#my stomach is full of worms

[sfa2fin]

Mr.dream doodle

Hey pooks haven't drawn you in a bit

WAIT ENMU NO DONT DRINK THE MONSTER

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

im going to be siiiiick

[gourde]

I can't fully explain it but there's a certain writing style that all classic books are written in that makes me go insane. Where EVERYTHING is written using large powerful words, makes other scenes lose their meaning. When every scene is describes using pretty words, things LOSE THEIR EMPHASIS! All the scenes blend together. I could not tell you SHIT about The Left Hand of Darkness other than the word queer was used in it's original meaning but holy shit I could go off about Gone by Micheal Grant ALL DAY. Fucking LOVE that book series.

[hobisexually]

x

[hyunebunx]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ' late night moments with skz !

⁺ 𖹭 . genre: this is just sleepy fluff <3 some of the boys get kind of emotional.

⁺ 𖹭 . a/n: happy binnie day!! <3 to this day, these are some of my favorite hcs i've ever written so i hope you enjoy! (early morning moments with them right here <3)

𝜗୧ chan 𝜗୧ - 2:34 am

“Do you think Berry misses me sometimes?” He mumbles into your lap, voice full of sleep as you gently massage his scalp. Looking down at him, your eyes soften when he hugs your middle and hides his face in your stomach which prompts your other hand to begin tracing his features softly.

“Of course, she does, baby.” Chan almost purrs in response and your heart melts at the sight, managing to contain the sudden urge to squish his cheeks together. “Remember how excited she was the last time you visited? She was jumping, running around you and never left your side the whole time you were there.”

A moment passes and then two with no response from your boyfriend and that’s when you realize, by his even breathing, that he finally fell asleep.

You smile and lean down to plant a sweet kiss on his forehead, whispering a sincere I love you in his ear, not stopping your massage.

Sleeps like this, in your lap, until you’re sure he’s asleep for good before you slowly move him into a more comfortable position and wrap his whole body in a blanket burrito.

𝜗୧ minho 𝜗୧ - 11:59 pm

“Hug me, I’m cold!”

You hear him groan before he turns over to face you, grumbling under his breath as he envelopes your body in a big hug and begins to squeeze the life out of you. All out of love, of course.

“Better now?” “Minho, I can’t breathe!”

Doesn’t let go but does tilt your head up to look into your eyes and the love you see as you stare back almost has you in tears. A sleepy smile makes its way onto his lips and that’s when you manage to loosen his grip by wiggling into his arms, wasting no time as you begin to plant open-mouthed kisses all over his face.

His smile widens until giggles escape him, loving the way your lips feel on his skin as he lets you do whatever you want until you’re satisfied. When you finally reach his lips but don’t linger for as long as he’d like, instead kissing them repeatedly while also giggling, he takes matters into his own hands and kisses you deeply while still keeping the initial softness of your previous ones.

𝜗୧ changbin 𝜗୧ - 3:47 am

You toss and turn in the sheets for what feels like the millionth time before finally giving up with a frustrated sigh. “Binnie, I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.” The response comes instantly and you sit up on your elbows to find him staring at the ceiling, visibly exhausted. You frown, scooting closer to hug him by the middle and rest your chin on his chest.

“Everything okay?”

Your soft voice prompts him to let it all out, to rant about work and his daily struggles at a fast pace that you can barely keep up with. When his voice quivers, you look up and plant comforting kisses on his neck and jaw, one hand gently massaging his chest through his nightshirt.

When he’s done and his speech slows down, Changbin moves to hide his face in your hair, muscular arms wrapping around your body to bring you closer, almost like he wanted to morph your bodies together. Being one with the love of your life sounded great right now – to be able to take all of his pain and discomfort so that he’ll always be happy and healthy was something you dreamt about often. Unfortunately, until that was possible, you hoped from the bottom of your heart that what you’re able to do right now is enough.

𝜗୧ hyunjin 𝜗୧ - 1:08 am

“Forget worms, would you still love me if I was a deadly shark?”

Hyunjin looks up from his phone, flabbergasted, just to find you already looking at him. He’s silent, waiting for you to elaborate but when you don’t, he sighs and gives in. “Darling, what the hell are you talking about?”

You roll your eyes, cuddling closer as you place your head in the crock of his neck to inhale his comforting scent. His arms pull you closer instantly, phone long forgotten. “This hypothetical situation, Jinnie, is critical for our relationship. Please take it seriously.”

Is confused the whole time as you ramble on and on about your ‘hypothetical situation’ that at some point, having had enough, he just turns his back to you and gets comfortable on his other side.

When you follow him and throw a leg over his body, continuing on while drawing patterns onto his back, he swiftly turns around to hover over you, pinning you to the mattress. Your eyes meet and for a second, you think he’s going to kiss you until your dream is shattered as he begins tickling you mercilessly instead. A tickle war starts that leaves you both breathless and laughing well into the night.

𝜗୧ jisung 𝜗୧ - 1:56 am

“When you’re away and I miss you, I spray this pillow with your cologne and cuddle it as I would cuddle you.”

Jisung’s eyes widen slightly as you speak against his lips, the lingering sadness in your tone pulling at his heartstrings in an unpleasant way. You’re face to face, staring lovingly at each other while talking in hushed voices about everything that comes to mind.

He knows that at this time during the night, he gets all soft and mushy but he wasn’t expecting to cry this soon. You were so good to him, his own angel on earth that would wait for him for as long as it was needed. You deserved so much better.

Gently cupping your cheek, you lean into his touch and close your eyes in contentment, and he bites his tongue to stop himself from crying. “I’m sorry, baby.”

His voice is shaky so without a word, you cuddle closer, burying your head in his chest and holding him tighter while also kissing his covered chest. “Sorry? Sorry for what? Don’t be silly, Ji. Your love makes all this waiting around worth it every single time.”

𝜗୧ felix 𝜗୧ - 4:02 am

“Wait, what? She said that to you?” Felix asks, voice loud in disbelief as the hand that was combing through your hair stops momentarily.

You nod, looking up at him from where you’re resting your head, on his abs, the bare skin warm and soft under your touch. “Yes! I have receipts, hold on.”

As you scramble out of bed to get your phone from where it's charging, Felix can’t help but smile as his eyes are completely focused on you and nothing else. He always thought you were the most beautiful like this – bare-faced, with your hair slightly messy and missing that furrow between your brows that appeared during the day.

Vulnerable and oh-so cuddly during the late hours of the night, and early hours of the morning you sometimes spent with him, talking, kissing and laughing until the sun rose again to announce another new day.

When you came back to bed, Felix was resting with his back against the headboard and the position allowed him to pull you flush against his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind as you showed him your phone. It was the domesticity he always craved for which he hoped would never end. That you and him like this never ended.

𝜗୧ seungmin 𝜗୧ - 12:32 am

Taking another peek at the bedside clock, you can’t help but sigh as the red digits glare at you, almost mockingly. You’ve been in bed for hours now and you’re still as awake as you were back then too. It was infuriating, and you were this close to actually crying in frustration.

Almost as if sensing your low mood, Seungmin turns on his side to face you. “Everything okay?”

You shake your head and bury your head in the warm pillow. “I can’t sleep, Minnie. Will you sing to me, please?”

His arms come around you to bring your back to his chest, successfully luring you into being the little spoon, which to be honest, you didn’t mind one bit right now. He places a kiss on your cheek, and with one hand softly massaging your hip, he starts humming. Not a lullaby, but one of the group’s title tracks.

When you glare at him over your shoulder, he grins and stifles a chuckle before starting to sing a proper lullaby. Just as suspected – his dreamy voice does have magical powers and you’re asleep in less than five minutes. Or maybe it's the way he holds you so closely and the occasional kiss on the top of your head that does the trick. Either way, you have to let Felix know asap. He owes you 20$.

𝜗୧ jeongin 𝜗୧ - 11:45 pm

“Blanket thief.” He complains, however, there’s no real malice in his tone as you roll around into a blanket burrito and leave him completely exposed to all the monsters that come out at night, laughing loudly.

You don’t see him, but he rolls his eyes, trying to appear annoyed as he hides his growing smile. “Come here, baby, let’s share.”

When you shake your head no, still giggling in your pillow, Jeongin takes matters into his own hands, literally, and lifts you up by the waist to trap you into his tight embrace, which causes you to shriek and laugh again. He soon joins in and your laughter fills the tiny room as you begin wrestling for the blanket.

“Come on, be reasonable, there’s enough blanket for the both of us.” “No.” “Y/n.” “But Jeongin, the monsters – “ ,“I’ll beat them up! Now, come here!”

Somehow, he manages to convince you to share and you fall asleep cuddling while watching youtube videos, with his soft voice whispering sweet nothings into your ear. But during the night, he still ends up uncovered and because he’s petty, he pretends to fall out of bed and says that the monsters got to him because of you and your selfish nature he can’t help but still love so much!

[orionsangel86]

I watched X-Men 2000 tonight. Yup the Deadpool and Wolverine brain worms got me - at least for a little while - so I figured I'd rewatch the old movies that I havent seen in over a decade and have basically forgotten entirely at this point.

You know what really stunned me? Even more than the slow pace, serious tone, actual dedication to telling a coherent and interesting story with layers of meaning and social commentary attached to it, as well as a sincerity that's been missing from most superhero films since the MCU was born (thanks Josh Whedon).

Nope, what shocked me most was this:

This is a perfect specimen of a man. Look at him. He's gorgeous. But look at his chest? His arms? He's muscular, he's pretty well toned, he's hairy. He's definitely got a six pack - but it's nicely covered by a healthy layer of fat. His skin is plump, he has a bit of squish to him. He'd probably be great to hug (Jean Grey certainly gives him a good squeeze lol).

When he sits down he looks like his stomach will roll just nicely. Like a stomach should.

I know my point here is obvious. It's just that scrolling the Deadpool and Wolvering tag is basically 50% "oh they definitely fucked in the Honda Odyssey" (yes lol) and the other 50% is just horny posting over Wolverine's topless scene like the entire site suddenly adopted Deadpools horny brain.

I gotta give props to Hugh Jackman for his dedication to turn himself into an actual comic book character - because that's what this new movie does. It gives us a comic accurate Wolverine in practically every way (except for his height lol) the suit is amazing, the cowl was a joy to see brought into live action. The body too though was straight out of a comic book artists male power fantasy.

What I wanted to emphasise was that this:

Is extremely tough on the human body. What I wanna know is how long he starved and dehydrated himself for before filming this scene? How long before they shot this did he last drink some water? Because damn that must have been tough. The oil and the lighting probably help further emphasise the muscle, vein, and sinew definition. It's probably similar to how body builders prepare before a show.

Nothing about body building is healthy though. So in the coming weeks as the whole entertainment industry rides on the coat tales of this movies success, and everyone goes crazy over Hugh Jackmans physique, please don't feel pressured into thinking that his 2024 physique in the movie is remotely realistic - or realistically attractive. Like I get the fantasy sure, but come on. I'd personally rather lie on a cushioned bed than a concrete floor.

Deadpool may disagree with me, but he's a masochist lol.

Oh and whilst I stand by the shade I threw at the MCU above, I think Wolverine's different physiques in the movies is a good standard of comparison for how much superhero movies have changed. Because when superhero comics first started getting adapted I think a lot of the choices made were about how to bring them to live action realistically and believably and the attitude was to try not to make them look ridiculous. The first X-Men movies definitely do this.

It was about bringing the comics to life in a way that fit in our world. But over the years, as audiences got more and more used to comic book movies the movies became more and more like comic books and less like a realistic adaptation of a comic book. Does that make sense? So as the movies attempted to bring the comics to life in a way that was less realistic and more comic accurate, the demands on the actors to sculpt their physiques to meet the standards of comic book art became normalised.

I think Deadpool and Wolverine is the MOST comic book accurate of all superhero movies made in the past 2 decades. Half the time the images from the movie look like they could be literally pulled from the pages of the comic books. The story is convoluted and stupid, the plot is barely there and is full of gaping plot holes and elements that don't fit any past stories. The action is ridiculous, extremely fast paced, gratuitous, and violent to a hilarious level. But it's so entertaining, joyful, exciting, and laugh out loud hilarious throughout.

It reminded me a LOT of my attempts at reading through the Deadpool comics (I've read a lot of them but no where near all of them).

To sum up this rambling message with multiple points, I'll say that Deadpool and Wolverine is a really fun movie that I thoroughly enjoyed, but make no mistake there is nothing real in it at all. It is almost literally a comic on screen. Don't expect anything more than that and you'll enjoy the experience.

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook is one of your greatest fears and you’re his achilles’ heel.

idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / fluff, angst / word count: 4.1k

content/warnings: i love you i want us both to eat well T_T sigh. oc has abandonment issues pls protect at all costs + oc is worried bc jk is working so hard :( + a worm (???) cameo. ily protective and hopeless romantic iw!jk <3 the ending 🥲💔 this drabble literally goes 📈📉

> in which masterlist!

note: *insert my melody mugshot scene* me if planting puzzle pieces in my drabbles + making oc cry (IM SORRY) were a crime. this was sm fun writing <3 i cried and laughed they’re so precious </3

—

“jungkook, baby?”

your silky voice fills the quiet apartment as you pad across the floor. you’re carrying your heeled mary janes by its straps, leaving you only in your white socks.

“babe?”

you frown as the seconds pass and you receive no response from your lover. there’s no music playing, no rustling somewhere in the kitchen or the living room. the lights are dim like they usually are, but the vivid colors are absent.

him? asleep at 9pm? jeon jungkook? it can’t be, but you’d be delighted to finally see him resting early if it was real.

and so, spurred by that tiny glimmer of hope, you carefully crack the bedroom door open, as if you’re fifteen again and you just came back from sneaking out of the house.

but you’re grown now; you live in a building with complete strangers for neighbors. you just got home from work, and you’re no longer used to sleeping alone because you share the bed with another person.

you find it empty. devoid of any creases, sign of life. as neat as a hotel room’s make believe that no one lived there until two hours prior.

the disappointment weighs down on your shoulders, causing them to drop.

he didn’t tell you he was going somewhere else after practice, you think to yourself as your lips permanently shape into a pout. what happened to going out with you for dinner?

agreeing, your empty stomach grumbles angrily.

maybe he got caught up at work. maybe he’s on his way home. maybe he’s on his way to the restaurant and he’s about to text you to come over. maybe he forgot about your plans and he’s having dinner with somebody else.

whatever the reason is, you’re too lazy and tired to whip up something edible on your own. with or without him, you’re going out and you’re stuffing your mouth full with rice and meat. after all, autumn is here, your dear old friend.

in search for a coat that will accompany you in your late-night stroll, you enter the walk-in closet and flip on the lightswitch.

you can count them with just your fingers— the amount of times you’ve felt this type of fear. absent eyes, melting spine, chills running to the top of your head down to your fingertips, mind racing with an overload of thoughts (it appears as a blank page, the same way that white is the presence of all colors of visible light). this fear… you associate it with impulsive mistakes, fire, police and ambulance sirens, and… empty closets.

jungkook’s side of the closet is empty.

clothes. shoes. bucket hats. beanies. belts. everything. gone.

but the floor is scattered with random pieces of clothing that look like they accidentally fell while someone was in a rush to pack them all in a bag. so in a rush that they didn’t even bother to pick them up.

your weak knees almost give way, but you force yourself to stumble backwards until your back hits the doorframe— you refuse to let yourself look like you’ve been carelessly discarded too.

not again. not again. not this goddamn vicious curse you thought you’ve already broken out of. not. again.

you blink away the tears threatening to spill as you scramble to open the zipper of your bag, but they spill anyway when your shoes clatter to the floor. you flinch at the thunderous sound, clutching your phone tightly against your chest. you keep your eyes closed throughout the defeaning silence that comes after.

the empty space mocks you. it knows your intricate design was not meant to live in an empty home.

you guess nothing much has changed. you’re still afraid of jungkook and his power to take away the sun, just as he did before, and you deeply despise being afraid. you don’t like it when the walls are closing in on you, poisoning your mind into believing that you’re small when the heart inside your chest burns with a fire brighter than that of the damn sun.

anyone would be foolish to leave you; it’s only jungkook who could have you mourning the death of the garden you’ve given the past five years of your life to.

—

jungkook returns to the apartment half an hour later. despite the long, grueling hours of dance practice he nearly didn’t survive, the excitement vibrating through his body is manifested through the lightness of his movements. he’s finally seeing his lover for the first time today… awake.

when he brought his natural body warmth along with him to the bathroom this morning, you sunk yourself further into mattress, beneath the thick blankets and against the soft pillows. by the time he had to give you your obligatory goodbye kiss before he leaves for work (or else you’d sulk about it for the rest of the week), half of your face has been hidden from sight. he was only able to press a loving kiss on your forehead, and then your eyelids that were fluttering as you dreamt.

night time comes and he is still deprived of the sight of your beautiful face? he somberly wonders as he finds you slumped over the dining table; he swears that there is a dark rain cloud hovering above you. your arms are thrown over the hardwood as they serve as a makeshift pillow for your vessel— his little firefly curiously bleak.

“baby? are you sick?” he asks, voice dripping with concern as he tenderly rubs your back.

the legs of the chair screeches against the tiled floor, neglectedly pushed behind.

“kook?” you manage to choke out, frantically sitting up once your muddled brain registered the familiarity of his touch on your bare skin.

his heart drops to his stomach as your tear-stained face comes into view. this isn’t how he envisioned your greeting; it usually came in the form of a bright light not harsh as the sunlight, a softness that begs to be held.

“are you crying?!”

your reply only comes out as a pitiful whimper. he stumbles a step backwards when you unceremoniously jump into his embrace, wrapping your arms over his shoulders. he gets a whiff of your sweet perfume, and then it becomes the air that he breathes, but he doesn’t have much time to revel in it.

“baby!”

he squeezes your waist taut against his body, affectionately nosing at your cheek before giving you a kiss. “did something happen? tell me- tell me.”

“jungkook,” your voice cracks as you utter his name, sounding almost like a plea, and then an endless string of heartbreaking sobs comes out muffled against his shirt. “where have you been?”

this sends him into a state of panic. seeing you in pain— it’s his biggest weakness. after all, you are his achilles’ heel.

“why? why, why, why?” you’re weak and pliant as he pulls your arms down, collapsing against his chest when he envelopes you in his embrace. he cradles your head in his palm, soothing you with gentle pats and shushes. “shh, shhh- it’s okay, i’m here now. everything’s okay, you hear me?”

his efforts prove to be fruitless, because you only seem to cry harder as he slowly rocks your bodies back and forth.

you shake your head, hands attempting to hold on to the back of his shirt to regain sensation in your limbs, but they miserably fail and fall on the sides of his hips.

“talk to me… please, mhmm?“ he hums quietly, pressing his soft lips to your temple. “tell me what’s wrong and your boyfriend will take care of it.”

from your sniffles to your hiccups, you remain unable to form any coherent response, and it leads his imagination to construct the worst possible scenarios. he feels his stomach turn with uneasiness, jaw clenching as he carefully pulls away to meet you eye-to-eye.

“did someone touch you? hurt you?” he spits out with urgency, and the unparalleled care he displays puts you in a daze, simply dumbfounded as he strokes your face. “huh, baby? just tell me and i’ll take care of the rest.”

now that you’re being reminded that jungkook could quite literally kill a person with his bare hands if they ever inflict harm on you, the fog is clearing up and you feel so incredibly… stupid.

but that’s more the reason why it’s difficult not to be sensitive when it comes to him; his absence proves to be lethal.

“shit, you’re scaring me.” he breathes out shakily as he taps your cheek lightly to bring you back to him, the distant look in your eyes triggering the emergency alarms in his head.

he unconsciously licks his lips and he tastes your tears; he doesn’t want anybody else to ever come this close.

“okay, okay- let’s put that aside for now. what do you need? should we go to bed and rest instead?”

“i thought you left,” you whisper as you hang your head in shame.

he blinks at you in confusion. “to where? my flight isn’t until next week, baby.”

fantastic! now you sound like the most dramatic, clingiest bitch to ever grace the planet. you bury your face in your hands to hide the battle zone between your heart and mind, but your boyfriend seizes your wrists because he can’t bear another second of it.

“is-is that why you’re upset…?” he asks with not a trace of malice or ridicule. he is only filled with guilt as it dawns on him then— how you’ve only gotten used to always having him around four years into your relationship, when he was taking a break from work.

the changes in his life are also changes in yours, but they still affect you in many different ways.

“then just come with me. i’ll make it work. maybe we can extend for a bit, spend an entire day by ourselves- there’s a lot of museu-”

“i thought you left,” you repeat yourself, exposed and vulnerable, vision swallowed by the darkness because you can’t make yourself look at him. “your clothes… they’re gone, and i was calling but you… you weren’t answering my calls so i thought…”

“my clothes?” he exclaims, eyes going wide as he realizes that they’ve accidentally slipped from his mind. “ahh, i thought about cleaning the closet while waiting for you so i moved everything to the other room!”

you open your mouth to speak, but much to your chagrin, no words come out. you purse your lips as your chin wobbles— the new wave of tears in your eyes mimic shiny crystals.

“____!”

and at the stern mention of your name, you know that you’re about to receive a (loving) scolding from your boyfriend. your lips curve into a frown before a sob inevitably escapes past them.

“why would you think that? why would i leave you? that doesn’t make sense at all, does it…?”

you shake your head, hugging him so tight, possibly tighter than you’ve ever done before. between your bodies, his heart is being unbearably wrung.

“i’m sorry, baby. seeing you cry like this breaks my heart…” he closes his eyes with a heavy sigh, resting his cheek on the side of your head. “but why would that be the first thing you think of…? i must be doing something wrong, right? have i been too busy with work? am i neglecting you?”

you’re breathless, a little dizzy— bloodshot eyes meeting his that are now gleaming with sadness. “no, it’s not like that! i just panicked, i couldn’t think straight.”

“are you sure?”

he looks at you skeptically, scanning your face.

“baby-” his voice breaks, then he pauses with his gaze still trained on you. “okay, i’m sorry. i… should’ve thought about what cleaning the closet would look like.”

“i was just being stupid.” you give him a small smile, rubbing your eyes to chase away the burning sensation. “sorry for scaring you.”

“stop, you’ll hurt yourself.” he tuts, pushing your wrists aside to cup your face in his hands, much gentler in comparison to your own self. his thumbs draw shapes on your soft skin, and then out of the blue, he curiously squeezes one of the space buns on top of your head. “wow, this is so pretty?”

“huh…? oh, thanks.” you mumble, still feeling out of it.

“this, too.” the white silk ribbon wrapped prettily around your neck, he means, which he hooks a finger on to tug lightly. it matches the lace straps on your shoulders that falls across the underbust of your dress, tied together to form a ribbon in the middle of it. that makes two, so clasically you.

and while it may be partly true that he’s trying to lighten the atmosphere, he just can’t defy the urge to express his admiration for you, even in a situation like this. he’s perpetually love-drunk.

“thank you.” you nod, shyly looking away to sniffle. “but you’re the reason why my makeup is ruined… need to wash it off before we go.”

“you’re beautiful either way, baby.”

“i know.” you scoff. “would you date me for five years if i wasn’t?”

he releases a throaty chuckle, capturing your lips in his with a smile of endearment that he fails to subdue.

“you’re so fucking cute. i love you-” he says with merely an inch of distance between you.

he grunts in melodramatic anguish, overcome by the insensity of his affections overflowing past the brim of his very being, leaning so close that the edge of the table digs into your lower back, surely to leave a temporary mark.

and he carries on to kiss you so many times that you lose count; you can only melt as you collect them in that bottomless pocket located somewhere in your soul, where all the love you’ve received across lifetimes is recorded to prove i was once here.

“i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you. i’m never leaving. you’re stuck with me and bam forever.”

if the time comes that the two of you break up, who would bam come home to? jungkook stubbornly refuses to have that conversation.

however, you still can’t let go of something, and you pout as you shove him lightly. unsurprisingly, his strong build doesn’t budge at all.

“but why didn’t you answer my calls?” at last, you gain enough energy to complain, but your face grows hot as the urge to cry returns. “i mean, what else was i supposed to think?!”

jungkook is struck by yet another lightning.

may the heavens have mercy, he’s been making you angry more than usual lately.

“shit, i forgot. i turned off my phone.” he mutters under his breath, feeling extremely regretful that he was not reachable when you needed him most to be. “i wanted to focus only on you tonight. what do they call it again…? leaving work at work?”

he winces guiltily.

“i’m sorry. maybe it wasn’t a smart idea.”

“no, i like that.” you almost interrupt him from talking because of how fast you are to brush off his apology.

he makes a mental note of it— the way you’re gripping at his shirt in small fists. you’re tense and overwhelmed; you need him to stay close.

“leave work at work. focus on me, and let me be your rest.”

unbeknownst to you, jungkook bites back his tears then. after all this time, he still gets mesmerized by the tenderness that naturally governs your every word and action; he thinks that he needs you more than you need him.

—

“just eat, baby. i’ll cook the meat for us.” jungkook coos at you as he cuts more meat into bite-sized pieces using a pair of kitchen shears.

“okay, then i’ll make sure that you eat.” you grin excitedly, dragging your chair closer to his.

you set down the tongs, grabbing your chopsticks to pick up a cooked piece of pork belly from the grill. you don’t forget to blow on it, mindful of burning his tongue.

of course, you don’t want to hurt him, but it would be especially painful for him as a singer.

“ahhh-” still busy with cooking, jungkook opens wide at your cue, catching the meat in between his teeth.

“rice,” he demands as he chews.

you scoop up rice from your bowl, and he devours it happily as he continues to flip the strips of pork belly lined up across the grill.

“mmhmm, it’s so delicious!” he dramatically says out loud. his eyebrows are knitted together and his legs are bouncing under the table, tell-tale signs of him enjoying the food.

witnessing this kind of reaction, any chef would be happy to slave away in the kitchen to serve him a meal. you recognize it in the smile of the owner after jungkook ordered more side dishes, and the way he dashed through the door to reduce the waiting time.

“yah, feed yourself, too!” jungkook chides you after you feed him meat three times in a row, but with an open palm that catches the juice that drips from the kimchi, you still tap your chopsticks against his lips. he spares it a glance before catching it using his tongue.

“i am!” you then rush to wrap a piece of pork belly in lettuce, dipping it into ssamjang before stuffing it into your mouth.

“good job, baby.” he grins in satisfaction, rubbing your back as praise. this makes you preen. “make sure to eat lots, got it?”

but then you’re back to spoiling him rotten, this time with an egg roll. so far, he has only touched his own chopsticks twice.

“i just told you to eat first!”

you glare at him, pouting. “but you worked so hard practicing today and you haven’t even eaten properly yet.”

he is too busy with work, and it’s not news that you’ve been worried sick about his health. it’s difficult to watch him work himself to the bone, but no one truly has the power to stop jungkook from doing what he wants, sometimes not even himself. and you find it impossible to fault him for it when you know that everything he does is done out of love. from the vigorous vocal and dance lessons, and to the deep cleaning of the apartment because his baby has been developing an allergy to dust.

“you need to make it up to your body. here, please?”

he loves being loved, jungkook thinks to himself as he eats the egg roll whole.

—

you were already prepared to go home after dinner, but your night owl for a boyfriend insisted on going on a walk at the park because he wanted to, and you quote, ‘see you awake for a little while longer,’ or whatever the hell he meant by that.

with his tattooed arm protectively swung over your shoulder, you’re engulfed in a wave of nostalgia. for the first two years of your relationship, before you started living together, you only met with each other at night, save for the very rare day-offs that he got. the only places that are still open after midnight are nightclubs, fastfood chains, convenience stores… and well, parks.

and he would always hold you close like this to make you feel safe, and the rest of you melts away while the side of your ribcage that he is pressed against remains to shelter your heart. on the contrary, you also remember how your bodies used to be so tense. you wanted to sacrifice more sleep and to walk to the other side of the park, of the street, to that other convenience store five blocks away because this one didn’t have the flavor of ice cream you wanted, anything… just… anything so you could be with each other ten minutes more.

and it was cold. it was always cold.

“what do you mean ‘it exploded’?”

“it seriously exploded! it was on fire! that’s why i went out to buy a new extension cord!”

“jungkook, it’s because you plug in too many things at once!” you cry out in frustration, your steps becoming heavy stomps. “i told you to stop doing that!”

“what do you mean? if it has six slots, doesn’t that mean six devices is the maximum?” he continues to stubbornly defend himself, and you can only hang your head in defeat. “otherwise, it’s a scam!”

“it is a scam! see…? they made you buy a ne-”

your sentence is cut short as your tongue gets paralyzed.

a dark and striped, long figure approaching ahead, slithering its across the grass.

your mind immediately registers it as the animal you fear most.

oh, no. no, no, no, no, no.

“jungkook,” you utter his name with a tremble.

the same fear you experienced only two hours ago holds you hostage once more, add all the hair in your body standing up and you’re as frightened as a cat.

“what’s wrong? yah! what are you doing?! baby, ba- fuck!” he sputters out as you forcefully pull him back along with you, displaying a type of strength and agility he doesn’t normally see.

the two of you continue to stumble backwards as you struggle to maintain balance, and somehow jungkook manages to switch your positions so that you’re the one who lands on top him instead of the other way around when you eventually end up as a heap on the soft earth.

he begins to feel his throat closing up at the sight of pure, genuine fear in your eyes.

“jungkook, snake- it’s small bu-”

you interrupt your own sentence with a high-pitched squeal, garnering looks from strangers moving and unmoving. in the blink of an eye, your boyfriend has swept you off your feet as if you’re light as a feather, driven by the instinct to protect the love of his life.

you cover your mouth in shock, your other arm coming up around his neck to keep yourself from falling.

you think you may have fallen for jungkook all over again.

“are you spiderman?”

he was too busy searching for the subject of your fear under dim lights, and so he looks at you in bewilderment to ask, “what was that?”

you shake your head with your wide eyes shining with faux innocence. you squeak. “nothing.”

he releases a sigh, followed by a chuckle of obvious relief and amusement as he squeezes your body closer to plant a kiss on your forehead. “aigoo, my ____! why are you so scared today? what am i going to do with you…? it’s just a worm.”

“are you sure? i swear i saw it raise its head!“

“i’m sure,” he lulls you. “i think worms can do that, too?”

your face twists in an expression of mixed bewilderment and distrust.

“that i’m not sure about, but it’s really just a worm! would i still be standing here if it wasn’t?” he clicks his tongue sharply. “we need to get your eyes rechecked.”

you roll your eyes with a huff. you’ve have had enough of his teasing before it even starts.

“uh?! i’m serious over here!”

this is new— you mean bickering with jungkook in a public place isn’t, but being carried by him like a bride while it happens definitely is.

“fine, i’ll go this weekend. happy?” you fake an obedient smile. “you can put me down now.”

he blinks, and then he adjusts the way he’s holding you to ensure that your dress won’t show what’s for his eyes only— for a split second, you were flying.

“i’ll go with you,”

“okay. now put me down.“ you tap his shoulder repeatedly to prompt him to heed your words. “babe, this is embarrassing!”

“nope,” he ignores your protest with nonchalance as he resumes to walk the path you’re on, evidently enjoying the attention he’s stealing and the way you’re curling yourself smaller to hide.

“oh my god! weren’t you just complaining about your body hurting?!”

“you were scared of me leaving,” he smiles, glancing down at you. “so now i’m gluing you to myself.”

that made you quiet for a while. inside your tote, the container of kimchi, wrapped in a plastic bag, rattles with his every stride. you noticed that jungkook loved it so much, so you ordered it to go when he went to the bathroom before you were to leave the restaurant.

“you know, we used to just hold hands,” you mumble with a childish pout. “like normal people?”

“this is very normal,” he argues.

the scenery becomes more familiar as he takes the long way home.

“some would even say romantic.”

a wave of nostalgia hits, and you visibly shiver.

you don’t know if he would remember, but he has said the same exact words once before.

you scrunch your nose, supposedly to give him a look of disgust, but a giddy smile betrays you. you are five years younger again, and the night ends with the moon bidding you an adieu.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[frogchiro]

JESUS OKAY I FINALLY GOT IT this has been stewing in my mind for like 2 weeks now and now I finally got it. Also this is specifically dedicated for my dear pookie @sant-riley thank you for the brain worm♡

Tattoo artist!Ghost who is just so huge and burly and intimidating. His tree-trunk like arms are covered in bold, black tattoos, his strong neck too and you could swear that another large intricate one was on his stomach too whenever his black shirt rode up.

And imagine you, a novice to the tattoo world and Ghost was initially kinda surprised that you came into his shop; it was known for big, bold artworks and someone as sweet and soft looking like you didn't really seem like someone who would get one, maybe he could figure something out for you.

So imagine the way Tattoo Artist!Ghost's heart rate spark when you asked him to design a delicate womb tattoo in that shy voice of yours ;; Simon swears he almost felt light headed from the way all his blood rushed towards his dick because in his mind with an added womb tattoo?? And your soft curves, broad hips and full thighs?? You will look like his own personal fertility goddess and Simon became determined to not only be the one to exclusively tattoo you, but also to win this girl over and become his♡

[bunnys-kisses]

I did the last request the vanilla cheesecake with a side of champagne and root beer and I forgot to add my person can it be max verstappen sorry!

bakery menu

thank you for the submission!! also i saw that this was your first time requesting a fic so THANK YOU! if you want to submit an order of your own, hit up the menu for all the information! i write for more than just formula one so go crazy! thank you and enjoy!!

vanilla cheesecake ("where are your manners?") + champagne (sugar daddy au) + root beer (filming/recording) served by max verstappen (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, sugar daddy au, filming/recording, collars, degrading language, mean!max, dom/sub dynamics, bondage, sex toys, orgasm denial/control, jealousy

max thought that you were sweet like honey, something to drag his tongue along as he had your ankles at your ears, his cock buried inside of you.

you didn't mind being the play thing of one of the best drivers in the world. you didn't mind that you'd be in your apartment one day and the next day you're in the back of his car heading to his jet to go anywhere in the world.

money wasn't an object to someone who made close to sixty-million dollars a year. even the time he was off racing, you'd still get a pretty deposit in your banking account.

it was a charmed life, but being the sugar baby to a man like max meant indulging in the needs of his. you were a paid service, company as you were once told it was.

and max had some sick little kinks. nothing that bordered on illegal (thank god), but the flying dutchman liked his girls behaving and begging. and you were the prettiest beggar of them all.

"head. forward." he said. he was seated on the couch and you were on your stomach with your arms tied behind your back with a belt and a toy stuck in your slick pussy. you had dropped your head up against the floor for a moment before max corrected you.

you looked up at him and whined a little, "please, sir. please, i promised i'd be good! i didn't realize what i was doing." and tensed up when max turned up the intensity of the vibrator via the remote in his pocket.

max currently looked fairly sleek, in slacks and a white button up. the suit jacket was draped over the arm of the couch and his sleeves were rolled up. those strong forearms were exposed. he was leaned back against the leather couch with his hand in his pocket with the remote in his hand.

he sighed through his nose before he said, "i don't think that's the case, treasure. you know what you did tonight, i'm surprised that you didn't whore yourself at that party."

you tensed up when he lowered the vibrations of the toy. he shifted in his seat a little and kept a stern eye on you. his gaze felt oppressive and it made you squirmed on your stomach. you felt like a worm, weak and vulnerable. prey.

"please, max. please, please, please! i'm sorry! it won't happen again." you arched your back a little and squirmed in your binds.

he made a face, that he wasn't convinced of your apology. he turned off the vibrator and got up from the couch. you could see the painful erection in his slacks more clearly. he walked over to you and held you by the back of the head to look at him. he said, "you are very dumb, treasure." his words were biting, "a dumb little thing." he shook his head a little, "oh max gives me money, so i can act like a slut. norris' hands were up your skirt. i don't like when people touch what is mine, especially another driver."

you flinched a little, but your core swam with want. he was domineering like this. scary in a way that left a thrill of excitement through you. you licked your lips and said, "it wasn't what it looked like."

he nudged you with his shoe and then stepped on the center of your back, right under where your hands were bound. he made a small noise before he turned the vibrator back on to full intensity. you tensed up and threw your head back, but you weren't going far. not bound and under max's shoe.

"i'm not too sure, treasure. i told you when we started this little agreement that you were going to be exclusively mine. i didn't want to share you with other men. i pay you enough to keep you mine." he pressed a little bit on your back and you arched it.

you felt the heat in your cheeks and the wetness between your legs. you panted a little bit, "i promise, i promise i will never let another man touch me." the lust in your body was short circuiting any logical thinking.

he chuckled, a little more convinced now. he took out his phone out of his other pocket and filmed your quivering body. he played with the remote in his other hand as he continued to film you. he took a good shot of your pussy as he watched your wither and moan.

"please, max. please, i'm sorry. i won't let lando touch me again. i thought he was just being friendly!" you moaned as you tried to shift your hips in a way to get the pleasure you need.

he put the camera in your face and your head in his other hand. he chuckled and got the camera close to you, "say that to lando right now, treasure. tell him you're off limits." he could feel the heat in his body grow, you were so painfully pathetic in front of him withering on a toy.

you looked up to the camera, your lips in a pout and your eyes were wet. you sniffed a little bit as you said, "lando. never touch me again. i belong only to max." then arched your back further as he lowered then intensity, only to put it to the max once more.

max rubbed your head and chuckled, "that's it, that's a good little slut. you actually know how to behave. i guess i haven't fucked all of your brains out."

you whimpered when you realized that max had full control over your orgasm. he was edging you when he finished filming you. you wondered if the video would actually be sent to lando at the end of this. the prospect of it excited you, maybe you liked the way max treated you like an object when he was upset.

he eventually had enough of the teasing he was doing to you. he got behind your naked, bound form. his phone on the floor beside him. he was still clothed with his cock out of his pants.

he loved the sight of you naked under him when he clothed. you shuddered at his oppressive gaze and winced when he took the toy out and replaced it with his cock. you squirmed under his touch and bucked against him. but a swift slap across the ass calmed you.

"you're so pretty like this." he said, "you're so painfully pretty on your shoulders and knees, letting me fuck the daylights out of you. you look good under me. it's where you belong."

you gasped against the hardwood floor under your. your cheek pressed against it as he started to rub against you. his large hands on your hips, keeping you pinned to him as he thrusted into you quickly,

there was no time for romantic pleasantries, he needed you at that moment. he needed to feel that sweet cunt around his cock as he fucked you. his possessiveness for you grew with each thrusts of his cock.

"please, max." you panted, "shit, please." you gasped as you moved against your binds. you felt the knot in your stomach as he fucked you without much abandon.

"see, you can be good." max groaned. he was obsessed with you, that was why he was luring you in with heavy stacks of cash. he could bruise your insides with his cock if it meant that you'd get something shiny out of it. it was almost cute, too easy for him to trap you.

the rabbit between the lion's jaw.

"max, i'm sorry. please, i want to be your good girl." you panted heavily.

he held onto the meat of your hips tighter and bullied that impressive cock of his deep into your sweet pussy. he wanted to make sure that he marked you inside and out.

pretty thing like you need to be owned. kept next to him, not running off with the likes of lando. things sparked in the back of his mind as he thrusted in and out of you.

he'd make sure next time that you knew who you belonged to before you both went out partying. maybe a collar next time, a nice piece of sturdy leather with a lock that only he could open.

so even if lando got his hands on you, max's name around your neck would be a reminder to him and anyone else that you were claimed territory.

"i know you can be my good girl." he said, "just lie there and let me fuck you. you're mine, got it?"

you swallowed, "yes, max!" you felt the heat curl in your gut the more that he fucked you. your head swam with pleasure, the aggressiveness to his movements were all getting too much.

he shuddered and pushed his cock as deep as it would go. he felt his pace stagger when you clenched around him and finally came. it was all too much for you. usually he'd make you beg to climax, but he had done enough damage tonight. your poor pussy was probably nice and bruised.

max would make it all up in the morning with something expensive. he'd wave a stack of euros in your face and all would be forgiven. he thrusted heavily a few more times before he pushed it in all the way to the base and finished inside of you.

he prayed the birth control he paid for worked like it did every other time. but a sick part of his brain hoped that it failed. he hoped that you got pregnant and stuck carrying his kid. then at least lando wouldn't touch you, hard to get his hand up your skirt when you're nice and pregnant with a verstappen brat.

he grit his teeth and grumbled, "that's it, that's a good girl." he landed a smack across your ass as he finished. his pace slowed and he panted heavily. he leaned back on his heels and admired the sight of his cum dripping out of your poor pussy.

you've learned your lesson. you were going to be max's good girl. you were simply his expensive play thing, but the more max sank his cock into the gummy soft pussy of yours. the more the addiction came over him, max was getting greedy with your time.

and soon he'd want to devour your whole <3

[luveline]

hi jade!! if ur still up for kbd, can we see an instance where mom feels insecure about her parenting like she feels like she's doing something wrong or being a bad mom (she's not) and Steve just helps her through it? thank<3

KBD —Steve can make you feel better just by being himself. mom!reader, 1.4k

Wren wriggles like a worm on the floor. You’ve spread her baby mat out over the rug, rainbow hearts and stars and smiley faces all around her. 

“Mom, what did you say? What’s tummy time?” Beth asks. “I can’t ’member what you said.” 

Wren whines. Her face is smushed into the floor again. 

“Tummy time is to help her develop her muscles,” you say. “It’s supposed to help her hold her head up by herself. Not working yet…” 

You slide your hand between Wren’s face and the floor. 

“Come on, baby, you can do it,” you say. 

“Try her on your chest,” Steve says, Dove in his arms as he walks through the kitchen doorway into the living room. “She’s much happier when I lay her on my chest before her nap. I lay real flat on the couch.” 

You scoop Wren up under her armpits. Her hair is getting much longer now, the same wavy texture as her father’s, though as she’s grown older her hair has thickened. You’re sure she’s gonna have full curls when she’s older, but for now, you hold her to your chest and brush a hand through those waves thoughtfully. It’s much darker than Steve’s, as are her eyes.

She gurgles as you carry her to the couch. When you lay down, Beth crawls to your side to ask if she can sit on your feet. 

“What are you upto now?” you ask Steve, laying Wren out on your chest. You realise that’s not gonna work and pull her down so her face and neck are flat on your stomach instead. 

“We just washed our hands,” Steve says, letting Dove down. “She made a little mess, that’s all. Need something?” 

“Come n’ sit down, baby,” you murmur, beckoning him in. 

Steve doesn’t need telling twice. He sits in the armchair by your head and feels around for the TV remote. Things go quiet, Dove with her Barbie’s to the right of the room where all the toys live, Beth squeezing your ankle, and Steve clicking through channels until he finds the family movie channel. You tease Wren’s cheek where she rests, but she won’t lift her head. You’re scared she’ll smother herself. 

“Honey, what am I doing wrong?” you ask. 

“Doing what?” 

“Tummy time? She never wants to lift her head.” You frown. “S’like she doesn’t wanna see me.” 

“Maybe you’re just comfy.” 

You sigh and lift Wren again. When she sees you, she smiles. “Ba?” she says. 

“Hiya, baba,” you say softly, “what’s wrong? You don’t wanna play with mama?” 

“Ba,” she says again, dribble curling down her chin as her hand grabs for your face. You let her down against your chest, unperturbed when she grabs your ear. 

“No tummy time, then.” 

“That’s fine, she was on her tummy for a long time earlier,” Steve says, “she’s probably just tired out.” 

“It hurts my neck to hold it up all the time,” Beth says. 

You scrub your eye. Are you hurting her? You hadn’t realised she was tired, but how could you not know that? You’re her mom. 

You’re tired, too. You murmur a sorry to Beth and take your legs from under her. You curl in, pill bug style, baby curled in with you. “Sorry,” you whisper, kissing her forehead. 

“Ba,” she says again, her spit on your cheek. 

You’ve had one of those shitty mom days. You burnt the last bagels in the toaster so Beth had to have toast, which she doesn’t even really like. You tore Avery’s Princess Polly dress trying to clean the sleeve. Dove cried because you didn’t listen to her story, Wren won’t do tummy time, and Steve wouldn’t have done any of those things. He’s amazing, and you’re just… you. He makes being a dad look so easy, he was basically born to do it, and you love your kids but you suck. Today sucks. 

Wren babbles all over you. “Ma-ba ma,” she says, then, “grrrrr.” 

“You growling at me, baby?” 

She lets out a bunch of gr’s and wr’s. You rub her back, tickle it until she giggles. Even the sound of her bumpy baby laughter doesn’t improve your mood. 

Steve goes to the kitchen in silence. He opens the freezer a couple of times, and then he’s calling for the girls to come and have some ice cream and chocolate fudge. Avery tumbles down the stairs from her room. She could take the hallway to the kitchen, but she stumbles into the living room instead. “Hi, mommy,” she says, smiling widely, “are you tired?” 

“A lot,” you confess. 

“Can a kiss make you feel better?” 

You turn your cheek and poke it. “Please. Just one,” —she darts forward to kiss you soundly— “go have your ice cream, baby, quick, before Dove eats it.” 

Steve dodges her. He has a bowl when he returns. He says your name so nicely you don’t think twice about taking it. An ice cream sundae melts inside, three scoops of thick ice cream adorned with cut fruit and a chocolate fudge heart. 

“It looked better five minutes ago. I did yours first.” 

“Where’s yours?” you ask. 

“I thought I’d share yours,” he says. “No?” 

You grin. “Nope.” 

“Alright. Can I sit with you, at least?” 

You straighten up. Wren stays in one arm, your bowl rests on your leg. You lift the other to take your spoon, while Steve sits next to you, not a millimetre of space between your two bodies. 

He doesn’t ask for the baby, which is actually nice. Usually eating with a child in tow is irksome, but you feel a little more capable without his asking. And besides, Steve’s fully trained. You could drop any baby into his lap at any hour and he’d take them without complaint. 

He doesn’t ask you what’s wrong, but you know you could tell him. Can tell he’s waiting for a confession, or ready to let it go. 

You don’t want to talk about it. Admitting your failings is too embarrassing, sometimes, and he’s biased, so he’ll tell you anything to make it go away if he needs to. Instead, you sit, you eat your ice cream, and you rest your face against his shoulder, listening to the girls scratch their bowls in the kitchen. 

“You can go to bed early, if you need to,” he says gently. 

“No, I’m okay.” 

“How about a shower? A walk?” He lifts his head to press his nose against you. “Just let me know what you want.” 

“I’m okay, really.” 

“Okay,” he says, both of you aware that you’re not fully okay, and that he doesn’t believe it. “Can I have some of those strawberries?” 

You scoop up some strawberries and lift the spoon, but notice movement from the corner of your eye that makes you laugh in surprise. Wren is opening her mouth, waiting for a bite. She’s just on the cusp of being old enough for soft foods, but she’s never expressed any interest, until now. 

“Oh, do you want to try?” you ask, laughing. “I’m sorry, baby, this is much too sugary for your first bite.” You lean down to kiss her head. “Sorry,” you murmur into her hair, “we’ll have to find you something tomorrow.” 

Steve smiles so hard you can hear it. “Wow, soft foods already!” he says to her, rubbing the tip of his finger up and down her chest. “Our big girl, huh? Are you mama’s big girl? Daddy’s big girl?” 

“Ma,” she agrees, before her lips part again for a taste. 

Steve looks into your face proudly, eyes darting between you both. He looks at you like you’ve just hung the moon, when you didn’t do much of anything. 

“What should we make her?” he asks. 

“I don’t know, what do you think she’ll like?” 

“What do you think?” 

You abandon your spoon to soothe one of her curls away from her forehead. “I don’t know… she looks like an applesauce girl, doesn’t she? Or maybe some sweet potato.” 

Steve wraps his arm around your shoulders. “We’ll have sweet potato mash for dinner, then, and she can have the first bite. Good idea, angel.” 

You turn into his hold, letting him nose at your ear. 

[vaaaaaiolet]

Alarm clocks are a little pointless in the Kennedy household, no thanks to your husband's perplexing sleep schedule. What's the rhyme to his reason? Or rather, who?

gn / m, just domestic fluff w/ older married leon of your choice (di leon is personally so husband), pretend i'm funny, animals?? for some reason LMFAO, leon hates sleep

word count: 474 // read on ao3

a/n: tiny drabble for @l1terallylaroxy w/ love <3 yes i was listening to snooze by sza what gave it away. the entire fic? oh okay.

find all my drabbles in my collection: sketches for my sweetheart the drunk!

The dip your mattress developed overnight makes for a better alarm clock than the one sitting on your nightstand. You still check to not hurt its tiny mechanical feelings.

5:30 AM. Leon’s come home.

A roll of your shoulder puts you face to face with your sleeping hill of a husband. You can’t help stifling a laugh at the haphazard way he’d fallen into bed, practically breathing in his pillow as he snoozes away with his stomach pressed to the sheets and an arm slung heavy over your waist. Leon is a staunch back sleeper – you catch earfuls about sleeping on your stomach from him all the time, but here he is, Mr. You-Need-to-Reduce-Pressure-on-Your-Spine, in all his morning glory. He’s lucky he happens to be married to the pinnacle of benevolence.

You simply file away the blackmail for later.

A groan eventually sounds from the mess of blankets Leon’s entangled himself in, something akin to, “Gmmff...mmff, bah.”

Definitely talking in his sleep. You’re half-asleep yourself. Anacondas wrap you closer – no, Leon wraps you closer when he finally blinks awake.

“What’d you say?” you chuckle.

“...said g’morning, baby,” your husband yawns.

Dawn blushes the ivory sheets pink, blooms roses in your cheeks when he presses a kiss to your shoulder mumbling something sweet: “G’back to sleep. Don’t wanna wake you up.”

And then he does something crazy. Leon starts rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and sitting up like he’s getting ready for the day, fully at five in the morning like he didn’t just crash into bed after a graveyard shift at the DSO.

It’s insanity. “You’re waking up already?” you squawk, sitting up with a full eight hours in contrast to his abysmal five. “The sun’s barely up, Leon, you just got home.”

“The alarm’s going to ring in a second anyway. Early bird gets the worm, right?”

Worms be damned, you grouch. You cling to his back, tucking your chin into the side of his neck while he ruffles your hair.

“C’mon, ya koala. I gotta shave,” Leon gripes, too sugary to have any effect.

You pout. “So eager to leave me already?”

“Baby. You’re breaking my heart.” He clutches his chest with a theatrical gasp. “What a thing to say!”

He huffs long and loud, and the anacondas return to snake over your back this time as you try and keep from laughing at the stupidity of it all. You’re in the air before you know it; carried piggyback style to the bathroom as Leon lifts the one burden in his life that isn’t really one in the slightest. You can kick your legs all you want, but he’s not letting go.

Every waking second with you is a blessing he’s not willing to give up. So why would Leon want to hit snooze and miss the moment?

click for my full drabble collection, and find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

[reiderwriter]

Well, Are You Mine?

Final Chapter of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Spencer adjusts to fatherhood alone.

Warnings: Angst, hopeful ending, mentions Canon character death (Gideon), mentions of new parent stress, single parenthood, etc.

A/N: I'm back! The final chapter is finally here, and I'm so very happy!! Thank you all for waiting patiently while I recovered from my illness. It's monsoon season here right now, so I've been hit with just depressing wave after wave of coughs, colds, fevers, and general rainy season ailments. But now this is finished! Thank you for joining ke on this three month journey. I'll be publishing a much happier, much fluffier epilogue within the week, so please look forward to that~♡ Without further ado, The End.

In the six weeks since his daughter had been born, Spencer Reid had experienced what he could solidly call the most terrifying weeks of his life.

The baby cried, and his heart beat out of his chest. Rain or shine, fully awake or fully knocked out, a single gargle or a full on scream and he was sprinting to her side to coo her back to blissful sleep, or to change her, or just to hold her close.

In the six weeks up to her birth, he'd pointedly avoided parenting books on the whole, doing his best to drown out all the memories from reading similar books when JJ was pregnant. Every memory stung as he clawed his way back to the family that was prematurely ripped from him.

But the baby was here now. The baby was safe, and the baby was crying, which he knew was absolutely healthy and nothing to worry about, and completely and totally fine, except it dropped his heart to his stomach everytime she did it.

It wasn't as if your daughter was a particularly fussy child. She was a newborn, she was a healthy weight and size, and the doctors who had checked her over at the hospital after her birth had reassured him multiple times that she was totally healthy. A miracle, all things considered.

And she was his miracle. For six weeks, she'd been his little wonder.

The team had banded together to fix up his apartment while she'd been observed in the hospital for the first few days of her life.

He'd sat and watched her through the newborn window at the hospital while Penelope had cleaned up his apartment, and Luke had built him a crib.

Emily and JJ had gone hunting for baby clothes and found probably a lifetime supply of 0-3 months, 3-6 months, and 6-9 months babygrows, t-shirts, dresses, and matching little hair bows for everything.

The first time he'd seen the socks, he'd broken down.

Arriving back with his newborn daughter to his apartment, he'd carried her to her new room, desk removed and crib added, though the walls were still shelved with books he really needed to do something with. He'd opened the sock drawer and been faced with a drawer full of single socks. There wasn't a matching pair in sight.

He'd pulled his daughter into his arms and held her close as the tears fell once again.

It had been six weeks since you'd delivered your first baby, and Spencer was sure that if you had the opportunity, you'd be cussing him out continuously.

Because as much as he doted on his daughter, his sweet baby, who he swore was already smiling sweetly up at him each time she grabbed his pinkie with her whole tiny fist, he had still not given her a a name.

“We can't just call her baby,” Emily complained to him after three days, already getting restless with Spencer's lack of decisiveness.

“I won't name her without Y/N,” he'd replied, and Emily had shut her mouth, not willing to open up that can of worms around him just yet. The sudden silence whenever he mentioned you was deafening. Spencer felt the team growing rigid each time he said something even slightly hopeful, then gently tried to lead him back to being ‘realistic.’

It had been six weeks since you'd given birth, and smiled at him sweetly as you brought you'd daughter into the world and six weeks since you'd quietly slipped into a peaceful coma.

The first week, he'd been told to prepare himself for the worst. The second week, he'd been told there was nothing more that they could do.

But in the third week, you'd moved. Just your hand, just a twitch, but a sign of life the doctors had been trying to convince him wasn't there before.

In the fourth week, you'd recovered enough to be taken off the ventilator.

You were clawing your way back to consciousness, readying yourself to meet your precious, sweet baby.

In the sixth week after Spencer Reid became a father, he took his daughter back to the hospital to meet her mother again. With some expert baby-sitting from Penelope, he'd managed to visit you once every two days at least in the last few months, but with the little-one still only small, hospital visits to trauma wards weren't exactly recommended.

When they'd transferred you to a regular ward, he'd packed his bags immediately and gathered the baby up, strapping her into her carrier and waiting desperately for visiting hours to begin.

After thirty minutes, he made a call.

“Emily? Can I… can we get a ride?”

Of course, she'd agreed. While no one else had been letting themselves hope, they had absolutely been at his beck and call. He'd been swamped with guilt calling JJ at 3am asking how to settle you because he'd tried everything, and constantly relying on Penelope to come and help him and Luke and Emily, picking up extra hours to finish his paperwork because his paternity leave still hadn't been approved.

He felt guilty, overwhelmed, and stressed, and he needed you to wake up so goddamn much that he feared if he got any bad news, he would shatter. And he didn't know how to be a father, because really he hadn't had one before he was 20 and Gideon became his, and even he had left when things got hard. So how could he be sure he wouldn't.

So he hadn't given his daughter a name. And, yes, it was because he wanted to do it with you, to pick out a name together, but also it was because he didn't think he could stand knowing it if he was too weak and ran from her.

The pressure built and built for six weeks, as he fell in love with his daughter, who deserved better than his love, and then Emily pulled up in his car, and he started sobbing.

“Spencer!” Emily exclaimed, not expecting the outburst at all, the loneliness of the last five months catching up to him finally.

“Emily… Emily, I'm a terrible father-”

“No! No, sweetie, you're-”

“My daughter doesn't have a name!”

Emily switched the engine off and then grabbed Spencer's shoulder, roughly turning him to face her if he wouldn't meet her in the eyes.

“You have survived this job for nearly two decades. You have survived gunshots, and murderers, and loss that I can not begin to comprehend, and you love that child. You are grieving, and you are stressed, and it is so totally, completely normal to not be okay after everything you've been through,” Emily held her breath, waiting for his reply. Just as he opened his mouth to whisper more doubts, the baby in the back seat began to fuss and cry.

Unable to stop himself, Spencer laughed. Emily laughed with him. They sat giggling in the car together, tears in their eyes as his daughter kicked up a fuss.

“She doesn't like hearing you talk badly about her daddy,” Emily joked and started the engine again.

When Spencer finally made it to your room, his daughter had stopped fussing. A quick bottle in the parking lot had mollified her, and she was gurgling softly now, still pink, her eyes tightly closed. He'd dressed her up nicely, or as nicely as he could muster. A cute pink newborn dress for his tiny baby and a matching pink hair bow.

He gathered the baby carrier in his arms and let the hospital doors open for him.

Finding your new ward wasn't hard. The nurses were helpful enough and honestly, he'd taken a look at the building blueprints weeks before, when he'd been obsessing over every small detail of your care, so he practically knew the route by himself.

Straight, then a left turn, then straight again, and a right turn and keep going until there was a final turn into your ward.

He let out a deep sigh as soon as he reached the nurses station and readied himself to ask for you.

“Hello, I'm here to see my Y/N, I was told she was transferred here this morning?”

The nurses on the station looked up at him in shock and blinked at him a few times before speaking up. If ever there was a time to hear the words “you haven't heard?” uttered from the mouth of a nurse in a hospital where your comatose girlfriend was being treated, then it likely wasn't when he held a newborn in his already weak arms.

The panic set in quickly as he tuned the noise out. An older nurse walked around the side of the desk to comfort him, sticking by his side and grabbing the baby carrier before he could accidentally let it go in his shock.

Another nurse came to his side to take care of the baby, and quickly, they both ushered him down another hall to an adjacent ward. He drowned out every word as they tried to comfort and reassure him, his brain jumping to the worst conclusions.

His teammates were right when they said he shouldn't hope. He needed to be realistic now. If you were gone, he had to call your family and organize the funeral. He had to pack up your stuff. He had to settle the hospital bills and decide how you would be seen off.

He had to name his daughter.

The nurses pushed him towards the room quickly, and he mentally prepared himself to say goodbye, but as the doors swung open, he saw you, and he fell to his knees.

“Spencer?”

In the two hours since you'd woken up, you'd been poked, prodded, hydrated, fed, rubbed down, and spoken over like you were still somewhat asleep.

No one had explained exactly what had happened, and no one explained where your baby was, and you'd kicked and screamed yourself hoarse, as the doctors noted down that you still had use of your vocal chords and all four limbs.

So seeing Spencer crash into your room at full force through your tear filled eyes was the best experience you'd had in months, especially when you spotted the nurse with the baby sized car seat coming in behind him.

“Is that my baby? Is that my baby? Please-” You pushed sheets off your body as a nurse tried to hold you still, not wanting you to pull the IV from your arm or the oxygen tubes from your face.

And suddenly Spencer was there, and he'd regained his strength, and his hope, and his happiness because you were awake, and talking and god you remembered.

It was all he could do not to grab you, bundle you up, and carry you away to safety, but the nurse propping you up was stern-looking, and he had a daughter to tend to.

He pulled your face into his hands and kissed you as softly as he could, holding back his emotion as he held you like you would break, feeling your wet tears on his skin.

“I missed you,” he whispered, dropping his forehead to yours as he gently stepped back and allowed the nurses to help you get comfortable.

Then he turned quickly and grabbed your daughter, and your breath caught in your throat as he held her out to you.

“What do I…? Where should I put my hands- Oh god, I'm so unprepared, I-” your eyes welled again, but it was joy as you saw her serene little sleeping face for the first time and he slowly lowered her into your arms. It turns out, no-one needed to help you out holding her at all, because she was so precious and perfect and yours that she slotted into your arms completely, like it was a spot made completely for her, like you'd been purpose made to hold her and be her mother and love her and cherish her.

You cried and looked up at Spencer and laughed. He rested on the side of the bed and pulled you into his arms, and you felt that completeness a second time, and you knew that you were made for him the way she was made for you.

Your family.

It had almost been taken for you, but it was yours, and it was fate.

With a quiet whisper that only Spencer could hear, you leant down to your baby's ear and said your first words to her.

“I wish that I could be your mother in every lifetime, my sweet Angel.”

[satorusugurugurl]

Toji as a bodyguard

Til’ the Day that I Die

Summary: You’re a popstar in need of a bodyguard when you find yourself with a stalker. That’s how you meet Fushiguro Toji, you’re insanely hot bodyguard. Who knows how to push your buttons, and get you feeling flustered. Just how far is he willing to go to protect you? And how far would you go to protect him?

Pairing: Bodyguard!Fushiguro Toji x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: mentions of stage right, performance, anxiety, stalking, panic attacks, language mentions of gun, (eventual smut)

Word Count: 4.5K

A/N: this request is amazing!! It got my brain worms going! Once again, this will be a multi part series, I’m looking at a total of four parts as I have already planned down the whole story. I’m sorry for the lack of content, it’s been a rough few days and I just decided to take some time for myself! But I do have about four stories almost done so you can expect updates for the rest of the week! Love you all!! (Readers' stage persona is highly inspired by several artists! 😊)

Part Two Part Three Part Four

Performance anxiety is defined as an excessive feeling of fear related to being able to perform well. Symptoms of performance anxiety include pulse racing, rapid breathing, dry mouth, and throat tightness. Dealing with performance anxiety when you're a rising star is brutal, and you begin to regret all your life choices. You aren't sure if you want this to be your life. You were attending nursing school, but your sister posted a video of you singing online. Reading all the sweet comments was fun initially, but it's funny how fast things change.

One second, you were posting a few videos of you singing, and the next thing you knew, you had a record deal, your songs were on the radio, and you were performing at concerts. All in the span of six months. The attention was overwhelming, and, at times, your anxiety even worse. But the more you performed, the more you were able to bury the stage fright down, masking the fear with a persona you made until you were home in your apartment. In the confines of your home, you could cry and tremble; dealing with those attacks was something you’d gotten used to.

But your stalker was a whole new fucked up mess you never dreamed about dealing with.

It had started as nothing more than a couple of love letters that turned into more descriptive letters detailing information about your personal life you had never told anyone. Anytime you saw a letter come in with ‘M’ written on the front and dark gray ink, your stomach twisted. You at first thought you would be okay. You could handle something like this. This was the kind of thing that came along with the territory of being famous.

That was until a bouquet of roses was dropped off at your door in your guarded apartment building. That whole situation sent you into a full-blown panic attack. You left your apartment and went to stay with your friends. That incident caused your manager to contact Kong Security Services and hire you as a bodyguard. One, you were anxiously waiting to meet as you sat in your dressing room before your show.

“It’s going to be fine, I promise.” Nanako, your makeup artist, assured you as she fixed your blush. “Geto said this agency is the best in the business.”

You shot her a skeptical look while her twin sister fixed your hair. “Are you just saying that because your dad’s are my managers, and they told you to say that?” When both twins had ceased their movements in obvious shock at your to-the-point accusation.

“W-What—?”

“No, never!”

“Uh-huh—I don’t believe a word either of you are saying right now.”

Nanako steps back, looks you over, and bites her lip. “They really are the best, whether or not we get to go out for Boba after this. It’s not like sweet milk tea is on the line if we don’t ease your nerves.” Just as your sweet young makeup artist finishes, the door to your dressing, eyes darting towards the door as it swings further open. Suguru and his husband, Satoru, enter, displaying their matching black-and-white wedding rings. They were the best management company in the world, the power couple of Tokyo. Satoru, who was in charge of your social media accounts, types viciously on his phone while Suguru grins up at a man walking in with them.

If you could even call him a man.

A fucking mountain of muscle is a more appropriate way of describing him. He’s tall, has dark hair and navy blue eyes, and he’s fit. The mountain wore a tailored jacket and white button-down shirt with the first two buttons undone. His eyes leave Geto’s for a minute to watch you sinking further in your chair, his pink tongue running over the scar down the corner of the right side of his mouth.

“Hun, this is Fushiguro Toji,” Suguru announced before glancing at his phone. “He’s your bodyguard and will be with you everywhere you go.”

“E-Everywhere?”

“Yes, to rehearsals, your shows, meet-and-greets, he’ll even escort you home.” Your eyes rammed back over to the mountain of a man standing off to the side. When you have time off, or he needs a day away, his work partner Tsukumo Yuki will take over for him.”

You swallowed hard, fingers twitching, a subtle action your new bodyguard noticed immediately as you dug your fingers into your skirt. It was part of Toji‘s job to see behaviors and be observant. He could tell you were on edge from how your fingers twitched to how your pulse raced in your neck. His handler, Shiu, had warned him that you were an anxious mess after finding out about your stalker. But this anxiety didn’t come from just having a stalker. This anxiety was deeply rooted in you. It was probably something you had suffered with for years.

Without being told, Toji stepped forward, kneeling before you, giving you a gentle smile like a father would give a frightened child. He had to put your nerves at ease to let you know you would be okay. “I know you’re scared, but I can assure you that I am very skilled. You won’t even notice I’m around.” You weren’t sure about that. How could you not notice the handsome man who would always be around you?

“Right, thank you.”

“You’re welcome--”

“Ugh! We gotta get going; they expect you on stage in five minutes.”

“I-I s-shou—” you stuttered as the performing anxiety began to root itself into your already anxious demeanor.

“Yep, let’s get going.” Toji stood motioning towards the door of the dressing room. “After you, Miss.”

Being a bodyguard and a security escort for so long had allowed Toji to pick up on specific cues from people, like how their eyes moved around the room or how their body language told him what they were feeling. The way your fingers were twitching, he knew you were nervous and scared, and he wasn’t sure if it was stage fright or something to do with your stalker.

Regardless of whether you wanted to go up there, it didn’t change the fact that thousands of people were already waiting for you to perform. As you both walked down the hall, Tojo noticed you took a deep breath and exhaled through your nose, and as you turned the corner, you put on a huge smile. The way you put in a mask so fast nearly sent Toji stumbling back. He was usually prepared for the unexpected, but seeing this scared, shaking woman shift into a bubbly pop star rocked him back.

Everyone you encountered smiled wide at your perky voice and demeanor. You truly lit up the whole room. “Alright, guys! Thank you for all your hard prep! Now, let’s have a great show tonight!” You were handed a jeweled microphone and placed on a platform to lift you to the main stage, but before you gripped the handles to steady yourself, Toji grabbed your hand. “Oh, Fushiguro?”

“I'll be on the side, watching you. If you need me or notice something's off, you should give me a sign.”

“A sign? Like a signal?”

“Yeah, something easy and inconspicuous.”

You thought for a second, that perky look still on your face, but Toji could see the anxiety behind your eyes. “Well, I wink a lot during my shows and throw a heart sign up.” Toji hummed, pursing his lips together.

“Well, if you don't want to alarm your fans, how about this.” he took your hand, putting your middle and ring finger down. Your thumb, pinky, and pointer finger were left extended.

“Oh, the sign for ‘I love you’!”

“Only use this if you need me on stage. Otherwise, do what you normally do, but know I’ll be right there if you need me.”

There was a flicker of fear in your eyes, which probably would go unnoticed by many different people, but it was one that he could see clearly as day. “Right, thank you, Fushiguro.” Your new bodyguard looked at you as he scoffed, shaking his head.

“Toji, just call me Toji. There is no need for formalities. Have a good show, Miss.”

“R-Right, thank you, Toji.”

Your new bodyguard watched as the platform began to lift, taking you up to the stage where fans were screaming your name. Taking a deep breath before smiling, your bodyguard watched you reach the top before the band blaring music as you began singing into your microphone. The beat of the music rang in his ears; Toji ran for the stairs that led him to the stage, where he could watch you from the side.

There, Toji found your managers standing on the sidelines, watching you. Upon looking at you, he met a woman who looked nothing like the girl he had just spoken to moments before. You danced, sang, smiled, and winked at the crowd. Multicolored lights flashed as fog from the fog machine flooded the stage, and the backup dancers moved in sync with each other. I think this is poor, who was shaking upon meeting him.

“Yeah, crazy to see her shift, isn’t it?” Geto asked before pulling his phone out and snapping a few photos of you as you sang. “She’s like a different person.”

“Like? I hate to be the one to break this to you, Geto, but that woman is a completely different person. Why the fuck is she masking?”

The white-haired man glared at Toji, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. “She’s not masking; it's called a stage persona.” The annoyance was clear in the other man’s voice, a tone that crawled its way under his skin.

“Look, buddy, keep your terms to yourself. I don't care about the different terms. All I know is that woman—” he jabbed his thumb in your direction as you twirled around the stage. “is masking; that’s not who she is.”

“You don’t know a lot about the entertainment industry. This is something that a lot of celebrities do. It’s completely normal, and she knows that. That’s how she adapted so fast.”

Toji wasn’t sure if that was the case. He had seen you firsthand, shaking in your dressing room. To see you change drastically for the sake of a show? Toji could see why you would be nervous to go up on stage. There had to be a fear of your mask slipping, revealing your true persona to the world.

But Satoru was right; Toji’s job was to protect and ensure you were safe. It wasn’t his place to judge how you lived or worked your career. In the end, you were just like all the other popstar divas and clients he had had before. Rich people with too much money to throw around and fame led them to believe that they were in danger all the time, which is how he managed to keep a steady income for himself and his kids as long as they were rich snobs like you, Tojo was guaranteed to have a job.

Instead of continuing to argue with your overzealous manager, Toji crossed both arms over his chest and watched you closely. The sooner the show was over, the sooner he could get you back to your apartment, where he could call to check on Megumi. He just wanted to relax, and for all he knew, you and your managers were overreacting to this so-called stalker you had. If anything, this might’ve been some cruel prank; receiving a note to roses wasn’t that big of a deal, and this was way too easy for as much as he was getting paid, so he wasn’t going to bitch about it.

What he did want to bitch about was how fucking long your show went on for. Performed for about two hours straight, only taking breaks to change costumes throughout the performance. It was in those moments when you were changing that your mask slipped. He could see the exhaustion in your eyes and how you wanted to do nothing more than take a break. But as fast as that mask slipped, you had it back on instantly. When one costume was off, and the other slipped on, you were back on stage to sing the next song.

After about two hours and thirty minutes of this bullshit, you gave a final bow and blew kisses out at the crowd of strangers who were cheering your name. While the two hours he got to stand up to the side and watch you perform was easy, he only had to look for your signal if you needed help; getting you out of the arena safely was a whole different story. Everything moved so fast The second you stepped off that stage and towards your bodyguard.

After every show, the goal was the same: get changed as fast as possible, collect your stuff, which Nanako and Mimiko had already packed, and get in your limo before the crowd started heading towards your exit. Toji gently placed his hand on the small of your back, ushering you through the maze of halls that led you back to the dressing room, where, just like you knew, the girls had packed all your stuff.

“You got five minutes to change,” Suguru announced as Satoru snickered behind his husband. “Thanks to Satoru, you’re trending again for your newest song.”

Toji could see the minutey, perky personality shift into your more anxious state. You frowned, literally frowned, at the news. Most people would be jumping over the moon to hear it. Seeing such an ungrateful expression on your face had Toji resist the urge to roll his eyes into his skull.

Spoiled little brats, you rich folks were all the same.

“Did you make sure to tag the—“

“Are you insinuating that I don’t know who to tag or which hashtags to use? Babes, I've got you covered. When have I ever let you down?”

“Never.”

“Right, so let the best PR manager handle this.”

Toji sighed, glancing towards his watch. “Two minutes,” he announced to the room of people bouncing off the walls and collecting items to clean up the green room. How could your managers be talking about more brand deals at a time like this? Brand deals were bullshit, but knowing how popular you were with the teenagers and you probably had some make-up deal or some other shit that would make you all the richer, you had to make sure the right people were tagged so you continued to be sponsored. But there was a time and place for that, and now wasn't the right time!

“I know you're the best Satoru, but I still wanna make sure the word gets out there.” You stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in black leggings and a simple T-shirt. Completely different from the baby doll dresses you were wearing on stage. “It’s imperative—”

“I know. I’ve already posted it. Everyone’s been tagged accordingly, and the hashtags are in place. You’ll get lots of people to see this, trust me.”

You were slipping on your baseball cap and sunglasses when Toji’s large hand gently grabbed you by the shoulder. “We gotta get going,” you sighed before nodding, waving off your team, and falling Toji down the hall to where your car awaited you.

Thanks to your quick change, nobody was waiting for you outside, making your getaway from the arena smooth as butter. You just wished you felt as calm as your exit from the bustling stage had been. You were beginning to regret going back to your apartment. You hadn’t been back there since the roses were delivered to your door. Going back was going to be difficult, leaving your stomach swarming with anxiety. But at least you had a big mountain of a man to protect you if, god forbid, you needed help.

The entire ride back to your apartment complex was thankfully quiet. Toji sat on the other side of you, staring out the window, not making any conversation, which was a blessing. Not only was your throat sore from the amount of singing you had done, but the idea of sitting through a conversation run solely by small talk was almost as bad as your performance anxiety. Sitting in the back of the car, leaning your head against the window without worrying about smiling or acting perfect in front of strangers, was a breath of fresh air.

Being alone with your bodyguard made you feel like you could let your walls come down for the first time in a long time. It was a feeling you might as well get used to. He would be around most of the time, so instead of adorning the perfect, pretty mask you always wore, you could be the introverted true version of yourself. Knowing that you could relax, you shut your eyes, allowing yourself to doze off as the car smoothly headed down the freeway.

If only your dreams were smooth and calm like the car ride. Your dreams were filled with mysterious notes and roses you had once loved. They circled you, drowning you in paper and petals as a roaring crowd rang through your ears. You could fight against the tidal waves, but instead, you let them wash over you, allowing yourself to be crushed by the unbearable weight of being a star at times.

Nursing school wasn’t easy, but at least when you were in school, you didn’t have to worry about a mysterious bouquet showing up on your apartment doorstep or sneaking out to avoid getting seen and swarmed by your fans. Your biggest concern in school was getting good grades and doing everything possible to get your degree. The only things you had to worry about were study dates and pop quizzes, not ominous letters that made you fearful for your safety.

These nightmares were so vivid that you wished your family had heard you singing online. Was it too much to ask for a normal everyday life where you weren't constantly stressed?

You sighed, looking up at the lingering rays of light that slowly began to peek through. More envelopes and roses piled on the cocoon you were stuck in. Perhaps there was no going back. This might very well be the rest of your life. Just as you were shutting your eyes to the casket you were being buried in, a hand reached out from the top of the mountain of dread and anxiety you lived with, reaching for you.

You couldn’t make out who was reaching out to you, but you were sure they just wanted to help you. Without hesitation, you reached for that hand, brushing over their fingertips. Just when they clasped your hand to pull you out of the burial ground, you were jn. You gasped as someone shook you, waking you from the dream.

You sat up quickly, shaking as you met Tojo’s navy blue eyes. He was frowning, motioning towards the rolled-down window, and Ijichi, head of security for your building, leaned in, giving you a weak smile. With a quick rub to both your eyes, you placed your mask back on, going from the sleep-deprived woman you were transforming into the perky popstar everybody knew and loved.

“Ijichi! Hi!”

“Hi yourself, glad to have you back.”

Toji could see how your shoulders stiffened when you mentioned being back. “Oh, yep! It's good to be back.” Toji could see through your facade, while Ijichi was blind to it.

“I just wanted to let you know that we added more cameras to the building, and my security post will be far stricter with deliveries and anything else from this point on. We want you to feel safe here, and I’m sorry we failed to do that in the first place.”

“Oh no, it’s not your fault! Plus, I feel a lot better now that I have Fushiguro!” The man with glasses peered into the car, waving at your bodyguard whose face remained stoic, not returning the gesture. “Okay, uhm Ijichi, Toji; Toji Ijichi.”

No pleasantries were exchanged, not at all. The only thing Toji managed to do was give him a nod before focusing his attention back on the massive building and making a mental note to ask for access to the cameras. That way, he could keep an eye on you and ensure nobody was hanging around who wasn't supposed to be there. Those thoughts Toji was lost in made it a tranquil ride up the elevator to your apartment. He was leaving you feeling even more anxious. Usually, being around someone quiet never bothered you; you felt so relaxed around that person, but Toji’s cold demeanor and attitude toward your friend made you irritable.

“So, uhm, are you going to be that cold and standoffish every time you meet somebody I know?” You asked, finally allowing your heart mind to win over your mind.

“Huh?”

His dark gaze had you swallowing the lump suddenly in your throat. “I wanted to ask if this is going to be normal, you being—.”

“Oh, I am so sorry little star; I wasn't aware I needed to wear a fake ass mask around people too.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, and unfortunately, unlike you, I like wearing my face. I don’t have to be someone I’m not to get people to like me. Because quite frankly, I don’t give a damn if anybody likes me.”

“I don't eit—”

Toji scoffed, leaning against the elevator wall and shaking his head at your words. “Oh, please. You’re just like every other client I’ve had. All you care about is money, your appearance, and what sponsor deals you get.” His words made your blood begin to boil.

“You’ve barely known me for a couple of hours, and you think you know who I am?”

“Oooh yeah, you're some small-town girl that made it big. And instead of showing the world who you really are, you put on this fucking mask, one that hides the true you from the prying eyes of the world. You care only about ticket sales, making your fans happy, and sponsorships like the one you were talking about with your manager not even thirty minutes ago. So yeah, I’m sure I got a good idea of who you are. It’s my job to read people..”

This was the best security in the business; bodyguard your manager had set you up with? Ha! Yeah, right, this man was nothing more than a dickhead that had a lot of opinions that were far from true?!

You laughed, pushing yourself away from the wall to stand in front of the doors before him. “That's the great thing about wearing a mask around people I don’t fucking know. They get to see the real me, but I get to see people for who they truly are.” Toji opened his mouth to continue arguing with you, but only for you to quickly shut him down, holding a hand up before you. “You were right about a couple things; I do put on a mask, I love my fans, but I could give a damn about sponsorships.” Toji pushed himself off the wall, towering over you, gritting his teeth as he tried to control his evident anger.

“Oh, you suddenly don’t give a damn about sponsorships? I just heard you talking to your manager about one.”

“You don’t know anything about me! That whole conversation had nothing to do with this sponsorship!”

Tojo tilted his head back with a laugh. “Oh, right, of course. You don’t care about your amazing condo or all the money you’re making; you don’t care about those so-called nonexistent sponsorship deals.” The elevator rattled like the lid to the rage threatening to explode.

“Alright, yes, I do live in a nice apartment, one with security that sucks, but it’s still home. But for your information, I don’t do this for the money. You don’t know what I have planned on doing with my life, so I don’t want to hear you make assumptions about me! The conversation you so rudely eavesdropped on had nothing to do with a sponsorship deal but a massive donation I’m making to the local Children’s Hospital. The same hospital is well renowned for helping unfortunate children. So yeah, that whole conversation you listened to was me telling my manager to tag the hospital in my video because the hospital inspired the song! It was a public service announcement, a reminder to help those who can’t help themselves.”

Your rant was unexpected. Toji had never had one of his clients talk to him like that; strangely, he liked it.

“And another thi—”

The doors to the elevator slowly slid open with a ding as you reached your apartment. Usually, your automatic lights would be on in the living room and kitchen, leading upstairs. But as the doors opened, no lights illuminated your bodyguard's face. You knew something was wrong, and just before Toy could look over your shoulder into the apartment,Toji’s hand quickly covered your eyes. He pulled you into his chest, and he listened in as he smashed on the lobby button on the button panel.

“Toji!?” You asked, placing your hands on top of his. “What is it?! Is something wrong? Let me see!”

Toji shook his head as if you could see his reaction, his hand reaching for the gun at the holster on his side as the door slowly shut. There was no way in hell you were going to see what was behind the door. Because he knew if you were to see what had happened in your apartment, you would never be the same. As the elevator slowly began to descend, Toji realized that he had been wrong about your stalker. It wasn’t some harmless joke.

This was fucking serious.

(TBC)

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@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @luvsymai

[javiscigarette]

Emergency Contact

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie gets in trouble and this is the last time you're helping him. At least that's what you tell yourself.

Warnings: angst, smut, post break up, mentions of drug/alchol use/abuse, military ptsd, frankie on a downward spiral and needs to get his shit together, emotional smut because I had to, fingering, oral (f receiving), creampie, frankie is literally this emoji -> 🥺 the whole time

w/c: 6.8K

a/n: part of @iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0!!! I picked puppy eyes brown and my genre was angst with the prompt: "Tell me how to fix this." And guys listen. I literally never write angst I’m such a softy but I tried my best with this okay! and I obviously had to include some smut I just couldn't resist hehehe. Also thank u to my baby love @undrthelights for finding theses pics and for everything else you do :) enjoy!

my masterlist

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain.  But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath. “Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

The vibrations of your phone buzzing on your nightstand pulls you from a deep slumber, your heart is already pounding at the sudden noise, the rest of your body slow and sluggish as you try to gain your bearings. 

You paw for your phone, squinting at the brightness of the screen when you find it. A call from a number you don't recognize. You debate letting it go to voicemail but the area code is local and that makes you pick up, a raspy Hello? leaving your mouth as you roll over in bed, glancing at the clock. 

2:13 am.

The sound of your name crackles down the line, the immediately recognizable voice causing your heart to plummet to your ass.  

"Frankie?" You ask, sleep quickly leaving you as tension takes its place.

"...Yeah, sorry, I…I didn't know who else to call." His voice is frail and pinched.

You don't have to ask him what's wrong, your brain already piecing the puzzle together You've been in this exact position before. The anger is already starting to creep in, your brow furrowed and stomach twisting as a familiar rage blooms in your chest.

"You couldn't have called anyone else?"

You know the answer is no. The rest of the boys are on a mission, leaving him behind after he failed on his promise to stay clean for long enough to get cleared to go. And now, you’ve fallen victim to that decision too,being the only person left to call whenever he finds himself without a leg to stand on. Frankie in trouble, you bailing him out. Just like normal. 

"I'm sorry I didn't want to bother you I just..." he takes a deep breath and sighs. "I'm at the station on Oak street. Can you maybe... pick me up?"

You close your eyes and take a moment to compose yourself and reign in the anger at the way he's gotten under your skin already.

"What did you do this time, Frankie?"

He's quiet for a second before he finally says, "DUI. And um, slightly resisting arrest? It’s uh, it’s my first one and I didn’t blow too high so they’re letting me go as long as I show up for court in a few days."

His voice is soft but you can hear him fighting back emotion, his voice cracking and straining under the pressure. the sound eliciting sympathy you desperately wish you didn't feel.

"Jesus, Frankie," you sigh, defeated already.

It shouldn't even faze you at this point. It should be expected given the path he's fallen down since his return home from their last mission 3 months ago. The Frankie you knew before he left had been a steady force. Protective, headstrong but soft in his demeanor, so sweet and full of love. The man now standing in his shoes still holds some traits of that Frankie, but they've all been scarred and tainted with his fall from grace.

Memories of the nights spent tucked in his bed, his arms around you, his hands buried in your hair come flooding back like they usually do. The sound of his laugh, the feel of the downy hairs on his forearm pressed against your skin and the steady thrum of his pulse under his jaw as you placed kisses against his neck. The words you would speak softly to one another in the early hours of the morning, secrets only shared with each other under the protection of black velvet night sky. 

All of it traded for bitter resentment and anger towards a version of the man that was ripped away from you.

When he was gone, you’d sleep in his shirts and on his pillow, clinging to the faded scent of his cologne as your brain conjured up ghost touches from his fingertips. Dreaming of the day that he'd come home, how he might touch you, and kiss you, the taste of his lips and the feel of his skin on yours. A reunion so deeply desired that the day after he returned was a sharp double edged sword - a blessing, and a curse. The Frankie that walked back in your life was broken, smothered with the weight of the innocent lives on his hands. 

Warmth and tenderness traded for stony silence. Nights now spent at the bar, warming himself up with vodka instead of your embrace. Fights ending in harsh words and raised voices as he stubbornly dug his heels in deep, too ashamed to admit he needed help. Staying out late with no warning and coming back at dawn smelling of smoke, weed, and liquor. You are always wondering where he went, who he was with, if he was safe, or if he’d found someone else to soothe the pain. 

Then the coke. An old habit that was kicked to the curb in his earlier years now back with a vengeance. Your ultimatum quickly following.

This or you.

A choice you prayed he'd be strong enough to make, but was clearly not.

And now here you are. Two months since you walked away, trying to convince yourself it was for the best. The majority of the last two months of his life is a mystery to you, which you've accepted is probably for the better. 

"I know," he finally replies. "I'm so sorry baby, you know I..."

You can almost hear the way his jaw snaps shut, three words catching on his tongue. You don't need to ask to know what the next words are. Tonight was not the first time he's tried to use them in a vain attempt to patch up a crack in the foundation of your crumbling relationship.

There’s nothing but silence on the line as a war wages within you. Part of you wants to believe that he’s the selfish, careless man that he’s recently proven himself to be. But your heart whispers in your ear a softer notion. He's scared. Fragile. Battered. Embarrassed. Alone.

With a heavy sigh, you run your hand down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe away some of the grogginess clinging to you.

"I'll be there in 20," you say.

There's a pause before he speaks, "Really?"

Always an air of disbelief.

"Yes. But this is the last time I'm doing this Frankie, I mean it,"

"I know, I... thank you."

You don't bother to reply, simply hanging up the phone as the heaviness of this final gesture sets in. The gravity of the situation, of the line you're about to cross, already threatening to consume you.

This will, without a shadow of a doubt, be the last time you show up to save Frankie’s ass. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself. Just like you told yourself the last time this happened and the time before that. But this time will be different. You'll set new boundaries. That's it, just ride this storm one final time and be done.

You know it’s a lie, one you desperately want to believe it.

___

He’s standing outside the doors of the small station, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, wisps of smoke rising and dissipating in the still night air. He looks up as he hears the engine of your car approaching, the red glow of his cigarette temporarily highlighting the deep frown on his lips as he takes one last drag before he flicks the butt aside and heads your way.

The anxiety radiating off of him is tangible as he drops into the passenger's seat, gently shutting the door and peering at you with wide puppy dog eyes full of shame. You don't look at him, focusing on backing out of the parking spot before pulling onto the road.

He picks at the skin around his thumb and bounces his leg, his jaw tight. You wonder how long he’s been at the station. How long he’s been sober. You’re still not sure if he entirely is right now.

Most of the ride is silent save for the hum of your engine and the clicks of your turn signal. His eyes never leave you, he can feel him boring a hole in your profile, trying to catch your eye as you watch the road.

"What?" you finally snap.

"Nothing, just...I was wondering if I could stay with you tonight. I can sleep on the couch, I…I don’t really want to be alone right now" he speaks so softly it makes your stomach lurch.

"Absolutely not."

"Please? I'll leave early in the morning, by the time you wake up I'll be long gone."

The rage is back, glowing red hot in your chest, fingernails digging into the leather of the steering wheel, your knuckles white and tense. How fucking dare he ask. 

"Absolutely. Fucking. Not," your grit your teeth with each word, biting off the end of the sentence with a sharp finality.

"Right. Okay."

Silence takes over once again, your heart slamming against your chest, heat crawling up your neck as your cheeks grow red and damp. No. No. Absolutely fucking not. Absolutely not.

Frankie leans his head back against the headrest and rolls it to the side to watch you again. You can feel the disappointment radiating off him, hear him sniffling, his eyes, big and glassy, pleading when you glance over at him. 

It would be a lie to tell yourself that your “plan” isn't already halfway out the window as your jaw clenches and your gaze ping pongs between the road ahead and the man beside you. Deep in the darkness of your soul you know that with Frankie is where your comfort lies. It’s tucked in the space between his ribs, squished alongside his heart and lungs, running the length of his spine and settling between each vertebrae. You worry you may never be able to completely dislodge it, unsure if it would ever fit anywhere else in any other person.

Maybe it would be easier if Frankie didn't fill up the cracks in your heart with the fractured parts of his. If he didn't take up room in your brain that's not his to own, if he didn’t crawl under your skin and take root into your DNA. Now every cell in your body knows what it feels like to be next to him, now programmed to cry out for his presence when he isn’t near.

And it’s no different now. He’s here, looking so pathetic it’s almost laughable, staring at you with tears sliding down his cheeks that glisten in the glow of the headlights passing you by. Crying over something that’s entirely his fault. You should be the one crying right now. Not him. 

So you do. 

Hot angry tears spilling over your lash line. Though you can’t decide who you’re more upset with. The man who drank himself out of your life, or yourself for falling for him once again in spite of it all. Either way, it’s not enough to convince yourself to stay firm in your decision. 

Fucking pathetic. Both of you. 

“You’re out first thing in the morning and then I’m done Frankie. I fucking mean it this time, we can't keep doing this to each other."

“Okay. I promise baby, I will. First thing, I promise." He replies quietly. 

Your hand flinches with the urge to reach over and slap him for calling you baby. But instead, you clench your jaw and you shake your head at him.

"Don’t call me that, Frankie."

He quickly nods his head in understanding, his eyes again facing forward as he wipes away the wetness from his cheeks, watching the road the rest of the way to your house. 

—

Neither of you move once the car is parked in your driveway. The silence is heavy, cut only by the tick of the engine slowly cooling once you remove the keys from the ignition. You chance a look at him and find him picking at his thumb once more, his face red, his eyes soft and timid when they meet yours. 

“Tell me what happened, Frankie?” 

You ask even though you don’t really want to know. 

Frankie sucks in a breath and scrubs a hand down his face. 

"I got into a fight at the bar, got kicked out, made the dumb fucking decision to try and drive home and...now I'm here," he laughs mirthlessly as he waves his hands as a vague gesture to you, your house, his current situation. You can't tell if he's telling you the whole story, his answer simple and devoid of context. The context you’re sure wouldn't be good for you to know. 

“You could’ve killed someone, Frankie. yourself included,” you say after a few beats, your voice comes out sharp, frustration bleeding in each syllable.

He slowly nods as huffs out a breath.

"I know... it was stupid, and I was an idiot I...shit I was really careless and not thinking straight I’m sorry. I'm really sorry I-"

"I mean seriously Frankie,” you snap, cutting him off. “Do you ever, I mean ever, think about anyone but yourself? Or has it genuinely never crossed your mind that your shit might possibly affect the people around you?"

Frankie opens his mouth, eyebrows furrowed as he's about to respond. You don’t give him a chance to. 

"How many more times are you going to take advantage of me, make me look like a fucking dumbass always showing up to rescue you? Why am I always the one covering for you, taking your crap, cleaning up your messes, only to have you throw it right back in my fucking face, every single time!"

Your voice cracks at the end of your sentence, chest heaving with each word that flies from your mouth. Two months worth of bitterness bubbling up from deep down, spilling over and cascading down your face in the form of frustrated tears.

"When did you become so fucking selfish, Francisco?!"

Hearing his full name fall from your lips spurs Frankie on, the last of his shards of resolve flying away as his walls come down.

"I don't fucking know okay?! I don't fucking know!" You flinch at the rise in his voice and his tone stings. But it's how quickly he follows up with a softer, feeble excuse that adds fuel to the fire, "I'm doing the best I can."

That does it for you. Hot searing molten rage pulses under the skin of your face, the tips of your ears hot with blood.

"Doing the best you can? The best you fucking can, Frankie? Fucking bullshit! Getting into bar fights, spending all your money on booze and blow, losing your fucking pilot license because you were too coked up to see straight? Was losing your driver's license just putting your best foot forward? Throwing your whole life away just because you refuse to get clean? Is that really the best you can do?"

You pause and swallow, giving Frankie a second to take it all in, letting him process the onslaught of scalding truths you've thrown at him, before you quietly continue,

"I can't keep doing this, Frankie. I just can't."

He sniffs and shakes his head in what appears to be defeat, his gaze fixed on his hands folded in his lap. 

“I know...fuck. I know I’ve fucked up alright? I know that. I just don't know how to fix this," he admits quietly, his wide eyes watching you helplessly. “Tell me how. Tell me how I can fix this. Please."

You bark out a laugh, sarcastic and cynical.

"Are you serious right now? What do you mean you don’t know what to do? How many times did I help you try to find a therapist, try to get you into a program? How many times did I suggest AA? Don't fucking tell me you don't know what to do because you do."

He nods, shifting around in the seat, sniffling yet again as he looks back at you. "Okay, okay. I get it, okay? But what can I do right now? To fix this at least for tonight?"

You sigh, deep and heavy, your entire body now just exhausted. You half wish he would put up more of a fight, call you a bitch, snap back at you for going off on him. Maybe it’d make it easier for you to let him go. But instead, he looks at you with desperate eyes and you can feel your resolve crumbling once again. 

"Just forget it, Frankie.”

But he won’t give up that easily. The man is persistent, you’ll give him that. 

"I'm serious. Tell me what I need to do right now to fix this. What can I do to show you how sorry I am?"

You stare back at him, jaw clenched, biting back the next words you were about to speak. They die on the edge of your tongue. You know the answer is.

Not a single damn thing.

"Look, I'll try harder, I fucking promise alright?” His tone becomes more frantic as your silence stretches on. “I’ll fucking try harder, please just...please," Frankie pleads, more tears welling in his eyes.

Your throat is tight, your head spinning and aching as your blood roars in your ears. He's already taken enough, stealing more would simply be the end of you. Giving in now would mean you've swallowed the bait, falling hook line and sinker into his trap, stepping back onto the slippery slope you've fought so hard to escape. And for what? More heartache, more bullshit excuses, more fighting, more pain?

But one glance into his wide-eyed, watery gaze and you know he's got you. Again. Faster than you can tell your mind no, your heart, foolish and hopeful, speaks for you instead.

"Lets just get some sleep, okay? It's late. We can...we can figure it out tomorrow."

"Thank you," he whispers immediately, relief coming off of him in waves. "I really mean it, I-thank you, I promise I’ll—“

“Can we not talk anymore Frankie? I just wanna go to sleep."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, let’s go."

There's nothing left to say, washing over the two of you as you make your way inside. You give him a towel and dig up some of his old clothes that live in the back of your closet from when he was here almost every night. You're back in bed before he’s done with his shower, tucked underneath the covers with your face pressed against your pillow, the silk fabric soaking up your tears of sadness and frustration.

The water shuts off and you can hear him getting settled in the living room. A pillow being fluffed, the creak of the couch when he sits. 

And then soft footsteps on the hardwood 5 minutes later, padding their way into your room.

He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t bother speaking either. He just simply creaks open the door and walks over to the other side of the bed, peeling back the covers before slipping into bed beside you. 

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain. 

But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath.

“Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

You don’t have any fight left in you. Because at the end of the day, a night spent wrapped up in his arms, inhaling his scent, touching his skin and his beating heart is worth a thousand fights. And a million shattered dreams.

You don’t answer him, but you don’t tell him to leave either. Instead, you block out any looming thoughts, the impending worry of where this could go, or how bad the damage will be. For now, you chose to focus on the rise and fall of Frankie's breath against your skin, the way you fit so perfectly into his arms. 

One more night.

Frankie presses a kiss into the back of your neck, repeating his previous sentiment in a rough scratchy whisper, "Just one more."

And you listen to it resonate, bouncing around the walls in your head and tickling the space behind your eardrums.

Inhale

Exhale.

You should want to fight.

But instead, your body melts his, molding your bones and flesh against his, fitting into all the creases and gaps that have been carved out and reserved just for you.Trying to forget, to bury this pain as deep as possible,. Just for tonight. 

He waits a few more minutes, waiting until your breathing levels out with his before he makes his next move. His fingers trace mindless patterns on the skin of your stomach, goosebumps erupting under his fingertips, rippling outwards like a rock being tossed in a pond. He leans in once more, slowly dragging his nose up the length of your neck and curling his lip to press another kiss behind your ear. Then another.

And then another, this time lingering as he sucks softly on your skin.

Inhale.

You close your eyes, hoping for anything but this, yet feeling the sting of arousal spark below your skin.

And exhale. 

You’re better than this. You won’t stoop down to his level, you won’t let him chew you up and spit you out again.

But fuck, his lips are soft and warm, so is the breath as he exhales against your neck, lightly swiping his tongue and soothing the faint red mark he left behind with a small little hum.

“Frankie..." You warn, albeit much more breathless and weak than you would have liked. 

“Tell me to stop and I will," he murmurs, his beard gently grazing your sensitive skin, causing your toes to curl.

You take another deep breath, but this one is shaky, as you can't help but tighten your grip around his hand, squeezing his fingers as you lean your neck to the side, exposing more of your soft skin to him.

Dead in his trap. Caught so fucking easily. Pathetic.

But if his teeth and lips and tongue and soft, gentle touches are how you go down, then so fucking be it.

He hums his appreciation against your skin, scraping his teeth down to your shoulder, latching his mouth on a spot and sucking harder. Strong, callused fingers continue exploring, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to give him permission.

He rolls his hips forward against your ass and you bite your lip to stifle the whimper at how hard he is against you, his soft grunts in your ear traveling straight between your legs and fanning the flames building.

Then suddenly, he's sliding his hand up your shirt, squeezing your waist and traipsing over your chest until he’s cradling the weight of your breast in his palm, his thumb slowly brushing over your peaked nipple, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to moan out loud.

A small gasp escapes you instead, your fingernails digging into the back of his hand. 

"Frankie."

This time not a warning. It’s a plea. A desperate, burning want that you should be ashamed of. 

He murmurs into the shell of your ear then, his tone is deep and scratchy. 

“I miss you...I need you, baby. Just tell me to stop if you want. But I... fuck I miss you so much."

You don't tell him to stop.

You roll your hips back instinctively, a warm wave of arousal washing over you at the feeling Frankie's hardened length pressed firmly against your ass. He grunts in satisfaction as his palm slides from your chest and up your throat to your jaw. His grip is gentle as he turns your head to face him, his lips against yours without missing a beat. 

It’s too easy to fall right back into him, back into the practiced, very well rehearsed routine. To let him glide his tongue along the seam of your lips and coax them open so he can lick into your mouth, getting the taste of his tongue stuck behind your teeth. Too easy to let him remind you just how easily you fit in the palm of his hand, how tightly you’re wound around his finger. 

He kisses you fervently, desperately almost, lips and tongue moving against yours as though he’s trying to devour you whole, just like he used to. He’s been starving for too long.But right now, he's finally found nourishment, the feeling of your body under his hands and the taste of you on his tongue feeding his soul. Wanting more. Always more, entirely unable to help himself.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he murmurs, his mouth half a centimeter away from yours. “Let me make you feel good baby, please.”

As if you could say no.

As if you even wanted to.

He pushes his leg between yours, thick, firm muscle under warm skin pressing against your clothed core and you answer him with a roll of your hips, seeking out any sort of friction you can. 

It takes less than half a second for him to have you flipped over on your back. When Frankie truly wants something, he does it quickly and efficiently.

He moves above you, licking and kissing a trail down your neck. He makes his way down your body, greedily nipping at the skin stretched over your collarbones. He swirls his tongue over each nipple, only moving on when he’s satisfied. He presses wet, open mouthed kisses to your ribs and your tummy just above your navel, his beard tickling skin, making it twitch under his mouth. 

Your body is cooperating far more than it should, your hips lifting up instinctually when he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties, your thighs automatically parting further, and your hands migrating to his head. Your fingers tangle in his soft curl, your nails softly scratching his scalp just like you know he likes. 

And when his tongue drags up your thigh you have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stop the reactive moan. But your back arches with pleasure anyway, the last bit of your resolve evaporating into thin air as you give into him freely.  

His hands burn hot where they smooth over your skin, a comforting weight and a familiar drag of calloused palms fueling the fire and tightening the coil in your stomach. 

“Missed you so much,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your pussy before you feel the first stroke of his flat tongue up through your center.

This time, you're not strong enough to hold back the breathless mewl that leaves your mouth. You immediately push down on his head while simultaneously canting your hips upward, needing more friction, dying for more of everything he's willing to offer. He slides his arms underneath you and hooks his hand over your hip bones, holding you down and keeping you in place as he tries to find salvation between your thighs.

Heavy breaths through his nose as he uses his mouth, lips and tongue working in tandem to take you apart. Lapping and sucking at your clit while his fingertips nudge at your entrance, dipping just enough to tease, waiting until he hears the high pitched whimpers that he's after.

And when you've reached that level of desperation he wants from you, whimpering and panting, he slowly dips a finger in.

He moans along with you as though he's the one experiencing the pleasure. He's always gotten off on this almost just as much as you. The warm, slick slide of his fingers in and out of you, how you gush on his tongue, your thighs trembling on either side of his head, the tingle of his scalp when you tug on his hair.

More addictive than any substance he's ever found solace in.

And against your better knowledge, you're more than happy to indulge him, let him chase the high you give him and let yourself drown in it as well.

Your back arches off the bed as he adds another finger, grunting into you and thrusting faster as you tighten and flutter around them. He finds the spot he's looking for with practiced ease, whimpering into you and groaning along with you as he drags his fingers back and forth along the spot that has you bucking your hips into his hand. 

He knows how to get you there. Knows how to do it fast. And right now, that's what he wants. He's craved it too long, spent far too many nights with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock your name on the tip of his tongue as he fucked up into his own hand. He wants to hear you fall apart again, feel you coming on his tongue, your walls clenching as they try to suck his fingers in deeper. Wantsto know that he hasn't ruined absolutely everything between the two of you.

"Come on baby, lemme feel you,” he urges, voice deep and rough as he brings you to the edge. His mouth, licking and sucking at your clit, works in perfect rhythm with his fingers, sliding in and out, crooking them at the exact angle and speed he knows will get you there. 

"Please, Frankie...need to– fuck, I'm..." Coherent words evade you as he works you towards your peak, your breath stuttering as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. Your grip tightens in his hair, tugging roughly in an effort to ground yourself as the wave of euphoria starts to crest, the undercurrent pulling you down. 

Frankie growls in approval as you tighten around his fingers, all your muscles tensing as the sensation crashes into you. Your mind and body shut off and float into that sweet state of oblivion as Frankie's name falls from your lips, mixed in with a litany of profanity and slurs and choked back moans. He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down until you're yanking on his hair hard enough for it to hurt, trying to wiggle away from his touch.

Frankie raises his head up and locks eyes with you, the tip of his nose, beard, and cheeks shiny with your arousal as he looks up at you through his dark, heavy lidded lashes.

"Want you so bad," he sighs, breathless and needy, crawling up your body and resting his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. He kisses you again, soft and sweet as if he has the right, tasting yourself on his tongue. 

You whimper into the kiss and hook a leg over his hip to pull his hips towards you. His cock strains almost painfully in his boxers when he grinds it against you, your warm arousal dampening the front of the fabric.

"Gonna let me baby?" He rasps when he moves to your neck, his teeth scraping sensitive flesh.

You both already know he's won. You're not even putting up a fight at this point, any dignity you thought you had left totally abandoned the moment you picked up the phone. But he asks anyway, needing the verbal affirmation, needing the confirmation that you want him as badly as he needs you.

And you can't lie.You're both equally weak and vulnerable. Two pathetic, heartbroken creatures chasing a temporary relief. A small glimmer of something to make the pain more bearable, something to fill the hole for the briefest amount of time.

You both know. And neither of you care.

No response to his question. Instead, you push up the hem of his shirt up and he does the rest, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor before he hooks a thumb underneath the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down his hips and off his legs.

Your hand finds his cock and he hisses at the contact, his hips shuddering as he pushes forward into your grip. You swear he's thicker and longer than before, heavier and hotter where you hold him. Your thumb brushes over the tip, spreading the pearls of pre cum around, coating the rest of his length to ease your glide. Frankie's mouth finds your neck again, tongue and lips tasting and teasing, his shaky breath in your ear.

You try to push up onto your elbows in an effort to roll him over, wanting to take over. But a palm finds your chest, gently pushing you back down until your flat against the bed again. 

"Wanna look at you," he says simply, as he pushes his length into the palm of your hand once more before sliding out. 

He lets his length rest against your sensitive clit and gently rocks his hips, slicking himself with the mess between your legs, sighing whenever you gasp each time his tip nudges at your clit.

"Please..." you whisper, feeling pathetic and needy, but at this point too desperate to care.

And he’s equally impatient, not waiting another moment before lining himself up and slowly pushing in. 

You tense at the initial intrusion, not having been with anyone in far too long and the feeling is almost overwhelming. You're trying to remember how to breathe again as you let your head fall to the side, trying to hide from his intense stare. But Frankie's there, using a gentle finger to tilt your face back up towards him as his hips moving at an agonizingly slow pace to let you adjust.

"That's it baby. Look at me."

And you do, the heat in your belly burning brighter with his eyes boring into yours as he witnesses your surrender to him. Your heart aches, still raw and tender and in pain from all the hurt that's transpired. But you ignore it and tell yourself the tears in your eyes aren't a result of a broken heart, but rather of how full you feel as Frankie's length finally bottoms out in you.

"Fuck..." You both curse under your breath as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust before he starts to move his hips. You cling to his broad shoulders as he pulls out of you, his eyes glued to where you’re joined, his thick cock slick and shiny with your arousal before he slides back in again with a quiet groan. He repeats the motions over and over watching as he pulls out almost completely before pushing back in, stuffing you to the hilt.

"Shit,” he hisses under his breath, his eyelashes fluttering when you clench in response. “You feel so good baby, fuck."

He buries his face into your neck, panting and pressing soft kisses as his pace starts to speed up. The soft grunts in your ear turn into more desperate moans when you lock your legs around his waist, pulling him, trying to get him even deeper than he already is. 

Your fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulders, holding on for dear life, hoping that you’ll leave half crescent moon shapes embedded into his flesh. A painful reminder for the morning that you were here and this was real, despite the circumstances.

His hands slide under your ass, angling it upwards to let him hit just that little bit deeper inside, pushing the air from your lungs with each thrust. The muscles in his forearms flex and strain as he tries to hold back, always making sure you finish before he does. 

And he doesn't have to wait much longer. Your orgasm is creeping up and taking over your body and Frankie can sense it. He knows exactly what to look for, knows all the signs.

One hand moves to reach between the two of you two fingertips pressed against your pulsing clit, drawing fast, tight circles just like you like it. Your grip on his shoulder tightens, your nails digging into the skin and dragging down his back as his thrusts become more erratic. 

"Keep lookin' at me," he grunts and you struggle to keep your eyes open. They sting, the image of him above you starting to blur around the edges as he drives you closer and closer to your release.

"That's it, baby. Lemme see it, lemme see you come on my cock."

He doesn't have to tell you twice.

You come undone again just like that, dizziness spreading and heart hammering in your chest as you sob out, pleasure consuming you from within. He fucks you through it, not giving you a chance to catch your breath, as he curses and rambles in your ear about how he's missed this, how he's missed you.

You've barely started to come down when he grabs one of your legs behind your knee and pushes it into your chest, letting himself sink even deeper into you. The new angle has your head spinning, drowning in an unparalleled amount of pleasure. Your eyes flutter and roll back in your head as you whimper his name, fingers curling into the pillow above your head.

He doesn't last much longer, breathless moans and strangled whimpers into your neck as he gives you the last few sloppy thrusts. He's almost there, and when he tries to pull out, it's the way your leg tightens around his waste and your needy whine that sends him over the edge, groaning and cursing with his face in the crook of your neck as he spills himself into you.

His cock pulses inside you with every wave, his hips chasing his release, tiny jerks as he empties into you. He stills, his heavy breathing in your ear, his weight resting on you, heavy but grounding, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

Once the room stops spinning and the stars clear from behind your eyes, you drop your legs. With a shaky sigh, Frankie starts to pull out, both of you groaning in protest as he slips out.

His cum leaks out of you, quickly pooling between your thighs no matter how hard you squeeze your legs together. And when he catches sight of it, it makes your face burn. At the mere sight of his sticky, warm release spilling out of you, mixing with your own, Frankie swears he could go another round right then. Something about knowing he marked his territory, his claim on you established once again. He looks up at you, your eyes closed, forehead creased, and he has to dig his nails into his palm to keep from dragging his fingers through the cum leaking out of you and pushing it back in, keeping it where it should be. 

But the weight of reality is starting to press on him once again, the fear and shame from earlier taking root again and tugging at his stomach and pulling him out of the euphoria.

He kisses your hip bone once before making his way to the bathroom for a wet washcloth. The room is silent as he cleans you up, wiping gently between your legs, both of you keeping your eyes on anything except each other's. 

When he's done, he stands and moves to gather his clothes off the floor, tugging his boxers back on before heading towards the door. But your shaky, watery voice breaks the silence and freezes him where he stands.

"You're leaving?" You ask, voice squeaking at the end as you pull the sheet up to cover yourself, as if it would protect your heart when he ultimately breaks it again.

He turns to look at you, his heart aching in his chest from the innocent way you're looking at him. The way your eyebrows draw together, and your lips pull into a frown, the way your lower lip trembles as your eyes fill with tears.

"Can I stay?"

His voice is quiet, fragile, as if speaking any louder would scare you off, would cause you to start yelling at him again until you ultimately kick him to the curb for good.

He stares at you through the darkness of the room as you chew on your lip and try to grapple with the split decision you’re facing.

The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to say no and end this right here and now. But that part of your brain is buried and silenced underneath the heaviness in your heart. That desperate need to hang onto whatever's left. You swallow the lump in your throat and give in.

"Please," you plead softly. "Don't...don't want to be alone anymore."

A rush of air leaves his lungs as the pressure is released from his chest as he climbs back into bed beside you. Your head finds his chest, curled into his side and letting his arms wrap around you. His embrace is familiar, comforting, your safe space.

You count the steady beats of his heart in your ear as his blunt fingernail scrape lightly up and down your back, knowing it always soothes you. No words are spoken but the air between the two of you is thick, full of the things you both want to say, but neither of you speak.

Sleep wraps its tendrils around you once again, exhaustion settling in your bones. You welcome it fully, even though you know when you wake up, you'll have to face the reality of the situation once again.

You can only hope that he'll still be here in the morning to face it with you.

For now, you let yourself drown in the warmth of his embrace, pushing away all the other things that are gnawing at you and letting yourself relax in the arms of the man who broke your heart.

Just one more night.

Thank you for reading!! :))

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Take Care of Her for Me｡⋆.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x plus size reader x Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish

Simon is a bad man. He’s rough and dark and his little bird is far too good for him, that’s why he gives Johnny her first

Warnings: virgin!reader, threesome, bit of soap x ghost, SMUT, size kink, voyeurism, grinding, literally ‘just the tip’, use of y/n, tiny bit of Simon being insecure, reader and Simon live together, drinking, some guilt, loss of virginity, birth control mention, m masturbation, unprotected sex, possibility for whole 141 fun WC: 5.2k

Minors DNI

A/N: I know it's my birthday but I hope you guys enjoy this gift for you!

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Oh.” The word escaped her swollen lips involuntarily and Simon bit back the urge to wince. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates, her hands trembling as she sat back on her heels. “I didn’t…” She trailed off.

Simon cupped her full cheek, guiding her gaze back up to him. “I told you I wasn’t exactly small. We don’t have to, not if you aren’t ready.” She nodded absentmindedly then seemed to catch herself and shook her head.

“No, no I’m ready. It’s just- you’re so big, I don’t think you’ll fit.” Her head tilted cutely as she nuzzled into his naked palm, soaking up all the skin he let her feel. Her delicate hands moved away from the band of his black sweatpants and instead clung to his meaty thighs. His cock throbbed where it lay on his stomach, the tip already leaking just from his sweet little bird pulling him out.

Her thick body fit perfectly between his legs, her shoulders holding his knees apart as she knelt on the floor in front of their plush couch. Her sleep shirt had already been shed, leaving her in just a bra and panties that had Simon’s mind going fuzzy with arousal. “You’ve barely fit two fingers in me,” she muttered wistfully, her thick lashes fluttering, “this is.. a lot. But I wanna try, for you.”

Simon’s hold suddenly turned firm as an image of her sprawled out on their bed, whimpering and whining, tears rolling down her cheeks as he back arched desperately all while he forced himself into her tight cunt. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to keep a level head. “No birdie, not for me. This is all about you.” He released her cheek in favour of leaning forwards and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his lap.

He shuddered as her soft backside rubbed against his cock so he quickly readjusted his hips to tug his sweats back on properly. She watched him with a pout which he kissed away. “Can we at least try tonight? You already ate me out before dinner and played with me during the movie. Maybe I can suck you off? I might be able to fit you in my mouth.”

“Are you tryin ta fucking kill me?” He groaned, his self-control beginning to wane. 

She snuggled into his chest, her nails gently trailed down his front as she shrugged. “Want to make you feel good too, even if you can’t quite fuck me yet.” Simon sighed.

He knew how eager she was for him, her fuck-me eyes were almost constant whenever he was home from deployment. If it were any other circumstance, he would bully his cock into her perfect cunt without another thought but his birdie was a virgin and he had made a promise to himself a long time ago that he would never cause her pain in any way. Simon was not a good man but for her, he wanted to be better.

“Alright, we can try something.” Her yelp made him smirk as he stood up abruptly, keeping her firmly in his arms. 

“Simon!” Her arms flew around his neck, bouncing with each step he took up the stairs. 

Her laughs quickly turned into moans as he dropped her on the king size bed, his weight keeping her whole body pinned to the duvet, his lips descending on her neck. “Fuck Si.” This time, it was her legs that parted, allowing his body to slip between them. She could feel the warmth of his cock even through their clothes, throbbing and hot with the promise of what the apex of her thighs contained. 

His hand wormed its way between their bodies, thick fingers thrummed against her mound. This was normal, expected, the roughness and desperation of his touch a welcome salve to her overheated skin. A brief distraction from just how fucking horny he made her. He plucked at the band of her panties as his lips collided with hers. Their teeth clacked together with the force of his kiss, the muscles along his spine rippling beneath her fingers like he were a wolf, ready to take down his prey.

The fist planted by her head curled into the pillow as she nipped at his bottom lip all while her hips rolled into his hand, begging him to keep going, to finally give in to what he had been dangling in front of her for months. “Please,” she whined, nails digging into his back, “please I need more.” 

Electricity shot through her as his hips jerked forwards, his hard cock bumping against her neglected clit. “Fuck.” He growled, pulling back just enough to shuck the rest of their clothes off before he was right back on top of her, now nothing between them.

His cock early nestled against her folds, sliding up and down with every small movement he made. “Just the tip birdie, ‘m gonna give you just the tip.” But his promise rang hollow, his voice already dropped low and coated with his darkest desires. 

One of her legs wrapped around his thigh as he slowly pulled back, positioning his uncut head at her entrance. “Just the tip.” He spoke almost to himself and gently pressed forwards.

Y/N threw her head back, her mouth dropping open. A breath escaped her and Simon groaned. She was far tighter than he could have ever imagined, even with his head barely halfway in. Her leg squeezed around him as her back lifted from the bed. All Simon wanted to do was to keep going, force himself into her like he craved but he grabbed onto the frayed edges of his mind with the last of his restraint.

Just as the tip finally, finally breached her warmth, she found her words. “Too much, too much.” Suddenly her nails in his back, her face pressing into the pillow, her tensed legs were not her mounting desire but all blaring sirens that sent a shot of panic down his spine. 

A single tear rolled down her cheek before he came back into himself with a jolt. “Fuck, fuck.” He grabbed her thigh with a deathly grip, keeping her still as he dragged his hips back and regretfully left the heaven he had almost found. Her body relaxed into the bed spread as soon as she was empty again, her hold on his back waning but her touch remained on his tattooed skin. 

“Stay there.” Her whine of protest made his stomach drop but Simon still stood from the bed and made a b-line to the bathroom. He kept his eyes down, avoiding his own reflection as best he could while wetting one of the washcloths from the shelf next to the sink. He already knew exactly what he would see if he looked up and right now, he could pretend that monstrous reflection wasn’t him because she needed Simon, not Ghost.

By the time he slipped back into the room, she was already beneath the covers, the bedside lamp had been turned on, warding off the encroaching darkness. Her smile was hazy and small but it was genuine and Simon breathed a sigh of relief. She lifted the blanket for him to slip in beside her, an invitation he didn’t think he could ever refuse.

The smell of sweat and laundry detergent and something that was uniquely her enveloped him as he curled his massive body around her soft one, cradling her to his chest all while he wiped away the soreness from her. Her head fell to the crook of his neck, brushing her nose against his pulse. 

The washcloth landed in the hamper with a dull plop, sparking a small giggle from the woman before it was muffled as Simon pulled them both down onto their backs.

“I’m sorry I scared you Si.” 

“Can never scare me love, yer just a little puppy.” She lavished him with a glare but still sagged down onto his chest, letting out a little sigh.

“‘M scary.” Simon just scoffed and kissed the top of her head as he clicked off the lamp.

“Very scary.”

——————

The pub was mostly empty by now, leaving only the five of them in a booth in the back and a couple stragglers by the bar.  Y/N was wedged between Simon and Gaz, drunkenly giggling at a story she’s heard ten times before though Simon figured she was laughing at Johnny rather than with him, his accent almost too thick to even understand at this point. Price had just sat back down, delivering the last round of drinks for the night onto the sticky table.

“And then the nun fell off the bike.” John finished the story for him with a roll of his eyes. “Are you ever going to come up with anything new?” 

“My stories are great! Birdie thinks so, she laughs at them every time!” Johnny’s arm swung across the table, almost knocking over Gaz’s pint. 

“Steady on Soap.” He warned, making Y/N giggle again, undermining the Scot’s point entirely.

Simon hooked a broad arm over her shoulder, tugging her closer to his as he glowered at the younger man. “You don’t get to call her Birdie. ’Specially not after you destroyed the front lawn trying to show off on MY motorbike.” But Johnny just scoffed and sipped at his beer, shooting a wink in the woman’s direction. 

“I think I did ya a favour, those peonies were atrocious. Weren’t they lassie?” She turned her face into Simon’s arm in some vain attempt to keep back the heat that rose to her cheeks at the sudden attention from Johnny. Her fingers curled into the lapels of his jacket in a much too similar manner to how she would cling to him when Simon decided to torture her with his lips and words. 

His right eye twitched imperceptibly. 

“‘Sides they came with the house didn’t they? Ya needed a remodel.” Price snorted into his whiskey but it was Y/N who spoke up.

“I liked those flowers, they were the most ugly shade of orange.” Johnny’s smirk turned into something softer, something sappy and wholly foreign on the young soldier. His blue eyes, though dark with his drunkenness, sparkled under the dim lighting of the bar. Simon knew that look because it was the same one he held everyday since she had stumbled into his life and his heart. But where he expected jealousy, rage, at his lieutenant for even daring to look at his birdie like that, all he felt was a bubbling warmth deep in his stomach.

Gaz slipped from the booth, muttering something under his breath about a smoke, Price following quickly behind him, shooting a look at Simon before they disappeared through the front door. Without missing a beat, Johnny slithered his way into the now vacant seat beside Y/N, propping himself up far closer than would be considered friendly.

“Then how ‘bout I come over and plant ya some new ones.” Simon was sitting so close to her, he could feel the way her plush thighs clenched together as her breath hitched. “How bout it hen?” He purred, the alcohol on his breath strong but it was nothing compared to the weight of his gaze as it slowly trailed down her form, then turned to Simon. 

“Think you’ve had enough MacTavish.” Simon growled, suddenly breaking Johnny from his trance. The man reared back like he had been burnt, ripping himself from the booth with a stumble. His eyes were wide with panic, his voice and hands shaky.

“Sorry hen, think L.T.’s right, I should probably get home. G’night.” He was out the door before either of them could think to protest, even living behind his beloved leather jacket on the seat. 

Simon tucked Y/N closer to his side, laying a kiss on her head. “I’ll call us a cab.”

By the time the taxi had dropped them home, Simon and Y/N had almost completely sobered up though they were each still buzzing from the night. He had been quiet the entire ride, his eyes pensive and thoughtful but as soon as the cab vanished down the dark driveway, something inside him snapped. A strong arm was wrapped firmly around her thick waist, keeping her upright as he kissed along her exposed neck, the black medical mask he had been wearing for the night hanging over just one of his ears. Her keys rattled against the lock, quickly getting lost to the feeling of his lips on that one particular spot that made her body go fuzzy. 

“Si, you’re making this really hard for me.” He grunted against her skin and pushed his hips into her soft ass.

“And you’re makin’ me hard, seems fair to me.” She finally got the key in the lock just as he grabbed at the front of her jeans, his thick fingers going for the button. The door slammed against the wall but neither of them cared about a potential hole in the drywall at that moment. 

Simon grabbed her by the back of the neck and kissed her with so much force that she had to hold onto his forearms to keep from tumbling over backwards. They stumbled blindly to the couch, their lips firmly locked together all while Simon lifted her into his lap. Her thighs bracketed him as she buried her fingers into his cropped blond hair. 

“What’s gotten into you?” She gasped, pulling back just enough to fill her lungs before diving back into his embrace.

His hips bucked up into her as a hiss of words forced themselves from him. “Had a thought at the bar.” 

“Hmm?” This time, it was her lips on his throat, distracting the normally stoic man. He gripped at her ass for some semblance of control which was quickly slipping away.

“Johnny should have your first time.” All of her movements ceased. “You like him.”

“Si-“ She tried to pull herself from his arms, her cheeks heating with her shame. She couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“No. You do, it’s ok. I like em too, you aren’t special.” He teased, running his thumb along the apple of her cheek. Her breath caught. “He likes you, more than a little bit.” She shook her head firmly but Simon knew that she was thinking about it.

“You’re my boyfriend, not Soap. I want you.” His lopsided smile almost distracted her enough to kiss him again.

“I’m not gentle, not in the way you need for your first time and we both know that I’m too much for you to take. So-“

“You want me to fuck your best friend.”She finished for him. There was a beat of silence and then she pulled herself from his lap. “I don’t know about this.”

Simon stayed seated where he was but sat up fully, watching her every step as she paced around their living room. “I’ll be there too, not letting that mutt be alone with you so he can try to steal you away.” 

“Yet you’ll let him sleep with me.” His smile grew. Y/N shut her eyes and took a deep breath before a smile of her own began to bloom. “Ok, but I want you to fuck me right after.”

“That, Birdie, I can do.” With one swift movement, he yanked her back down to his lap and kissed her before he could run off and get Johnny to come over right that second. 

——————

Simon had been out of the house all day and for that, Y/N was grateful. She knew he was going to talk to Johnny today and knowing her boyfriend, that meant that tonight, she would be popping her cherry. He left with a tender albeit lust-filled kiss when he got up in the morning and a whispered promise that she should ‘get some rest’.

So she’d taken the day for herself; a long, luxurious bath in their massive tub, complete with shaving practically every inch of her body, then a nice coffee and breakfast and by lunchtime, she was deep in a book of poetry Gaz had recommended. The text arrived right when she had gotten up to make herself a cup of tea.

We’ll be home by 7.

A shiver of fear and excitement rolled up her back. This was it, after a year of taking it slow, all the angst of being with a man who was considered to be dead to everyone save for only those closest to him, and the anxiety of a multitude of ‘firsts’, finally they could take the next step. Even if they needed a bit of help.

And she certainly wasn’t opposed to the man helping her. Johnny was sweet and goofy in the best ways possible. Where Simon had been a solid wall of scars and fear, Johnny was a book that fell open the moment Simon had finally introduced them. He was easy to be around and Y/N couldn’t deny that she had gotten a small crush on the man when he tripped over himself to order her the most atrocious sounding cocktail just to get a smile out of her while she was having a terrible day. She also saw the way he made her Simon relax even through the thick shield of his mask.

She eyed the side table by the bed where she kept all her private toys but quickly dismissed that idea. Instead she wandered down the hall, intent on pouring herself a drink just to take the edge off. She could only imagine what would walk through that door.

“This punishment for flirting with your bird, Ghost?” Soap was doubled over, struggling to catch his breath with the full kit he donned plus the training dummy he had been forced to carry on his back. Ghost crossed his arms over his chest, remaining silent where he stood at the side of the field. “Look, had one too many. Can ya blame me for getting friendly with a pretty lass?” The sun was high in the sky, the temperature rising steadily but still, he had made his sergeant run laps while the newer recruits were posted with Price for the day.

The pack and dummy slid off his back, landing on the running track with a thud. “Alright, what’s really gone on? This is bigger than what happened the other night.” Ghost’s shoulders dropped as his chest heaved with a deep breath. He nodded towards the benches which Soap gladly collapsed onto. 

Silence descended on the two men as each sat with their thoughts. Johnny knew that Ghost would talk when he was ready, and he could only hope that he wouldn’t be murdered for finding his best friend’s girlfriend absolutely gorgeous.

“I want ya to fuck her.” Johnny’s neck popped with the force at which he snapped his head over to Ghost who was already looking at him. 

The rumble of a car’s engine sounded above the din of soft jazz from the speakers. Yet the house remained still, tensed for what was to come. The car door opened then slammed shut. Simon. 

The second door was much more cautious, barely making any noise when it closed, even the crickets hiding in the long grass along the drive were louder than his footsteps on the gravel. Johnny. 

Y/N smiled to herself and tugged at the silky nightgown she saved for special occasions. Already, she was trembling with excitement, arousal dripping onto her bare thighs (she thought it better to forgo panties entirely rather than have another obstacle in the way). 

“Birdie?” Simon’s voice was thick with his lust. Her fingers curled into the dress’s hem as she called back.

“‘M in the bedroom.” She hoped they heard her tone was sexy rather than the desperate whine it came out as. She readjusted herself so she sat up on her knees in the centre of the bed, a position she knew made Simon short circuit every time. There was a muffled conversation from downstairs then, the stairs creaked with the weight of both men. Y/N swallowed thickly as the footsteps paused right outside the door.

“Ghost-“

“No, hear me out. She’s-“ He scrubs a hand over his cheek, pushing his mask out of place. Johnny stays quiet. “She’s a virgin and I’m- we’ve tried but no matter what we try, it’ll just hurt her. I know how ya look at her. I know how she-“ There was a hidden ‘I’ in there as well, “looks at you. We both want this, we both want your help.” Soap folded over himself, his head falling into his hands.

“Christ Ghost.”

Simon groaned as soon as he saw her, his brown eyes almost rolling back into his skull. “You damn minx.” She half-expected him to jolt forward and sweep her into a kiss but instead, he stepped to the side, revealing a nervous Johnny who was still standing at the top of the stairs. 

“Johnny.” She smiled at him.

“Hi hen.” He took a tentative step forwards, blue eyes flicking from her to his superior, then back to her. Simon pulled the black balaclava off his head and tossed it onto the plush chair in the corner of the room. Johnny took a steadying breath before his knees brushed the side of the bed. He glanced at the larger man one more time and then he finally reached out, cupping her jaw more gently than either of them thought him capable of.

“God yer gorgeous.” Heat crawled up her neck as another drip of wetness rolled down her thigh.

“And she’s ok with this?” 

“More than you know.”

“And you?” Johnny flicked at the lighter in his hand, a nervous habit he could never quite break. Ghost eased himself back against the wall behind them, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“You know the answer to that already.”

Their first kiss was gentle, tender in a way that made her insides ache. Johnny’s lips were soft, a stark contrast to Simon’s but a welcome change nonetheless less. Y/N took his free hand into hers as she slid her fingers of her right into one of his belt loops. He made a desperate noise against her lips.

“I’ll be gentle.” He whispered, his thumb brushing the soft skin of her face. 

“I know.” The next kiss was more heated but just as caring. His touch travelled down from her face to the small of her back, the rough tips of his fingers tracing the length of her body before gently laying her down. Her nightgown slipped up her thighs as Johnny climbed between them.

The mattress by her head dipped making Y/N open her eyes. Simon sat half on the bed, his shirt already off. “Ya want Johnny ta take care of ya?” The smell of his cologne and Johnny’s sweat made her head spin. Simon tsked. “Words birdie.”

“Want him bad Si.” Johnny moaned into her neck as she ground her hips upwards, catching the bulge of his cock against her mound. He grabbed at her waist, encouraging her movement. Simon chuckled and reached between them, tugging the silky dress up and off.

Johnny’s eyes went wide. “Ya didn’t tell me just how pretty she was naked.” He cupped one of her tits, as if testing its weight in his palm. 

“I thought it should be a surprise. But you’ve imagined her like this before, haven't you MacTavish?” Instead of answering, Johnny buried his face between her tits, occupying his lips with memorising the taste of her skin. Y/N clutched at his back, her giggles interchanging with her moans. 

“Be nice Si.” She gasped as he took one of her nipples into his mouth

Simon just scoffed and leaned over, placing a kiss to her forehead before he stood up but not without a squeeze to Johnny’s shoulder. “You stop the moment she says.” He warned, earning an eye-roll from the sergeant.

“She’s in charge.” He confirmed before returning his attention back to the set of perfect tits laid out before him, this time he leaned his weight onto his right hand as his left brushed against where the ache he caused her continued to grow. He brushed her cunt with the tips of his fingers, gathering as much wetness as he could. “Shit, this really all for me?”

She bashfully turned her head into the pillow. “Don’t tease me Johnny.” So he didn’t. He caught her thrumming clit with his thumb as he eased his middle finger into her tightness. In and out, in and out, curl, in and out. 

Her whine was muffled by Simon’s groan from the other side of the room. She forced her gaze to him, only to be met with the sight of her huge boyfriend spread eagle in the chair facing the bed, his pants undone, huge cock in his hand. Already his face and chest were ruddy with a deep blush, his huge thighs tensing and intending with each upward stroke of his hand.

Johnny’s teeth sunk into the fat of her breast, distracting her from the stretch as he added a second and then a third finger. Y/N’s back arched from the bed. “Johnny-“ 

“Jus relax for me hen, let me make ya feel good.” His lips latched onto her throat, somehow finding that one spot that made her legs tremble. She grabbed at his shirt as her stomach grew tight and then, she fell.

“Fuuuuck, god please!” She moved her hips with his hand, chasing her orgasm until her cunt began to ache for something more. “Please Johnny, please I need you inside me now.” He followed her tugging hands up until he was firmly nestled against her, his shirt now off and his wet hand undoing his jeans. 

“Whatever you want hen, ‘m here for you.” Apparently Johnny had the same inclination against underwear as Simon did, his cock easily sprang free, bumping against his taut stomach. While not as big as Simon’s, Johnny was no less intimidating. Thick and cut, his head now almost a dark purple and throbbing with his eagerness to be inside her.

Something flashed in his eyes and he quickly glanced at Simon. “Condom?” Y/N pinched his chin and brought him back to face her.

“Birth control. I need you inside me. Now.” Goosebumps exploded along his arms.

“Yes ma’am.” He notched himself against her entrance and with one solid nod of consent, Johnny finally pushed into her. 

The pain was almost muted by the buzz of her orgasm but she could still feel the burn of the stretch and the small pinch at her tightest point. Her nails bit into the muscles of his shoulders but he never faltered for a second, only cooing soft words of encouragement into her ear as he rocked forwards until he was buried to the hilt. 

“Fuck.” She couldn’t even tell whose voice that was, too lost to the feeling of being so full for the first time in her life. As soon as she relaxed her grip, Johnny pulled out halfway and thrust back in as gently as he could. This feeling was so utterly foreign but so familiar, a burning heat that ignited her nerves. 

He slipped a hand beneath her raised back, letting him press in deeper, hitting a spot inside her that she never thought existed. “Thas it hen, just keep breathing. Doing so good fer me.” His accent grew thicker as he hissed, her cunt clamping down on him in a way that made his head spin.

“More.” She moaned, lifting her wide hips. Johnny obeyed immediately. 

The mattress springs groaned with each deep thrust, matching Y/N’s moaned cries. The burn had become a delicate pleasure that was quickly becoming all-consuming and it seems that the man inside her wasn’t faring much better, nor was Simon.

His head was thrown back against the top of the chair but his eyes remained on them, his eye-lids half-closed, revealing only the blackness of his pupil as he watched. His knuckles were white with how tight he held the base of his cock, trying to stave off his end until it was his turn. Johnny’s face was flushed, making his blue eyes shine even bluer. A vein on the right side of his neck pounded with his heartbeat and all Y/N wanted to do was to bite it. His abs flexed with each thrust, a rhythm that sent her up a spiral of ecstasy.

“Johnny, Johnny.” She chanted, her leg wrapping around his waist, heel against his perky ass. 

“Good girl. Takin it so good.” Suddenly, the fire burned brighter and she let it overwhelm her. “Fuck hen. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She rippled around him, forcing his orgasm from him. 

As soon as Johnny’s body went lax above her, Simon grabbed him by the back of his neck and smashed their lips together in a borderline violent kiss. “Good lad.” He growled into his mouth as his fingers curled into his now dishevelled mohawk. He pulled Johnny backwards, his softening cock falling from her with a wet pop.

“Finally.” Y/N was suddenly flipped onto her front and before she could even get her bearings, Simon slammed into her. Even aided by her wetness and Johnny’s cum as lube, the stretch was still almost blinding. A shrill cry left her lips but it did nothing to hinder the man above her, she didn’t want it to.

He punched into her with a force that made the headboard slam into the wall, cracking the drywall. “So fuckin tight. Won’t last.” His hands clamped down on her hips, no doubt bruising them but he wouldn’t stop, not now, not when he could unleash every single drop of desire he had ever felt for her.

Warm lips kissed at her cheek and neck as Johnny’s hand pressed against her large stomach, slowly moving down to where she and Simon were connected. He strummed her overworked clit. “Fuck! Do that again.” And like the good soldier he was, Johnny obeyed his lieutenant’s orders, guiding her into yet another earth shattering orgasm.

Simon practically howled as he forced himself entirely into her before he finally filled her with everything he had. 

“Fuckin hell.” He groaned and crumbled onto the bed, a hazy smile on his face. Y/N rolled onto her side, fitting into Simon’s outstretched arms, her back to his front. 

Johnny stood at the side of the bed, still naked and awkwardly watching the couple hold each other as he was trapped feeling like an outsider even if they were only able to be like this because of him.

Without a word, she held her hand out to Johnny. He looked at it, then her, as if he were trying to defuse a bomb and not thinking about how his best friend’s girlfriend was inviting him into their bed to cuddle after he had just fucked away her virginity. Then, he took it. 

Her soft body easily moulded against him as he slipped under the covers beside her. Their legs tangled together and he rested his head on her pillow.

“Thank you for being here Johnny.” She whispered, placing a gentle kiss to his swollen lips.

“Y’know what they say, two’s a crowd, three’s company.” She rolled her eyes.

“We could always add more.” Simon teased, his arm wrapping around the sergeant’s back to draw him closer to them.

“Don’t ruin this Si.” 

“Yeah Si.” Johnny parroted.

“Watch it Soap.” He grumbled.

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Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti

Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 1/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Wordcount: 3977

Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.

Warnings: Being buried alive, claustrophobia, guns, general violence, cold leftovers and horrible grammar.

[a/n: Let me know if anyone wants to join the taglist! I should be able to post every week to bi-weekly depending on some travel! This is setting some things up, but I promise it gets better.]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

The weight of dirt was beginning to make the lid of the state provided casket buckle. It wasn’t very sturdy despite its drastic price that the government contemplated paying. It would have been easier to cremate, send you into the afterlife with the kiss of fire white-hot enough to melt bone. But your will had been specific, not necessarily written by you, but detailing that you must be buried, nonetheless.

No state representative wanted to have the ghost of a twenty-something paralegal on their hands. Though most were Roman Catholic and believed whole-heartedly that once a candle was lit in recognition a spirit couldn’t possibly seek vengeance. Still, they respected your wishes.

No, not your wishes. You were too young to even think of a will, or any specifications that would result in your burial. You still swallowed two cans of candle-flavored alcoholic seltzer with your sad dinner of microwaveable lasagna. You hadn’t made a habit of signing legal documents between sloppy bites and buzzed naps in the sun.

Which begged the question of why you were in a casket in the first place, and why dirt was starting to sprinkle down from the creaking wood above. Doctors made mistakes, but burying you alive? Well- shit, that was less of a mistake and more of a deliberate ignorance.

Your body was stiff, cold and unwelcoming to the life that suddenly thrummed through you. Maybe you had been dead. Nothing two full bottles of Advil couldn’t ebb out of you. Your fingertips pushed against the fabric lining, testing the validity of the box you were in.

This was all somehow extremely familiar; the darkness that swam around you, the putrid scent of your own breath after being beneath the earth for God knows how long. You could taste the film on your teeth and almost craved a toothbrush more than you did freedom. Almost.

Despite the pain in your calves, you situated yourself to where your feet pressed against the lid. With just a little leverage maybe you could push hard enough to free yourself. There was a rhythmic shoveling above; so you weren’t completely packed in yet.

Suddenly, very thankful for the yoga classes Jennifer was making you take, you maneuvered until you got enough strength to push. For a few agonizing moments, nothing budged except your spine. Fuck, fuck, fuck. A few more breaths and a harder push and the latches on the outside of the casket seemed to give way to the pressure with a small pop. You could taste dirt, feel it in your eyes.

Another brisk shove and the lid flung off it’s hinges, crashing loudly against the meticulously carved grave. You winced at the cold soil that suddenly surrounded you. Worms squirmed against your skin and that was enough for you to sit up with gusto, holding back a stomach full of vomit. Formaldehyde? It tasted terrible, either way.

You shivered and dusted yourself off. It was either early morning or just before dusk. You couldn’t tell but the electric blue sky had just started to fade to orange. You wouldn’t have been able to handle the sun being in full force, barely blinking away the color of the world, much brighter than the dark box you’d dismantled.

And boy, did you dismantle it. You’d only intended to push it up, free yourself, but the cheap wood had splintered and crumbled under just a little force. You stood in the wreckage and peered up at the company you had obtained.

“What the fuck?!”

It was a man who looked younger than you in his fear. He held a shovel in his hands, hugging it close to his chest. His mouth was slightly opened and his deep brown eyes were widened in fear and shock. The knees of his dark blue jumpsuit were stained with dirt and water.

“Can you give me a boost?” You croaked.

“A boost… I, fuck, I shouldn’t’ have taken this job.”

“You can quit after you help me out of this hole.” You shivered, looking down at the dirt below your feet. You swore you saw it pulse like a heartbeat. Too many worms, maybe even a few spiders. You’d never been too fond of bugs. You reached your caked hand up. “Please.”

He made a small noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t want to be patient zero.”

“Do I look like a zombie to you?”

“A little,”

“Now I’m offended and freezing my ass off.”  

He regarded you, probably checking for a nasty festering bite, yellowing skin and any general signs of reanimation. When he didn’t find any, he reached a shaking hand down to you. Both of you struggled and strained until you found the perfect hold on the side of the grave. God- you were never so happy to touch grass.

You panted and stared up at the sky, stars were starting to pockmark the navy blue. It was, in fact, night. The metal tip of a shovel was pointed towards your neck. “Aw, come on, I thought we bonded there.”

“I’m talking to a corpse, we are not bonding.”

“Where are we?” You ignored his pointed stare and tilted yourself up on your elbows. A cemetery was the easy answer. But you wanted to know which one. There were at least 1,700 in the state of New York alone, and they all looked deceivingly the same. “Do I have to take a cab to Manhattan?”

“Uh, you’re in White Plains. Mount Calvary cemetery. I’m- I’m sorry, is this not freaking you out at all?”

You frowned, patting the pockets of a pair of jeans (why the hell would they bury you in jeans, they were the worst). In a long exhale you said. “Shit. I think worms ate my cash.”

It was a longshot to even think that your phone would be in your pocket. It wasn’t. But that left you stranded almost an hour, by car, outside of the city. It would be morning by the time you made it back and that was if no-one pulled up to the side of the road and tried their luck.

You did the only thing you can think of and peered up at this stranger with watery, wide eyes. It wasn’t a move you pulled often, meaning it still worked on Jennifer, on your mother and your father. This was a last resort and you were certainly willing to use it to your advantage.

“What? No.” He shook his head “No! No! Absolutely not. You just dug yourself out of a grave I fucking refuse-“

His name was Austin and he drove a 2002 Ford that needed to warm up for a few minutes before he even considered pulling out of the gravel drive. He was pressed as far as possible away from you and that didn’t exactly boost your confidence, but honestly, truthfully, you would take what you could get at this point.

Austin asked if you were freaking out, and you were. Everything was patchy and black in some places. You couldn’t remember how you’d ended up in a casket. It was clearly a situation that irked you for more than one reason. The forefront of which; no one had attended your funeral.

You weren’t even from White Plains. You’d known from your day job that this place had more than one government funded cemetery. So, most likely, you were given a half-rate priest with liquor on his breath and a funeral director that may have taken the twenty from your pocket, not the worms.

Your stomach clenched as Austin began to drive. He was tapping his fingers against the steering wheel nervously, and could you blame him? A corpse was in his passenger seat. Though, you felt alive enough.

“What’s your name?” He eventually asked, flicking on his high beams. You were on a long and deserted road flanked by oak trees. The occasional field passed by, the reflective quarter-sized eyes of cows blinking at the truck. “Frankenstein?”

You snorted, “Ha-ha. Frankenstein was the doctor, not the monster, you know? And I don’t remember my pitiful grave being struck by lightning.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“Perhaps.”

“Pitiful? Really? I work hard to maintain those graves.”

“I’m sure they’re lovely.” There was a rolling beat of silence. He glanced at you twice before shrugging his shoulders and leaning his chest closer to the wheel to see better. “It’s y/n. Wasn’t it written on the stone?”

Austin shook his head softly, “No, they don’t put the stone in until later. I’m supposed to spray paint a neon ‘x’ on the packed dirt, so they know what to make.”

How humiliating. You’d supposedly died, no one came to your funeral, and you were reduced to less than a quarter of spray paint. There was a system to everything, but this one made your self-importance fizzle out like a covered candle. There one moment and gone the next.

“Do you have a plan?” Austin changed the subject.

“A plan?”

“Yeah, like, are you just going to show up and say surprise, I’m alive? I’ve seen a lot of horror movies and that never goes well.”

Well, that was your plan. It was a damned good one too. There was nowhere else for you to go. While this near stranger was nice enough, you couldn’t impose on him for more than a single ride. His kind chocolate stare was telling enough. He would let you stay with him as long as it took to figure all of… this, out.

“Yeah,” You sighed out, leaning your head against the cool glass “That’s all I’ve got.”

Jennifer’s apartment building had a small box that required a code for entry. You knew the right numbers to press in the right order, they had faded away from regular use, but the door was always propped open by a cinderblock to let in the cool summer air.

If it rained hard enough, New Yorkers would take partial shelter under the awnings, and sometimes going as far as to loiter in the front lobby by the large set of mailboxes. They were the oldest and most fascinating part of the building, large and wrought iron. Allegedly, they’d survived three building fires.

Thankfully, no one but you stood in the lobby as you watched Austin’s taillights flicker out of existence. You’d have to thank him later- of course, you hadn’t gotten his number, but you knew where her work. At least where he worked up until now.

Escorting someone who had kicked their way out of their own grave back into the city was grounds for quitting, in your book.

The elevator was the second oldest thing in the building, but you somehow felt a wave of relief wash over you when the familiar warmth pressed against your skin. The mechanics jolted and hummed like an old lawn mower. All of these were comfortable.

Hunger tinged at your stomach in one fail swoop of feeling. You steadied yourself against the reflective interior of the elevator as it rose to the highest floor. Each number was signified in a loud and crude beep. You were tempted to hit the emergency stop; gaging the feeling in your abdomen.

Brains?

Yeah, the thought of them was absolutely unappetizing. Austin had gotten into your head. There was no innate need to dig your teeth into flesh and devour. In fact, you became more nauseous at the idea than before it popped into your head.

Zombies were chained to shitty horror movies you and Jennifer curled up to watch every Friday night, making fun of the gelatin that was used for wiggly guts and the cooked rice substituted for maggots. You could go for rice right now.

Knowing your best friend, she would have some sort of left-over cuisine in her fridge and you didn’t hesitate to run your fingers over the top of the doorframe to procure her hidden key, taped with a single strip of adhesive to the surrounding paneling.

Her apartment was dark save for the small tank with a one-finned goldfish named Gus. He barely regarded you, the dull buzz of his home and the pale blue light gave you all the vision you needed. Again, the familiarity of Jennifer’s apartment warmed you, comforted you. If you stopped for too long, you’d think about it all too much.

Waking up in a grave, not remember how you got there in the first place. When was the last time you’d had a meal? You’d purposefully avoided the side mirrors in Austin’s car, even the rearview was gently nudged by your dirt-caked hand. One thing at a time.

The fridge swung open with a satisfying pop and you were never more thankful for the red and white takeout containers that rested on the top shelf next to a box of wine. Neither of you ever claimed to be fancy.

You knew Jennifer’s order like the back of your hand. Sweet and sour chicken with a side of fried rice and no matter what, you would eat it cold. When the scent hit you, you even considered going forkless. If not for the slick dirt under your nails, you would have.

There was instant satisfaction in shoveling a mouthful of rice into your mouth, you barely chewed before swallowing. The neon light from the open fridge illuminated your shame and you swore that Gus, the one-finned fish, was judging you. He ate flakes for fucks sake, watching you spoon cold leftovers was the least of his worries.

You’d moved on from the rice and to the chicken before you noticed that you had company. It was a shift in the air, the feeling of being watched. But there was something more too, something like an itch on the back of your neck.

In a split second you turned from your cold meal and lifted your hand up with enough time to grip a wedge golf club that Jennifer had gotten from her father for her twenty-first birthday. They collected dust next to her coatrack, and right now, the metal edge was less than an inch away from slamming into the side of your temple.

You’d never been necessarily graceful, nor good at picking up on your surroundings. You never had to be, not with your work as a paralegal. The worst thing you had to look out for was a bad reaction to burnt office coffee.

Jenn was in an oversized Pink Floyd t-shirt and a pair of boxers, her eyes were wild, hair even wilder. A bloom of fondness wash over you despite her attempt at assault. You couldn’t blame her either, your mind so one-track on getting a meal that you hadn’t warned your best friend, not in the slightest.

“Fuck! What the fuck!” she wrenched the club away from you and moved to swing again, holding it behind her head like a baseball bat.

“Jesus Christ! Oh my God, put the wedge down!”

“You’re not-“She gulped in a cold breath of air “you died!”

“Don’t hit me with that thing and kill me again!”

Her chest was heaving up and down, fingers tightening against the rubber grip handle. Her eyes were frantic. “Did you eat my leftovers?”

You blinked at her, not sure what to say. She didn’t give you a chance to answer either, instead she sprung forward and wrapped you in a bone-crushing hug. You breathed her in, her scent of summer rain and freshly cleaned laundry. Her hair tickled your nose but you held her back, held her as if it were the last time you ever would.

Something softly broke within you, and you felt tears well up in your eyes. They slid silently down your cheeks. The fridge closed with a padded thump and plunged you both into the neon blue glow. Eventually, the club fell to the floor with a clank and her fingers fisted your shirt. You were thankful that she didn’t use her full strength.

“How is this happening?”

“I don’t know,” You rasped.

And you didn’t. Everything was so fuzzy and each time you attempted to press the subject in your mind, you felt the start of a headache at the base of your skull. For now, you were perfectly content holding your friend flush against you.

“You smell so bad,” She sobbed.

“Yeah, well, I was dead.”

Jenn pulled back and squeezed both of your shoulders, studying you longer than you had studied yourself, her breath shuddered “Maybe this is one of those Halloween things, like… like you have one night back on earth.”

You gave her a weak smile “It’s June, Jenn.”

She frowned at you, fingers pressing against your goosebump covered skin. “Sweetie, it’s October. You’ve been… gone, four months.”

But you hadn’t been buried since June. You were barely buried this evening. Your body ached from how stiff the casket had been, fingers numbed from the cold. You figured you were jarred, not in a different season altogether.

“I don’t… I don’t remember anything.”  

She swallowed hard, linking her hands behind your, they rested at the base of your spine. You could tell that she was afraid to release her hold on you. Her breath was warm against your collarbone.

“You were hit by a car that blew through a redlight.”

Okay- anticlimactic. You worked alongside Jennifer at Goodman, Lieber, Kurzberg and Holliway on cases that were focused on Inhumans, superheroes and supernatural beings that had gotten themselves into legal trouble. Being taken out by a car accident wasn’t on your top-five ways to go.

“It was all very… weird. They wouldn’t’ let me see you, and at first, I thought it was because we’re not family, but they didn’t let them in either. I even pulled the attorney card, which I’m not proud of, but they refused to let us even identify you.”

She withdrew her touch and started to pace around the kitchen. It was her way of thinking, and now that she was sure that you were a solid being, she was free to move around. “Even when I got six feet tall, mean and green, they wouldn’t let me in. I was two seconds from calling Bruce.”

Jenn stopped and lifted both eyebrows at you “You look remarkable for someone who has been under the earth for months.”

“I was being buried today in White Plains. I’m assuming there was no funeral, then?”

“No… no. They had said that private arrangements had been made and it’s my guess that those were keeping you on ice until now.”

You winced at the phrasing. You were never too fond of hospitals and the blocks in your memory scared you more than anything. If what Jennifer was saying was right, then, you may not have died in that intersection. You may have been through something much, much worse.

“Sorry,” She sighed out, desensitized just as you were. “Y/n, you can’t remember anything?”

“No,” The word came out as a broken whisper.

The two of you stood in a quiet moment. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, and you held onto that feeling. It was there, you were there, pockmarked memory and all. You felt the urge to reach out and hold Jennifer again, suddenly so exhausted you didn’t’ imagine your legs holding you up much longer.

Her eyes flickered down to the center of your chest and then back up to your stare with an immeasurable amount of fear. When you gazed down at the dirt-stained shirt, you saw a red dot, quivering as if a hand was behind it’s direction. Your shoulders slumped.

“aw, fuck.”

Jennifer let out a scream as her front door was splintered open and flung with great force across the room. The two windows that overlooked the view of the city shattered as heels broke against the panes. The one singular dot had changed to seven, long-range rifles aimed at you, and you were suddenly very sad that your last meal would be cold leftover rice.

Even in the dark, you knew that they had knocked over the fishtank holding Gus, multicolored rocks and glass slid across the wooden floor. There were light gray circles against the breasts of these intruders, a bird with outstretched wings in it’s center.

Your hands went up reflexively, both you ducked behind the breakfast nook, you were close to plugging your ears, the red dots trained on the fridge now, “Oh my god, did you call SHIELD?”

“No! No, I didn’t even know you were alive three minutes ago, I was going to hit you with a golf club and call the cops, not SHIELD.”

They were assholes and tight-lipped about everything, always. It was hard to get a phone call back from them divulging information about ongoing lawsuits, but now they were in front of you, guns raised and depriving Jennifer’s fish of life.

“Gus is going to drown,” You whispered harshly back.

“He’s a fish, he can’t drown.”

“In air.”

There was obvious shifting of firearms. The Agents were all calculated and still with their movements, there wasn’t subtle noise without intent. A gruff, raspy female voice called out to you. “Come out with your hands up, y/n.”

You peaked over the breakfast bar and squinted into the darkness. Your body was not equipped for this. It was already protesting from kicking open the casket with a bought of strength. It certainly wasn’t prepared for this.

Most of the agents were in swat gear, bullet-proof vests and helmets, their faces were covered with balaclava’s, leaving only small strips of exposed skin and eyes trained on you. You hadn’t had this much attention directed at you since your fifth-grade talent show, and you figured the last time would be your funeral, but that hadn’t gone exactly to plan.

The woman who was speaking was in a tactical suit. She didn’t’ bother to cover her identity, she didn’t have to. This was the Black Widow. Natasha Romanoff. Jennifer had gotten drunk one night after a losing case and told you about her cousin having a bit of a fling with her. You’d met Bruce, and that was… unbelievable in the nicest way possible.

Her emerald eyes were trained on you, serious and hard. A tingle ripped up your spine and your stomach squirmed at her scrutiny. Maybe it was the rice and the chicken, but you felt the urge to vomit. You wanted her to say your name again, despite not understanding why she knew it in the first place.

Jennifer gripped your ankle, shaking her head ‘no’ vigorously. Really, you should trust your lawyer friend.

The Black widow let out a sigh, the tip of her handgun pointed to the ground. “You can either come out, or I’ll blow a hole through your chest. Your choice.”

Your gaze flashed down to Jenn and she seemed to have changed her mind within a second, nodding with caution. “Okay, okay.”

Once you were at full height, the room bustled in movement. Your eyes remained on the Black Widow, and hers on yours. Your mouth felt dry, the tip of her gun pushing against your ribs before she flipped you and bent you over the granite counter. Jennifer was using her heels to scoot back to the fridge, trying to avoid the agents swarming around.

Metal cuffs were slapped against your wrists. The Black Widow was pressed flush against you, her warmth dominating. She grasped the back of your shirt and pulled you up. You were, for a fleeting moment, at her mercy. Her fingers searched your pockets, padded down your sides. Once she figured you clean, she holstered her weapon. “Y/n Y/l/n,” she husked in your ear. You suppressed a shiver, knowing she’d feel any move you made right now. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

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