's focused on his laptop, so you freely admire him. Your gaze trails over him while you stir your drink.

A white t-shirt clings to him just enough to build pressure in your core. Since he's seated, you can't see his lower half, but you're sure it's some slacks that fit him perfectly. His hair is coiffed as usual, but his facial hair is scruffy. He looks good. If you were honest with yourself, you'd fuck him right there on the counter.

Six didn’t notice every single time you looked at him, but it was close. He didn't know why, but he marked each glance he caught. And right now, he could feel your stare as if it was a physical weight. The pleasure it gave him was electric, addictive. This base desire was easier to understand than the others you made him face, and he felt slightly more comfortable imagining it. This feeling could be partially alleviated.

Six would never act on his desires with you, though. You were under his authority, his protection. You had seen only one other man in over a month. He was new to the strength of these feelings, but he wasn't stupid. You were bored and lonely. He was more lonely, and he'd already let you in further than anyone else. That would be a problem. No, he would be content to let himself bask in your skin-deep attentions and your kindness, but he wouldn't torture either of you with physical complications.

During the silence, while the two of you thought about the same thing, the sun rose, casting you in a golden light. Six's back was to the window, but the sunshine catches his blonde hair, illuminating it. At the same time, both of you smile at each other - yours much larger than his, but no less genuine. He watches as your smile fades into your eyes, and you wet your lips. Nerves tighten in your stomach, and Six sees your throat constrict. Despite the distance between you, your eyes fall to his mouth. His do the same.

Registering the spark in the room, Six abruptly stands to avoid ignition. 

"Have a good day," he offers quietly. He heads toward his room, toting his laptop.

Too shocked to reply, you stand there staring after him in the morning sun. 

Holy shit, what just happened?

Over the next month, your morning routine is kept mostly the same, except your coffee mug is nearly always next to the machine when you wake. Six is civil, friendlier than he was at first, but you feel a wall returning. It's clear he's keeping some kind of boundary and you respect that. You could use a friend, and he does his best to be just that. 

Throughout the month, there are times he finds you seated on the couch and sits with you. He doesn’t speak much, only answering your questions or agreeing with a comment you make about a movie or TV show. It’s the bare minimum that you both need, but it’s not fully satisfying for either of you.

It settles in your mind that you want to tell him you care about him. Platonically and in the most casual way possible, of course. You get the feeling he’s never had someone to look out for him, and that makes you sad. 

On the last Friday of the month, you find the courage to say something. He’s seated on the opposite end of the couch, as far as he can be, in companionable silence as you let a comedy play. 

“Six,” you begin, your heart already racing. But as you look at his profile, you fizzle out. “Are you hungry?”

He turns to you, face grave. “As long as it’s not the rubber chicken you made yesterday, yeah.” 

“Well, maybe you should cook for a change.” Would you ever not be trading jabs at each other?

“I do cook,” he argues.

You roll your eyes. “Mac and cheese from a box for a week straight does not qualify as cooking.” 

“You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s all I’m paid for. Special cuisine is extra.” 

He’s joking, but the reminder of the nature of your relationship makes you cringe. You’ve let yourself grow far too attached to the handsome, quietly witty man, and knowing there was an asterisk on your friendship causes you more sorrow than you thought you’d feel. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One sunny morning, as you sit on the patio step, your ever-present coffee mug on the ground next to you, Six joins you. He doesn’t sit, instead, he stands behind you. Overlooking the valley, you ask him random questions that pop into your mind. You’re putting pieces of him together while trying not to pry any further than you know he'd like. 

"Favorite candy? Besides gum," you add at the same time he answers.

"Gum. Oh, Skittles," he edits.  

“Shoe size?” You turn to look up at him, shielding your eyes from the sun.

His lips twitch, “Eleven. You gonna buy me a birthday present?”

“When is your birthday, Six?”

He hesitates before responding, and when he does, you’re not sure it’s the truth. 

“November 12th.” 

You nod once and move on. "Ideal vacation?"

"A quiet beach." 

“Favorite song?"

He's stumped on that one, "I don't think I have one."

"What about a favorite band? Or a singer?" You ask more generally.

"Hm, Bonnie Tyler." He declares, a gleam in his eye. 

You laugh, "You're trying to rile me up, but I bet you probably are a fan of 'Holding Out for a Hero,' aren't you?" 

He quirks an eyebrow at you so you explain, "She mentions Greek mythology," you gesture at his left arm, "and I know you love the Greeks." 

You pause, then sing your own version of the lyrics to him, markedly offkey, "You're my streetwise Hercules -” Breaking off quickly in laughter at yourself, you bend forward to hug your knees. 

You're no longer looking at him, so you miss out on the way his cheeks fight a brilliant, natural smile. You miss the way he loses and has to turn away from you to let the adoration color his face. And he misses the triumphant shutter of a camera in the distance.

               

The following day, Six is surprised to feel his phone vibrate. Few people had his current number. 

Heard you got that cushy contract? I suppose you deserve it after saving my ass so many times.

Ah, it’s Denver, Six knows immediately. Not one for texting, Six leaves the message alone. The less he says about you the better - even to someone Six could almost call a friend. 

He mulls over the phase ‘cushy contract’ and frowns. Six was now two and half months into this job, and he knew it would be coming to an end soon. Apparently, you were making good progress because your employer had notified Six they’d be terminating his services shortly - probably at the end of the month. 

Two weeks until you were gone. Now that he understood exactly what he was missing, Six wasn’t sure how he would go back to his isolated murderous-errand-boy status. But what he felt didn’t matter - he would be going back to the existence he’d known for nearly twenty years. 

You stroll into the common area one afternoon to see Six standing on the patio, contemplating the horizon. His gray suit is bright in the daylight, and you watch as the wind tosses a lock of hair. You take the opportunity to soak him in, to think about how much you care for him.

You open the door and walk out to stand beside him. He doesn’t move. You follow his eye line to see fluffy white clouds amidst a deep blue sky. Curious to know what he’s thinking, you clear your throat.

“You see something?”

“The same thing you do,” he gives you a tiny smirk. A breeze wafts the scent of his gum and you smile at the essence of him.

He slides his gaze along the tree line. You can hardly take your eyes off him, though. Six fascinates you. The CIA’s deadliest ex-asset was standing out here, looking like that, enjoying the countryside. He was quiet and closed-off, but he was also incredibly funny and warm.

God, what I wouldn't do for him. A surge of attraction consumes you for a moment, and it leaves you feeling unsteady. 

Oh, he probably came out here to be alone. I’m interrupting.

“I’ll leave you be,” you say, your voice catching. You turn to go.

Six’s jaw clenches, and his lips part to tell you not to go, to tell you he prefers your presence to anything else on earth, but he doesn’t speak. Honestly, he doesn’t know how to say it - and he hears the door click shut behind him.

                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks later, Six is anticipating a text from your company telling him to stand down. He’s on edge all day, reigning in his thoughts. Trying to learn how to pack the pieces of humanity you’d given him into something he could carry with him. He can’t decide if it’s best to spend time around you or avoid you. 

Six’s phone vibrates for the third time since he’d been here. Fully expecting another text from Denver or your employer, he’s stunned by what he does see.

Three photos have been sent to him by a blocked number. Each one depicts the two of you; each one shows Six exactly how fucked he is. He stares at the last one and the mixed emotions nearly buckle his knees. 

Six had never seen happiness on his own face, but there it was. You’d sang to him, made a joke as only a friend could, you’d reminded him he was a man with choices and desires. It had struck him then hardest of all. Six wanted you. He wanted you in every way a man could want a woman, and in that moment he knew he’d never be the same. 

But seeing that moment now through the lens of a threat? Six’s body kicks back into the high-alert state he’d been in for two decades. He springs off his bed, grabs his weapon, and sprints out to find you. 

Because these photos are of Six’s reactions to you, he knows this isn’t about your work. Six knows exactly who this is and why. He also knows his adversary is probably running on fumes and therefore probably weak in resources. That means Six had some time. 

He knocks on your lab door, and you call out, “Yeah?” 

“Just checking,” he assures. 

He moves off to scan his cameras, then the grounds. He finds nothing, so he retreats into the kitchen, half-facing the direction that the last photo had come from. Six works at his laptop until the sun sets. Through connections and rumors, he figures out someone (he needed no guesses as to whom) had placed a decent sum of money on his head.

His theory had been right, his foe was broke. It was obvious that the guy had poured all of his remaining funds into the bounty on Six's head. Six estimated he had roughly three weeks until a team could be expected. At least he wouldn’t be saying goodbye to you just yet.

                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The end of the third month comes and goes, and another week drags by. No word arrives from your employer. Going home had become something you no longer wanted, so your research had intentionally slowed. You spent more time outside of your lab than in. As time wore on, your mornings with Six became longer. Instead of standing across the kitchen from him, you found yourself seated next to him at the bar more often than not. 

But Six had been strange lately. His brow furrowed constantly, he was as uptight as he was when you met him. Six became strict about knowing where you were at all times. And for the past two weeks, he had walked you directly to your room at night, hand hovering over your lower back. It was a weird mixture of familiarity and distance between the two of you.

This morning, you’re both sitting at the bar in comfortable silence. You're reading while he does god-only-knows-what on his computer. You both jump when his phone buzzes and violently dances across the counter. He snatches it up and sighs.

“Next week, some extra people are going to be hanging around.” 

“What?” You’re dismayed. The private bubble that had been suspending the two of you bursts.

He has to tell you. If not the whole truth, then part of it.

“There's been a- a threat. It’s not a definite thing, but it could be a problem,” he hedges. 

The world drops out beneath you. Not only is the intoxicating time you’d had with Six coming to an end, but it’s doing so because you could be hurt. You take a deep breath, willing your nerves to go away. Your eyes close and you place your palms flat on the bar. 

Six suddenly remembers that this isn’t your life, you’re not used to life-threatening events. He slowly, firmly covers your hand with his own. It’s rough and warm; your internal monologue gets derailed.

It’s terrifying to learn that someone will try to assault you. It’s something you never thought would truly happen. However, you know your work has led you into some high-risk areas, and you’re strong enough to hold the information, to accept it. And the appreciation that the person protecting you is Six? He was everything you could ask for. 

“You’ll be okay,” he promises, his voice aimed at your stampeding heart. It’s the one thing he knows he can give you, and he feels wildly territorial. He was damned if he let anyone near you.

He reluctantly removes his hand, and you take a second breath. You’re facing straight ahead, but you can feel his eyes reading your face. 

“I know. I trust you, Six,” turning to look up at him, you find the courage to tamp down your fear. You give him a sad smile.

Your eyes water, and Six begs them not to spill over. He won’t be able to stop himself from wiping away your tears - it’s his fault they’re there. 

Your childlike faith in him jars him with a realization: he would do anything for you. If you asked, he would do it. He was wrapped around your finger, and he liked it. His heart swells. And, for the first time in his adult life since his grueling training, he's overcome. 

···

You spend the next week anticipating the arrival of the anonymous men. Six had warned you that - like the housekeeper - these men were not supposed to speak to you. 

At the same time, Six divested himself of you as best he could. Once this immediate situation was dealt with, and the contract terminated, he wouldn't see you again. Six's lifestyle would not allow him to have you, and he couldn't change it. As badly as he wanted you, Six would never ask you to leave your career, your home, your life to be with him. 

He wrestled with it, though. Six often found himself thinking of scenarios in which he could show you how he felt. Maybe after he killed Lloyd he could come back for you. Maybe after the contract ended you would realize it wasn't boredom, it was real. Maybe your feelings were as strong as his. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

The return of Six's coldness confuses you. You miss him despite him being in the next room. You knew why (or you thought you did), you knew he was being paid to be here for this exact situation. It didn't stop you from feeling rejected.

The day comes and a van pulls up in the driveway. Four large, armed men pile out. They all look similar, terrifying. You retreat to your room before they come inside.

Six greets them, instructing them in what he's had planned. He walks the grounds with them but doesn't divulge his personal plans in regards to you. Six wanted everything compartmentalized and separated. No one could know who you were or why Six was there. These are Denver's men, but Six trusts no one completely. 

Nearly a full day later, when you get too hungry to stay in your room any longer, you tiptoe to the kitchen. Your heart sinks at the empty room; you'd been subconsciously hoping Six would be at his spot. 

As you reach the sink, you hear footsteps enter the room. You turn to greet Six, but you're visibly shocked by a stocky man standing there instead.

"Is everything okay?" You ask when the man doesn't say anything. 

"Yeah, sorry. I didn't realize there was a woman here." 

"Oh," you laugh, "Well, here I am." 

Forgetting that this is not actually your home, and you didn't need to play hostess, you offer the man a drink. 

"Water? Or some whiskey? But you're probably like Six with that, huh?" 

"Yeah, naw, I can't drink on the job. Thanks though, honey. You been up here a while? You seem happy to see me." The man laughs good-naturedly. 

You continue without answering his question, "Anything to eat? We've got plenty." You wince at the way you use 'we' as if you and Six had been playing house.

"I appr-" the man is interrupted by Six flinging open the garage door. 

"Why are you in here?" His question is authoritative yet calm, and both you and the man start to answer at the same time. 

"No, you." He nods at the man. 

"Sorry, man. Should've known." The man quickly retreats outside. The patio door slams shut.

"He didn't even know a woman was here?" You put the query to Six. "Why? What'd he mean by 'should've known'?"

"His job is to watch that direction." Six indicates outward, toward the perimeter. "Not what goes on inside. I don't want anyone knowing anything unnecessary." He doesn't address your third question. 

"I'm unnecessary now?" You already know it's a catty remark.

He throws you a withering look. "They're not supposed to be inside at all. If you see them, tell me. I'll take care of it."

"I mean, okay. But that guy was nice. At least he talked to me." You mutter the last bit. 

Six has never felt jealousy, so when it flares in his stomach at your words, it burns. His eyes narrow and he strides over, stopping close enough to touch you. 

"My job is to protect you. My job is not to entertain you. I'm not paid to be your friend." He sounds frustrated; like he's been trying to tell you something.

Six is overwhelmed and conflicted. He wasn't paid to be your friend - that came naturally. And he wasn't even being paid at all anymore. The deposits have stopped and Six is still here. He can't find a way to tell you that fact, though. 

Abashed, you duck your head so he doesn't see the tears that spring up. Gravity works against you, so you look up to the ceiling, fighting the tears back. You feel lonely despite the best friend you'd had in a long while standing in front of you. 

Six's mouth goes slack. He's horrified. He just made you cry. Six had made new-widows cry, sure. But never had his words caused the tears of a woman he cared about. He feels unbalanced. Six has no idea how to process anything going on inside him.

You sigh. 

I'm the one who's pushed this friendship. He's always been honest about what this was. I can't very well be mad at him when he does his job. 

"Okay, Six. I'll stay out of your way." Your voice is hoarse.

You bolt to your room as he stands staring into space, fists clenched.

             

A few days later, you leave your lab to find an apple and a glass of water waiting for you on the bar. A faint smile pulls at your lips. You realize you've not eaten today. On the countertop is your favorite mug. Peering inside, you see whiskey. Your small laugh breaks the heavy silence in the house.

After eating, you take the mug and sink down onto the couch. The gaming console makes an electronic jingle as you turn it on for the first time. You'd been working hard, again, but your morale was poor. You were miserable without Six's easy humor.

You pick up a game controller and start to scroll through the downloaded games when you hear Six's footsteps enter the house from the garage. Your heart twinges at the discovery that you have his footsteps memorized. He trudges through the kitchen and stops in the entryway to the living room.

You stop yourself from fully appreciating him in his gray suit, but it's hard as you can see your favorite black t-shirt underneath. He sees the mug in your hand and his face becomes hopeful.

"I haven't played a video game since 1995." He confesses, now staring at the TV.

"You want to play?" Your voice cracks embarrassingly. 

He almost smiles at you, "Loser makes dinner?"

[daddycassie]

Fight or Flight Chapter 4~ 🪵🌿🔥

Pairing: Lucy Gray x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Sizzling tension, that’s it

——————————————————

The walk through the forest is long. In fact, it feels endless. The best part of the journey was the presence beside you. Lucy Gray, singing songs back and forth with the local mockingjays.

Your calves burned and you were sure hers must’ve to, but she kept up the same pace. “Lu, let’s rest for a minute.” Lucy Gray stops her singing, and nods. Despite yourself, you feel a small twinge of disappointment. She really did have a lovely voice.

“Can we have a lil snack break too?” You ponder over her question, and whether or not you two had enough food to spare. “I guess we have been walking all day… tell you what, we’ll eat once we set up camp. It’ll be dark soon so that shouldn’t be long.” You give her a gentle pat on the back, hoping to come off as reassuring.

Lucy Gray leans her face into your shoulder, “I understand.” You blush, and look away from her. The brunette was always affectionate, so you weren’t necessarily shocked by the display. However, something about her proximity made your heart beat faster.

You wrap your arm around her shoulders, and guide her to take a seat on a log with you. It was covered with a lush green natural cushion of moss. You look over the sides for edible fungi, but come up with nothing. You just hoped that Lucy Gray wasn’t too hungry.

You offer her some water, which she takes gratefully. She takes a few small sips before handing it back. You store it away in your pack again and stand up. You can’t deny the way Lucy Gray nearly falls over is amusing.

“Sorry.” You chuckled, and your friend gave you a glare. “So rude.” You smile at her words and help her up from the log. She accepts the help, and stands up. “Keep an eye out for food and water.” You tell her with a bit more firmness. “We’ll need it.”

She nods again. “Right. Wouldn’t wanna go out starvin’ in the woods.” You take her hand again, and continue walking. Lucy Gray follows, sighing softly. “Do you think we can really find a place out here?” Lucy Gray shrugs at your words.

“That’s the idea, isn’t it? I can’t guarantee we’ll find anythin’. I sure have hope though.” You notice the way she slightly falters. “What if we don’t?” Lucy Gray frowns. “We’ll figure somethin’ out.” She squeezes your hand tightly. “Don’t doubt us yet.”

You look down at your intertwined hands. The pads of her fingers were calloused and scarred. You remember stories from when she was younger, stories of how her family had struggled for a foothold in district 12 — a bunch of kids with no family besides each other. She’d play her guitar until her fingers bled just for the coins to get by.

“Your hands.” You speak, hardly even realizing you were flat out shifting the topic. “M’sorry, are they sweaty?” Lucy Gray smiles apologetically. “They’re beautiful.” You breathe. Lucy Gray’s face flushes a deep red, like the lipstick she enjoyed wearing. Once again, she laughs nervously. “Really? That’s real bold of you to say.”

You look at her brown doe-like eyes, eyes anyone could drown in if they weren’t carefully. You offer your own smile. “I guess it is. Sorry.” She’s quick to respond. “N-no! No, I like it.” You pause, processing her words when you hear a rustling in the bushes nearby. Lucy Gray seems to hear it too, if her clutching your arm in a vice grip is anything to go off of.

You pull the other girl behind you, facing the bushes head on. You weren’t exactly sure what you were doing, you had no weapon after all. Lucy Gray is on edge, and you can tell. She was scared and you had to protect her. Who else would if you didn’t?

As your anxiety heightens as something comes out of the bushes. A cat. A fucking cat. You give an annoyed groan, meanwhile Lucy Gray grins. “Oh! A cat!” She releases your arm and kneels down to the fuzzy creature.

You watch as she pets it and you cross your arms. “Gave me a heart attack.” Lucy Gray shakes her head with a snicker. “He didn’t mean to.” You kneel down next to her to watch the cat. Despite your efforts, he seems to favor Lucy Gray, rubbing against her hand.

You sigh again and stand to your full height. “We should probably keep going — unless you plan on eating the cat.” Lucy Gray gasps theatrically in offense at your suggestion. “Y/n! No!” You smirk a bit. “What? I’m starved.” You tease, Lucy Gray rolls her eyes and stands up.

“You are such an ass.” She says as she walks back over to you and reclaims your hand. You take notice of how the animal follows her. “Just a little. But you totally love it.” Lucy Gray gives a playful look. “Hmm… who was the one complimentin’ my hands again? I don’t seem t’recall.”

“Yeah yeah, point taken.” You keep walking occasionally hearing the cat meow. The day goes on like that as dusk sets in. You leading the pack while pretending not to notice when your friend feeds the little guy leftover rabbit meat. Once the sun finally sets and your surroundings are nearly pitch black, you start a campfire. As a makeshift bed, you set out some of your spare clothes and sit down.

Lucy Gray sits next to you, the cat curling up between you two. You use two rocks to crack open some of the nuts from your pouch and share them with her. You wished you’d been able to get your hands on some salt so they weren’t so bland. Lucy Gray chews one slowly, her eyes lit by the orange glow of the fire.

“I haven’t traveled out much further than this before.” She whispers. “Are you scared?” You answer, just as hushed. Lucy Gray’s eyes dim for a moment. If you weren’t admiring her face you would’ve missed it. “I think so. Is that okay?” She asks, laying down. You’re quick to lay beside her, and take her hand.

“Of course it is.” You reply with your best comforting smile and a squeeze to her hand. “This’ll be our life, and being scared when we don’t know what’s in store is normal.” Lucy Gray smiles gently. “Our life.” She echoes.

“Together?”

“Together.”

Without even thinking, you cup her face delicately, caressing her cheeks. “Y/n…?” You draw her in close and hug her. “I will keep you safe.” You speak firmly. It’s a promise and Lucy Gray know that just as well as you. You feel her lean her face into your chest wordlessly. “I know.”

You could hear the sounds of the fire crackling softly, and the cat purring between you and Lucy Gray’s legs. “Thank you. For everythin’.” You nod, and run a hand through her hair. She melts into your embrace further and it makes your heart clench with affection. “Of course.” You stop yourself from saying anything sappy.

She wasn’t your lover after all, why would you say something like that to her? But when Lucy Gray looks up at you, making eye contact without pulling away it’s so hard to resist. You want to kiss her. You realize, but don’t let a single word fall from your lips. Lucy Gray hums a tune to herself, and closes her eyes.

Before you could possibly do anything rash, you close your eyes as well. You enjoy the weight of her head on you, it was just the right pleasant amount. You leave your hand lying protectively on the back of Lucy Gray’s head, and as you drift off the last thing you hear is her humming.

This world, it’s dark

This world, it’s scary

I’ve taken some hits so no wonder I’m wary

It’s why I need you

You’re as pure as the driven snow

———————————————————

Note: I had so much fun writing this chapter, no idea where I’m taking the story in the next chapter but… we’ll see, also, what should I name the cat? ;)

[ms-nesbit]

empire records - chapter 4

summary: Jason is pestered by his family about y/n, and he finally addresses it; y/n meets someone new that causes tension between her and Jason.

rating: 18+ (no minors)

warnings: masturbation, implied content, mention of Dick Grayson and Koriand'r

ao3

previous chapter

�� Shit. ” Jason’s choked cry traveled from his shower to the rest of the apartment, muttering profanities under his breath as his cum shot from his cock. He looked down, the water from his hair dripping down his face, and saw the odd adherent liquid mixed with the water already on his hand.

He sighed, stopping the video on his phone. Jason didn’t leave the apartment for a couple of days, nor did he draw the curtains of his windows - he was so horny , fixated on the video y/n sent him days prior. Even after this being his second round, he felt the blood rush to his sore cock, thoughts of y/n’s hands between her legs flooding his tired mind.

Turning the shower dial to OFF , he ducked, chest to his thighs as he shook the excess water from his head, before standing straight. As he grabbed his towel, his phone vibrated, and he glanced to see the caller. Dick.

Fuck . He accepted the call, automatically placing his elder brother on speaker. “Hey, Jason!” the voice called to him, “How ya doing?”

“Just finished jacking off. How’s life being a pig?” Jason retorted, drying his stringy black hair with his towel before wrapping it around his torso.

“I’m not a cop anymore, Jay. We talked about this-”

Jason interrupted him. “Once a traitor, always a traitor.”

Dick stopped for a second, before responding sternly, “Now, if we were gonna go down that route, your line of thinking would mean we wouldn’t accept you after what you did, right?” Silence. “That’s what I thought.” Dick cleared his throat and dropped the mom-tone, something he learned from Kori after they moved in together. “A friend of mine was watching your…livestream, and they said you’re seeing someone. Is that true, lil bro?”

Jason found it amusing how Dick referred to him as ‘lil bro’, despite the obvious size difference between the two; in a public setting, Jason was - on occasion, mistaken as Dick’s father, and the Gotham Gazette had the pleasure of mislabeling Jason and Dick in the Wayne family photos, something Dick considered a simple mistake , whereas Jason considered it fucking comedy gold. “Yeah, that’s probably true. Why you askin’ though?”

“Well, I was talking with Kori and Tim-” fuck, Jason thought, never a good thing. “-and they both asked if you would introduce us to her-or him, I mean! There’s nothing wrong if you’re exploring yourself. We’re all accepting here.”

Jason rolled his eyes. He knows the genuinity of Dick’s sentiment, but why did a man named after male genitalia have to be so awkward about it? Irony, Jason supposes. “Listen, Dick, I know the Wayne sponsored Titans would love to see who I’m dating, but we’re taking it slow right now.”

Incoherent murmurs followed Jason’s rejection, and a brief hush that gave away Kori’s eavesdropping on the phone conversation. Jason acclimated to it though - he knew Kori’s harmless, and was more thankful that someone could withstand Dick’s late night ramblings, gassiness, and overall annoying presence. She certainly is an alien. “Okay, well. Could you at least give us their name? Kori’s bugging me about this and-ow!” A whack cut off Dick mid-sentence, bringing a mischievous grin to Jason’s face while he walked, phone in hand, to his room to change into a pair of sweats. “We just…would like to know. In case some villain tries to kidnap this person, or use them as leverage against you.”

A dramatic sigh left Jason. “That’s not gonna happen, Dickhead.” he pulled the dark gray joggers to his hips, combing his hair back with his hand as he plopped down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. “I won’t let it come to that. Trust me.”

“I know you’re strong, Jason, but we’re a family. And families don’t keep things from each other. I know you have your problems with Bruce - and I won’t interfere with that - but at least don’t block me from your life.” Dick had a point: Jason couldn’t differentiate his brothers from his adoptive dad, and it led to moments like this, where they were begging to be let into Jason’s private life.

“Okay. Her name is y/n. Y/n, uh…” he took a look at his contacts, confirming his girlfriend’s name, “y/n y/l/n. Gonna stop pestering me now?”

“Y/n y/l/n…okay. Yep, I’ll leave you lovebirds alone.” Distantly, a loud noise rang, followed by what Jason would only describe as a crashing of pots and pans (they were in the kitchen, unfortunately for Alfred), and disgruntled exclamations from multiple people on the other end.

Jason laughed and pressed the red button, hanging up the call without a proper salutation; it wasn’t as if he needed one, though - that cacophony was enough entertainment for a week.

—

Lay, Lady, Lay played on the bluetooth speakers of Vanity Records , y/n thoughtlessly bobbing her head to the tune as she flipped through the inventory sheets. For a Tuesday morning, it was rather monotonous, pedestrians walking just outside the shop with bags and friends in tow. Y/n hoped the store remained empty, so she could continue playing her favorite discoveries without interruption or complaint, but alas, it was a job, no less, so disappointment was bound to emerge from the horizon.

Vibrating in her pocket, y/n reached for her phone and unlocked it, a notification from Jason shown. She and Jay were exchanging texts and, occasionally, calls - she preferred to call him when the store was slammed, just so that she had an excuse to evade the sometimes overbearing tourists that wandered into the shop in search of an outdated artist.

While responding, the bell of the entrance rang, alerting y/n to take her morning aspirin. “Vanity Records: if we don’t have it, they’re probably thrown in the back with the rest of the used tampons and condoms.” she didn’t bother to look up from her phone screen, despite feeling a figure waiting on the opposite side of the counter.

“Good morning.” Y/n ignored it. “Oh. I’m sorry, I was hoping I could find a y/n here?”

Y/n looked up, finally, blinking back at the person across the counter. It was a tall, tan man with long, black hair, and deep blue eyes. His stance was interrogative, contrasting his insecure tone. “You’re looking at her. What’s up?”

The man’s eyebrows quirked, scanning her body captiously. “Hmm. I was wondering if maybe you could help me find an album? I’ve lived in Gotham for a few years, but didn’t think to stop by. My brother comes here quite a bit though, and recommended you for music.”

“Uh-huh. That so.” y/n replied, unamused. “Who’s this brother?”

The man flattened his palms on the counter as if placing a secret there. “Jason Todd?”

Y/n clicked her tongue, glancing at her inappropriate conversation with the aforementioned brother before replacing her phone in her cargo pants pocket. “Yeah, I know him, but he didn’t mention sending his…younger brother? Tim, is it?”

She recalled the advice Jason gave her the night before:

“You do not have four siblings.”

“/ do, actually.” Jason replied, cockiness deep in his voice. It was usually a turn-off for y/n, but when Jason showed self-confidence, she found herself aroused. “It goes like this: Dick, Cass, me, Tim, and Damian. And we have others that aren’t officially adopted, but they live at Bruce’s…it’s complicated, really.”

“Sounds like it.” y/n paused. “Wait, so is Dick the circus boy?”

Jason nodded. “He’s like, what, seven years older than me? And homeboy is shorter, like way shorter than me. So it’s funny when we’re posing for pictures because always, there’s little Dickie! And he’s like 5’5”, and then there’s me.” Y/n erupts in laughter, phone still up to her ear. “And, best part? There’s a couple of articles in the Gazette confusing us, so he’s labeled as Jason, and I’m Dick.”

Y/n curled up on her bed, cackling hysterically. The level of chaos Jason invited into her life was well-welcomed - her reaction assured him so. “Is he insecure about his height then?”

“Not really, unless you confuse him for someone else like me or Tim or Dami.”

Attempting to blink away his offense, Dick grinned. “No, although that is flattering that I appear that young-”

“Not young, just short.” y/n chimed in.

“Oh, uh, yes. You certainly are Jason’s girlfriend then.”

Girlfriend. Girlfriend? Y/n cocked her head, the title catching her off guard. “In the flesh. You into synth, birdie?”

Now it was Dick’s turn to be taken back, alias called out for anyone (yet no one) to hear. “Uh, yeah, I am. How did you know?”

“I know these things. Follow me.” y/n left her station and led Dick to a revolving rack displayed along one of the walls, fingering through a couple of CDs. She picked one and plucked it from the array, and shoved it in Dick’s hands. “Eurythmics. It includes some of Annie Lennox’s greatest hits, albeit certified bangers. Take a look if you want.” she walked back over to the cash register, the clacking of her loud, periwinkle platform boots distracting Dick.

“I think…do you accept card?” Dick asked, walking back behind y/n to the register. He pulled out a wallet with his free hand, opening it up to reveal a selection of cards and identifications.

Including his old badge from Gotham PD, which y/n eyed immediately. “What the fuck? Don’t you read?” she spat. “No animals allowed in here, Bud, and that includes pigs.”

She definitely was Jason’s girl. “Okay, I’ll pay, then I’ll make my way out.” Dick rushed, fumbling through the wallet to hand y/n his card.

She snatched it from his hand and completed the transaction, smacking the keys on the register in frustration, before tossing it in Dick’s direction, quickly crossing her arms. “The fuck outta here with ya.” and she began mock-oinking at the man, her nose scrunching and upper half leaning over the counter until Dick left the shop.

Once he was out of sight, y/n whipped out her phone, calling Jason.

“Dude, he’s a cop ?” for some reason, that was she was most upset about, despite Dick’s confirmation of y/n being Jason’s girlfriend.

“Yep. Bit of a squealer, that one. Not only because of the cop thing, but also because I slept in the hotel room next to him one time, and he was sharing with his wife, and I’ve gotta say: guy can scream. Almost made me feel things… not positive, of course - I nearly fucking puked - but y’know.”

Y/n chuckled. “He’s still dating that strong chick. Starfire, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Wow. She is so out of his league.” Y/n plopped herself back down on the mustard chair, lifting her feet to rest up on the counter. “But yeah, dickhead stopped by saying I’m your girlfriend. That shit true?”

Then, silence, followed by stumbling. “Well, I mean, uhm. Do you-I mean, do you think we’re together? Like I don’t want to rush things with you, but I’m-”

“I’m having a great time with you, Jason. As far as I know, we’re exclusive. You’re a special guy with some weird piggy brother.”

The comment broke the ice, and y/n felt Jason smiled through the phone, and the image made her smile, too.

[disco-tea]

Alright I’m going to run my mouth and dredge up soul lore again and say some things that's probably gonna annoy some people but I genuinely do think it’s true: basically trying to adhere to the show’s original soul lore is pointless and a disservice to every single vampiric character that’s not Angel. Because the thing about soul lore is it's simply a loophole for Joss Whedon’s original black-and-white mythology which was that he didn’t want complicated vampires. He didn’t want vampires with sympathetic/human traits or internal worlds. He didn’t want “Anne Rice crap” he wanted grrr arg scary monster vampires with cardboard personalities who aren’t human at all anymore. The only reason soul lore exists is because the network pushed him to add a vampire so he slapped a soul on angel and basically all the soul was ever supposed to be was a lil sticker that says Angel gets a pass to be a multidimensional character. That's it. And that’s fine and well so long as Angel remains the only reoccurring vampire in the show with any character development. But of course, it's pretty hard to do a good show full of monsters where you never actually tell us about who the monsters are or what their motivations are besides monologuing and villainously twisting their mustaches. That's what happens in season 2 when they kill the anointed one. By killing him they effectively kill the old flimsy archetype and after that we start seeing vampires with more traits and personalities and memories from their human life. Boom, out goes Angel’s soul and then eventually, Angel as well. Graveyard cemetery doornail dead. Double dead. Dead squared. And you know what, here’s the controversial part, I’m just gonna say it…even with the established soul lore…they probably would’ve let it go and actually amended it if Angel had stayed dead. But he didn’t. Angel came back with his soul and got his own show where he is the main character and that simply magnified the problem with soul lore because Angel has to be a very special boy because otherwise why are we focusing on him?? Why is he the main character if any old vampire can grow a personality and a conscience? And honestly they probably also wanted him to be the “one vampire in all the world.”Buffy but a Dude. And therein lies a huge source of back-and-forth and continuity errors and the writers having to cling to the OG lore even though the story has grown beyond it. Angel is gone from btvs and the growing narrative and overall character/lore development demands that you have to take a step back and look at the shades of gray, but also remember you can never be anything without a soul because Angel is on right after this. The universe shows us that vampires can grow and change and have a full continuity of self and that they are more than just simply the shells of humans with a demon inside, but tells us otherwise because of outside aspects. That's why I think trying to rigidly adhere to soul lore is pointless, because its not a well thought out established rule of the universe, its a massive continuity error that was never properly corrected and continued to mess up and confuse the universe because the creator stubbornly wrote himself into a corner from the start.

[thirstnotes]

| Rivals to Lovers - Clark Kent - Part Nine - No Strings Clark |

Pairings: Clark Kent x AFABBlackPlusSizedReader

Warnings: jealous Clark, Clark Kent in love, language, dirty thoughts, typos, more smut eventually, minors DNI, morally gray Clark, a little angst, thirst, mutual pining, fake dating

Ya'll, I've been both busy and unmotivated. I'm so sorry this update took so long. But I hope ya'll enjoy it all the same!

If you don't like it, don't read it.

That night was too satisfying to be real

You were deliciously sore from being in positions you hadn't been in for months

Farm boy had some moves

Sorry

Superman*

You woke to the smell of breakfast. Bacon and coffee specifically. Your tummy rumbled as you rose, running the details of last night through your mind over and over. It was a simple equation, but you just couldn't comprehend it:

Clark wanted you.

+

Clark was Superman.

=

Superman wanted you.

It lingered in your mind as you took a quick shower. What even was this? Had Clark been making a statement, or was he just horny after all the kissing, touching and pretending at class yesterday? You didn't know what to think.

Even if he did have feelings for Lois, what happened last night was clearly an explosion of shared tension between you. It was an explosion of something.

The heavy feeling of irony hit you as you walked quietly up the hall and caught sight of him standing at the stove. It felt so domestic and normal. Which was the last thing you thought a morning with Superman would be.

He didn't look up, but his lips twitched into his usual smirk as he plated the rest of the food.

It was quite the spread

French toast sticks, pancakes, bacon, eggs, donuts from your favorite bakery

It was like he was trying his best to put his best foot forward

It was kind of odd to see him so eager to please someone other than Lois

It almost made you want to forget how annoyed you were with him for not telling you his secret sooner

almost

But you weren't sweating it too much

After all, you understood why

It didn't stop you from being annoyed

But you understood

"I didn't know what you might want, so I made a few options," he said with a shrug, eyes flickering between you and the table.

So cute.

You bit back a laugh, not wanting to seem rude.

"It's...a lot. But it's fine," you half-joked, reaching for a piece of bacon. He watched your reaction quietly, pleased when you hummed in approval and took another bite.

"Sleep well?"

"You tell me," you shot back, rolling your eyes, though your small smirk betraying you. You couldn't stop smiling and you knew he noticed.

"I'd say you did, but I think that'd be bragging to some degree, wouldn't it?" he sassed, pouring some orange juice and adding it to the table.

You laughed as you sat down, a hint of hoarseness in the sound also betraying your reaction.

"Maybe a lil bit. Where'd a nice dude like you learn to use your mouth like that anyway?" you asked, feeling an ache between your thighs at the mention of his mouth.

"The truth? Eating peaches," he laughed saucily, taking a bite of a bagel.

You couldn't help but cackle at that. "Seriously?"

"Mmh. Very similar," he hummed, taking a sip of juice. He paused, as though remembering something important, and dug something from his pocket. Your phone--correction--your cracked phone, was vibrating as he handed it to you.

"Oh shit, I totally forgot," you gasped, inspecting the damage, "Thanks."

Last night was such a blur, you'd forgotten you'd even dropped it

He must have gotten it after you'd fallen asleep.

"Someone's called you three times, back to back," he said, his eyes rolling back to his breakfast, "Gonna assume it's your boyfriend."

You felt your heart leap a bit. It was unclear if it was guilt or excitement. Maybe it was the way he said it. "He's not my boyfriend."

His eyes met yours again. "Does he know that?"

You couldn't confirm to be honest, but you didn’t want him to know that. "I'm pretty sure he does. We never agreed to a relationship."

"I'm no expert, but I think tickets to Prague is a pretty solid step in that direction," he said, sipping water this time. You gawked at him with an astonished laugh.

"Okay, Mr. Man of Steel. First of all. No more using your powers to spy on me."

"Noted," he said, arms folded, smirk still solidly in place. It wasn't a confirmation that he wasn't going to, but at least he knew it annoyed you. He watched you patiently for the next item on the list and you scrounged your brain to find it.

"Second. Bruce is not my boyfriend." He rolled his eyes at that, but you continued anyway. "Even if I do go to Prague with him."

"Whatever helps you sleep," he laughed again with a skeptical snort that irked you.

“I- You know what? Why am I even explaining this to you?!”

“Beats me,” he shrugged, getting up and rounding the table. His eyes held yours as he did so, and he seemed a lot like a predator stalking his prey.

You kinda liked it.

He loomed over you, propping his hands on the back of your chair and the edge of the table, dipping in just low enough to hover just beyond your lips. “Maybe you’re getting defensive because you feel like you’re cheating.”

You looked like a goldfish, trying to find your will to argue. At the last minute, as he pulled back with his irritatingly sexy smirk, you’d found it.

“I just-It’s not cheating if I’m not dating anybody.”

He hummed at that, rounding your chair and walking over to the tv to switch it off. "You don't have to convince me. I agree. In fact, I personally feel like the further you are away from that guy, the better.”

You had to wonder why he hated Bruce so much, but you decided against asking, since you probably weren’t going to get a straight answer anyway

Besides, your mind was more preoccupied with how sinful he looked in a simple tee and sweats

“But,” he continued, sitting back across from you, taking another generous sip of water, “I support whatever you wanna do. It’s your life. Whatever you two do is your business.”

“I appreciate that,” you said, glad he wasn’t trying to tell you who you could allow in your life. Because Superman or not, he would’ve caught it. Still, the aesthetic of Clark being jealous made your body simmer with a little bit of excitement.

“That said, whatever happens between us is our business, right?”

He looked at you expectantly and you had an eerie sense of deja vu from when he'd asked you to be his fake girlfriend in the first place.

"I guess."

A chill ran up your spine and your mind raced with many curious thoughts that fought to stay inside.

A few of which had to do with whether he was trying to fuck you purely to annoy Bruce

Or if he legit felt something for you

Then again, what if it were both?

What if Bruce was making him jealous?

In the incredibly slim chance that he liked you beyond being a fuck buddy

It was stressful not knowing

"You have a question," he said, matter-of-factly, eyes lowering to his breakfast again. He ignored the startled look you gave him in favor of another bite of eggs.

"What makes you say that?"

"I just know."

That was an odd thing to hear

But it made sense considering who you were talking to

He was probably used to that kind of thing

But the fact that he knew you so intimately and said as much so nonchalantly, was kind of strange

But also kind of hot

"Okay...Fine. You're right. I do," you said, now suddenly conscious of the occasional thud in your chest. His pretty blue eyes met yours again curiously and you nearly melted. It was your turn to look back to your breakfast, which you didn't really feel like finishing.

"So is this Lois thing a lie...or did you just change your mind?"

His eyes drifted off to the side as if trying to carefully word it. "I love Lois, yeah. I probably always will," he said and you felt your heart drop a little, hopes a bit dashed.

It wasn't anything new from what you'd thought in the first place

Still, it still stung to hear him say it aloud

Even if you were sitting across from him in nothing but his t-shirt

He continued, but your phone rattling on the surface of the table startled you. Clark's eyes rolled to the side as you checked it.

"Oh."

"Bruce again?"

He gave you a look before you could even ask how he knew that and you were pretty certain that "he just knew".

"Yeah, I just. Finish your thought?" you shrugged, really wanting to hear him out. He paused, taking a deep breath.

"I just really like you," he said, the lingering pause between you making you wonder if there was something more he wanted to say. The way it made him sound like an awkward dork afraid of rejection made you tingle inside. You bit back a laugh and rolled your eyes.

Quite a bit more flustered than you let on

It wasn't LOVE

You didn't have a hold on him like Lois did

But he liked you

You had your answer

For now that was enough

Both of your priorities were clear now

He was comfortable with you like you were with him

"I like you too, Clark," you admitted genuinely. It was a relief to say it directly to him even if it was the understatement of the year.

"What did he want, anyway? Bruce, I mean?" he asked and you were finally back on track with your thoughts.

"He's gonna be in town a few days longer and wanted to know if I wanted to hang out today," was all you supplied. Though you wondered how much more he knew.

A small smirk played at his lips and he sipped his juice. "You wanna take off soon?"

He did say "soon"

It wasn't as if he were hurrying you off or anything

Which was good because you weren't in any hurry to leave

"Actually...I was thinking I could hang out with you today," you said, not really fully knowing yourself where you were going with this.

The implication didn't go over his head either. Even if this was a convenient arrangement for the both of you, that didn't mean you couldn't both enjoy it. His smile grew.

"What'd you have in mind?"

(Part 10) (Part 8)

[slutforsilverfoxes]

The Commander and I

A/N: Do y’all put yourself in the Five-0-verse at night before falling asleep or are you normal? 🙃 This is a purely selfish lil dream that’s been stuck in my head which originally started as a drabble but I thought would be cuter as dialogue. Hope you enjoy 🥰

———

“Lieutenant Commander, this is Lieutenant Wifey requesting permission to enter your office. Over.”

Steve looks up from his desk with a grin to see your nose pressed against his glass door, shaking his head at your silliness before beckoning you over to him. You’re by his side within seconds flat, crawling into his lap and curling up like a cat as his arms come to settle across your body.

“Hi handsome,” you purr, leaning up to peck his lips before snuggling into the warmth of his chest. “Missed you all day.”

“I missed you, pumpkin,” he echoes, cheek resting against the crown of your head. Your index finger absentmindedly traces over the bit of his tattoo peeking out from the hem of his shirt, and you can physically feel him relaxing from your touch. “What’d you do today?”

“Finished up my medical notes for the week, read a bit of my book,” you shrug. “Thought about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile, rubbing the fabric of his soft tee between your fingers. “Sometimes I wake up before you in the morning and just look at you and think about how beautiful you are. But not in a stalker way, in a ‘I’m your wife and I’m obsessed with you’ kinda way, y’know?”

A laugh rumbles from deep in his chest, the sound floating over your body and instantly sending a rush of warmth through you. “Trust me, honey, the feeling is mutual,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

You sit up in his lap, pressing your hands against his muscular shoulders and growing serious. “No, bubba, you don’t understand. I mean, yeah, your personality and sense of humor and all that- ten out of ten- but Steven.” He raises an eyebrow at your use of his full name. “You are literally the most gorgeous man I have ever laid eyes on. We’ve been married for almost five years now and I’m still crushing on you like a middle school girl. I need Steve-aholics Anonymous!”

“C’mon babe,” he chuckles, tucking your chin between his thumb and forefinger and gently pulling you forward for a kiss. “You only think that because you love me. I’m already going gray,” he mumbles, reflexively scratching at the salt and pepper patch on his chin.

“How very dare you,” you huff indignantly, annoyed that he just doesn’t get it. “This,” you replace his fingers with your own, running your nails along the gray dotting his scruff, “is so fucking sexy. Reminds me that I managed to snag an older, more experienced man who knows how to love me right.”

“Is that so?” he challenges, letting his hands come to rest on your waist as you turn to straddle his lap.

“And,” you press your mouth against his, drawing his bottom lip between your teeth and tugging gently before pulling back, “I love when you wear these tight shirts to work so your tattoos are just barely visible. God, Steve, when your arms flex or that little muscle in your neck works as you’re barking out orders I just-” You trail off, an involuntary shiver running up your spine at the thought.

A faint blush dots his cheeks and you scrunch up your nose at the adorable sight. To the rest of the world, he’s cocky, arrogant, headstrong, a serial rule-bender (some would say breaker) who knows how to always get his way. But with you, he’s vulnerable, open, even shy at times, and lately you can tell that he’s been feeling less than stellar about getting older. You’ll take any and every opportunity to hype up your man and make him see what you do. “Don’t even get me started on you in your dress whites, Commander,” you whisper against the shell of his ear, licking a stripe up the side of his neck and grinning as he shivers under your touch.

“What happens if I get you started?” he asks with the ghost of a smirk flitting across his handsome features.

“Then you have to listen to me talk about how sinfully good you look in uniform. All I’m saying is I’d let you board my ship any time, if y’know what I mean.”

“Y/N!”

You hold your hands up defensively, “What? It’s true! It’s the best of both worlds, cause damn do you clean up nice, but then underneath you’re all muscly and chiseled and you’ve got these tats that wrap around these gorgeously thick biceps in the most perfect way.” You try to illustrate by wrapping your hand around said muscle, marveling at the fact that your fingers are unable to touch.

“Y/N…” he chuckles softly, averting his gaze from you and shaking his head in embarrassment.

“And I love,” you trudge on, taking his hands from where they’re kneading your curves to kiss the tips of each of his fingers, “these beautiful, strong hands that can beat a man to within an inch of his life-”

“Does that turn you on?”

“Yes. Now don’t interrupt,” you bite down on his finger before continuing. “As I was saying, they can… do some damage, but they also daintily squeeze a little lemon slice into your water every time we’re out to eat.”

“Is it cliche to say my heart feels like it’s going to burst right now?” he asks, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I still can’t believe I’m lucky enough to call you mine.”

“Better believe you’re stuck with me, McGarrett,” you grin, sinking to your knees between his desk and him. Sliding his shirt up his torso, you kiss each new bit of exposed skin as it’s revealed to you, his head falling back against his office chair with a sigh. “I love every inch of you and I’m gonna show you just how mu-”

You’re interrupted by a frantic banging on the office door, and you can see a shock of blonde over Steve’s desk. “Glass. Visible. Trauma. Thank you.”

You slap your hand over your mouth, laughter bubbling between your fingers accompanied by a muffled, “Sorry, Danny!”

Letting his shirt fall back down as he stands, Steve offers you a hand to help you up before pulling you against his chest and kissing you soundly. “C’mon, Mrs. McGarrett,” he smiles against your lips, “let me take you home and show you how much you’re loved.”

[bleach-your-panties]

Kinktober Day 4💋 with Starrk Coyote

Warnings: Starrk being a lazy bastard, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, oral (female/male receiving), rimming (female receiving), penetration, spitting, pussy slap, cum eating (ofc), finger sucking, PURE DEBAUCHERY.

---

▶️wowzers - lil wayne ft. trina

▶️my neck, my back - khia

---

----

When it comes to sex-

Scratch that.

When it comes to just about anything, Starrk will choose to put in as little effort as possible. 

As his woman, when it comes down to getting busy between the sheets, you were usually the one initiating it (and carrying it out via sexual positions where he doesn't have to move at all).

Honestly, it's amazing that you two have a sex life at all, in your opinion. 

Take right now, for example:

You're situated on top of Starrk, grinding down on his thigh as he reclines against a stack of fluffy, turquoise pillows. 

"You're very eager today, angel. You're working hard on my thigh, almost like you think it's my cock or something." He chuckled deep in his throat, causing you to let out what sounded like a mixture of an excited moan and an annoyed groan. 

"Come on, Starrk. You know why I'm doing this. Night after night, it's the same routine; either I'm doing all of the work or you're getting yourself off and then going to sleep. When am I supposed to get some pleasure, huh?" 

With your frustrations out on the table, Starrk could see just how irritating and unfair it was for you to be the one putting in the most effort when relationships are supposed to be equal. 

"You're absolutely right, angel. Enough teasing, I have an idea. Move over for a sec." 

With suspicion in your eyes, you carefully moved yourself off of Starrk's strong, muscled thigh, fixing the white skirt of your uniform as you waited to see what he was up to.

The handsome brunet moved a few pillows so that he could recline at an angle with his back pushed up against them. With careful gloved hands, he slipped his pants slowly down his hips, gray eyes snapping up to meet your e/c ones, to see if you were paying attention. 

You were. 

This small gesture was so unlike him, yet at the same time it was extremely sexy that he listened to you and started putting the first foot forward. 

Once his white hakama were resting at his knees, he palmed his length through his boxers with one hand while the other rested in his chocolate brown locks. 

"Okay...I'm confused, but I'm liking where this is going…" You said hesitantly, crawling to his side and biting down on your lip as you watched him.

Another deep chuckle, "You need to get in on the fun, too, Princess. Kneel in front of me and spread your knees. You can take your panties off or push them aside, your choice." 

Although confused, you wasted no time in doing as your lover asked, pulling up your skirt and slipping your fingers swiftly into the sides of your panties, pulling them down your thighs as you kneeled in front of him. 

"Very good girl..now, put two fingers inside your slutty little cunt. Spread yourself wide so I can see.." 

Your cheeks became flushed, but you complied nonetheless, using the index and middle fingers of one hand to pull back the lips of your pussy before inserting your ring finger in down to the knuckle.

"There you go, good girl. Look how wet you are already. You're really going to like this one.." he chuckled before pulling his thick length from the confines of his underwear. 

It flopped out against his stomach, making a light slapping sound that caused your cheeks to burn even more and for more wetness to seep from between your folds. 

Starrk gripped his length in one hand and began a steady, yet fervent pace of jacking himself off while he watched you finger yourself. 

"Speed it up a little, angel. I want you to cum with me...fuck." 

The wet, slapping sounds of Starrk jerking his dick only further motivated you, along with his dirty talk. 

Your eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back as you thrust your fingers in all the way to the knuckles, then slowly pulled them back out, letting them brush against your slick walls. 

The action made you shiver in pleasure, while Starrk's dick grew harder and he pumped himself faster as he watched you. 

"Mm, shit. Are you close, baby girl? Come here, come closer to me.." 

You followed his words and crawled over to him, settling right beside his thigh. Gray eyes focused completely on you as the Primera Espada gave one last thrust and came hard into his awaiting hand. A deep moan escaped his lips at the feeling of his hot cum covering his hand. 

"Oh, Starrk...oh!" You thrust your fingers in at just the right angle, making you squirt all over your hand. 

Starrk hummed in approval at watching you make yourself cum. Carefully, he got up onto his knees and pulled you to him. 

"Look at the messes we've both made, angel. Don't you want to help me clean up?" 

A bit confused at his intentions, you slowly nodded and began to get up to grab a cloth to clean the two of you off when Starrk grabbed your bicep, stopping you. 

Chuckling softly, he moved his hand, the hand that he'd just come into, up to your mouth. 

His semen was still pooled in the middle of his palm. He offered it to you like you were a kitten whining for a dish of milk. 

You looked down into his awaiting palm, studying it, as if trying to read his fortune. 

Starrk chuckled, a low rumble coming from deep within his chest. He gazed at you with those silvery eyes, making your breath catch in your throat when he took his free hand and grasped your cheeks in an iron grip.

Four gloved fingers rested against your cheek while the thumb pressed at your lower mandible to force your mouth open.

"Eat up, baby girl…"

Your eyes widened as Starrk all but covered your mouth with his hand, making you basically drink his nut up like a smoothie.

Simultaneously, he let your face go and took your squirt-covered hand into his, bringing it up to his own mouth to suck your fingers clean.

This entire scenario was unheard of for you, but you couldn't deny how your pussy clenched at the notion of your boyfriend force-feeding you his cum while licking yours up like a desperate dog.

Once Starrk plopped your saliva-slicken fingers out of his mouth, he grinned wolfishly. Grabbing you by the biceps once again, he swung you around and pushed you onto your back.

You fell with a surprised squeal onto the mountain of pillows where he usually reclined.

Starrk wasted no time hopping on top of you; this had to be the fastest you'd ever seen him move.

"Starrk! Oh my God, wait!" 

No waiting.

The Primera pounced on you like a wolf on a bunny rabbit, teeth latching onto your neck and sucking deeply. Red splotches bloomed all over your neck like wildflowers. 

The soft material of his gloves glided along your bare legs, his hands caressing them and holding them up into the air before pinning them against your chest. Your manicured toes dangled beside your ears. 

You don't think you've ever seen him this eager, either. 

“Starrk, baby, what’s going on?”

He seemed to ignore you as he lowered his face to your sopping cunt, still wet with your release, hot and pulsating.  With him looking at you with only the top half of his face visible, you could feel your knees begin to shake in anticipation.

“What does it look like, little one? I’m about to eat this pussy like a man starving.”

Your eyes bucked, making Starrk chuckle darkly before completely burying his face in your cunt.

And eat he did.

His stubble tickled your asshole while his lips latched on to your labia. He suckled along your thick folds,  running his tongue up, down, and all around them before suckling your throbbing clit in between his lips.

Your body was now folded literally in half; Starrk got up on his haunches to hover over you while eating you out. He wanted to be able to see your beautiful face twist and contort in pleasure.

You managed to gain enough sentience in your hands to reach for his silky chocolate locks, fingers threading through them and massaging his scalp as your soft voice let out continuous cries of his name.

"Uuughhh, Starrk!"

"Mmm, that's right, angel. Say my fucking name." 

Pulling back from your wetness with a long, languid drag of his tongue, he let your cum and saliva gel together in his mouth before spitting it back on your desacralized pussy.

"Ohhh!" Rough, calloused fingertips joined his brutish tongue in rubbing and pulling at your pearl, making sure that it was covered in enough lubrication to ease his rough ministrations on it.

"God, Starrk, I'm going to cum!" You wailed, thighs beginning to vibrate uncontrollably. 

Starrk took the back of his hand and slapped your pussy. The soft cotton of his glove lessened the blow, but it still sent a pleasant shock to your core.

"No you're not. Not before you take my cock in this fluttering hole, Princess."

His tongue rolled from the top of your clit, down through your folds, and circled around your tight asshole.

"Starrk! STARRK!"

He kept swirling his tongue on you and before he knew it, your back arched off the pillows and you were squirting all over his face.

"Oh, fuck." His eyes widened in surprise and he leaned back slowly.

"Damn, you came that quickly from me licking your ass? Should've done that ages ago."

His smirk was nonetheless enticing as he regarded you, your fluids leaking all down his face.

With a shuddering breath, your back collapsed onto the pillows.

"Fuck, Starrk…that was amazing."

He just chuckled and moved in to kiss you on the lips, now covering your face in your own juices and letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"Yeah, angel? I'm not done with you, yet."

You were about to protest, when the Espada grabbed hold of your hips, making your mini-skirt fly up your waist to your abdomen. Starrk maneuvered his rock-hard cock into your pussy and wasted no time setting his pace: deep and rough.

He angled you up further so that you had to wrap your legs around his waist and squeeze them tightly.

Babbled moans of "oh yes", "oh God", and his name tumbled from your lips like a waterfall, making him grunt and moan softly in response.

When he tired of this position, he flipped you over and started giving you backshots, just as hard and rough as before. He made you arch by resting his palm down on your lower back while his other hand gripped the fabric of your skirt and bunched it up for leverage.

Hot, wet sounds of skin slapping skin echoed around the somewhat large room, as well as the sounds of your combined moans.

"Fuck, gunna cum, angel. Gunna fill this sloppy pussy with my nut. Can you take it all for me?"

You moaned something that sounded like yes and that gave Starrk all the initiative that he needed to let off right in your slippery, abused hole.

"Fuckkkkk, yes. Here, get up. Turn around." 

You moved promptly to get up on your knees and take his cock into your mouth.

Starrk clenched his teeth together and growled as he watched you begin to suck him off while he was still cumming.

"Fuck, shit, Y/n. Such a slutty little mouth. Goddamn."

You sucked him clean of your combined juices before popping him out of your mouth and falling down onto the pillows below you.

Starrk joined you immediately, pulling you to his chest with one arm wrapped securely around your waist.

"How's that for something different, unh?" He breathed deeply into your neck, nibbling at it softly.

"That was amazing, Starrk. Who knew that you could fuck like that?"

He laughed into your neck and then kissed it.

"You know there's a reason that I'm the Primera, and it's not just because of my strength."

[stabbyfoxandrew]

I know you're a voltron lover ny friend so which fox would be which paladin and why?

okay so i got this ask like as soon as i woke up and i was like HUH bc i forgot about last night :'))

after some consideration, of the monsters:

Kevin would be Shiro, Neil would be Keith, Nicky would be Lance, Andrew would be Hunk, and Aaron would be Pidge. (none of these assignments has anything to do with shipping purposes. like i'm not saying neil and nicky would be klance? i just wanna make that clear?)

Anyhow you can think otherwise, i don't mind! But to me, these just make sense.... I will explain myself below.

long, sort of insane ramble under the cut. you have been warned.

Kevin is the slightly older mentor to Neil (the shiro to neil's keith) who is very traumatized by his time with a Bunch of Evil Shits and has gray hair and had his hand (arm) ruined by the enemy! He learns and grows and tries to make his team the best it can be. He never wants to stop until the ravens (galra) are defeated! He's scared bc he's far from home but he's brave as hell anyway! Braver than he should have to be, he's just in his 20s. PLEASE GIVE THIS MAN A BREAK (and also he's separated from his bf. ik kevjean isn't canon but let me make this connection anyway bc they're canon to me)

Neil is the hotheaded asshole who actually sorta wants to be friends with people but has the social skills of a raccoon who was shoved into a trash can and shaken around for, oh, ten years or so. He looks up to Kevin, wants to be like him, but knows he could NEVER fill his shoes! And he doesn't want to! He wants to help Kevin, not be Kevin. (getting the quote wrong for sure but the 'one of us should make it and i want it to be you' kinda mindset is so keith? keith literally almost died to KEEP EVERYONE SAFE!!!! LIKE NEIL'S STUPID MARTYR ASS)

Nicky is the sweet, funny one who cares deeply about everyone and who gets the least consideration from the rest no matter how he tries? (the man willingly moved away from his family (ERIK) to take care of people who don't give a shit about him (supposedly), like lance who was taken from his family to fight to save the world? like... come on.) he's unapologetic about who he is and tries to get along with everyone, for the most part. but he has no problem biting back one someone starts smth. (ie. his beef with Seth and Allison) He is misunderstood, bc while he's outgoing and friendly he also has another side that's just straight-up Traumatized. Like... he's not all jokes. He's just hiding behind them.

Andrew is is strong and is largely a Protector. People misunderstand him because of things outside of his control, by this I mean Andrew is 'evil and crazy,' but it's because of the drugs that he's on bc he was fiercely protective of his cousin. He cares about his people and wants to protect them. (Like Hunk is rightly scared and Andrew acts apathetic, but they do care. That's the important part.) I'm not saying Andrew has a secret heart of gold and he's a Sweet Lil Cinnamon Roll or all the shit people used to say about Hunk (bc let's be honest, making the fat brown character into a uwu baby is rage inducing) but he cares. OH ALSO THEY BOTH HAVE A FEAR OF HEIGHTS!!!! (or hunk did at the beginning anyhow!) Also this is unrelated but I think Andrew would enjoy having a bayard. It could turn into lots of different knives? sign him up : )

Aaron is green. (i was gonna leave it at that to be funny but that would be mean to aaron) So... Aaron is Andrew's everyone's annoying sibling who's actually really smart but also is a dumbass at the same time. He's got ulterior motives to be there. (Aaron plays exy to get his education, Pidge is part of voltron to find her dad and brother.) And Aaron is going into the medical field which is science related, thusly... assigned green paladin by Moi.

Anyway, it just fits. I could probably go into even more detail but I'd rather be dead than discuss this show at length bc I'm not a really voltron fan. I love the characters and the first three seasons. that's where it stops for me. the rest of the show makes me wanna die. lol i couldn't even tell you what happens after s3. i've blocked it all of that shit from my memory. :')

ahhh sorry for this novel. i just apparently had a lot of thoughts. i was gonna go and do the upperclassmen as well but... this is too long and they're not my Pookies so.

(ps: sorry this is so badly formatted. i didn't feel like making it look nice :'))

[signedmio]

Saw that you were doing hh matchups and I'd love to request one!!!! (I have literally no idea how to format this 😭😭 Sorry for ant typos btw!!)

Gender and preference: I'm a trans demiboy who uses He/It/They + some neos >:3 Pretty sure I'm Gray AroAce but I'm also like only interested in men the few times I experience attraction to real people (and fictional characters but like- with them as long as they're not minors there is a 50/50 chance I'll simp) I love other hyper dudes and people who will listen to me infodump and someone who isn't afraid of talming because tbh that makes me think that they think I'm annoying. I love sarcastic people who have a similar sense of humor to me.

Looks: I kinda just wear whatever I grab as long as it's comfy and clean. I usually wear sweatpants and hoodies. My hair is brown, short, and absurdly soft. Like it legit feels like fur and I usually only shampoo it and occasionally put conditioner in it wtf. I have blue eyes and a lot of the times accidentally doing that 'blue-eyed stare' (according to my friends apparently). I'm also a lil' chubby but not a lot (it's also usually hidden behind my rlly baggy clothes).

Personality: I'm a dirty minded fuck but absolutely almost entirely despise the idea of doing anything beyond cuddling. I'm sarcastic af and I'll sometimes accidentally overstep boundaries that I didn't see as clear and I'll feel rlly guilty about it. I absolutely hate pet names (unless someones gonna call me stuff like 'good boy' or anything like that) I'm also a coyote and dog therian. I love to draw and read and I will rant about my hyperfixations until my mouth is drier than the Sahara desert. I don't forgive easily and I'd rather convince myself that I hate someone and I was in the right rather than forgive someone. I'm super hyper like constantly and I'm practically bouncing off the walls 24/7 but this causes me to be an insomniac and melatonin doesn't work so it'll get so bad to the point where I'm practically falling asleep every five seconds even when I'm standing or walking. I have a more dark sense of humor but I try not to say anything really bad.

Bye!!! ^^

this was a tough choice, but I ended up going with…

Angel Dust !!

Angel is more than willing to listen to you yap, as well as actually engage in the conversation, so do not fret about that!! haha

This may be a surprise, but he doesn’t mind the fact that you’re not into physical touch, cause to be honest, neither is he. Considering how much he’s been used in his industry, it’s a bit of a break for him

Sometimes he can’t help it with pet names, but he does try to use the ones you really like, but he may or not default to his usuals haha