#that you can feel hot blood rush into your hands and feet and bring them back to a normal temperature within about ten seconds?

[annabelle--cane]

being a somewhat strange person, your friends and family get used to hearing strange things about you rather quickly, until you say something that would knock an unsuspecting classmate or coworker flat but your well-acclimated closer companion simply nods and says "stands to reason," so there's a certain joy in occasionally saying something so unusual that your own mother of twenty-one years puckers her lips in shock and says "marina... that's not normal..."

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 8: Nobody’s Son, Nobody’s Daughter

You hate how weak you are, sometimes.

That a text can ruin your whole day.

>> Hey. I hope you’re doing well. I miss hearing from you.

You’re fuming. Absolutely fuming. In under fifteen seconds you’re on your feet, face hot and heart pounding as you stomp across the old wooden floor.

“I’ll be right back.” You grunt to Johnny and Kyle, ignoring their wide, confused eyes and fast walking past them and out the back door.

The sun is up for longer now, only just beginning to set. It’s hot and hard to breathe, which only makes you more pissed off. Your skin prickles and blood rushes in your ears. You hate the way your hands shake. Your boot connects with the dumpster hard. It hurts, but you’re too pissed to really care. You just need it out of your system - the metal sending a ringing, gong-like sound bouncing around the back alley as you repeatedly slam your foot into it.

How dare he?

Miss hearing from you? YOU?

He ignores you for your whole childhood and teenage years - didn’t even try - and he misses hearing from you!? Couldn’t ever remember your age or grade when you did see him and he hopes your doing well!? Blew you off for his other kids for years and he fucking misses you!

How the hell did he even get your new number? Your mom, probably. The traitor. Fuck.

“Think that bin’s ‘ad enough, bird.” Simons voice startles you. He glances down at the dent you somehow managed to make. Your foot throbs when you put it back on the ground, shifting your weight onto the other one. One of your toes is bleeding, you think. You hand feel it soaking into your sock.

You look away, face hot from embarrassment now. “Didn’t know anyone was out here…”

Simon takes you in for a moment. Usually you don’t mind it - his intense silences - but right now it feels like being dissected. Like he’s pulling your skin back to reveal that squirming, tar-like creature aways simmering just a layer beneath. The pathetic little worm you try so hard to cover with a functional facade.

“Smoke?” He tilts the pack toward you. You wrinkle your nose - it’s a shit brand - but at the moment you wouldn’t care if it was made of actual shit as long as it had nicotine.

You pick one out and plop down on the weird curb that lines the opposite side of the alley. Simon sits beside you, raising his lighter toward you cupping his hand around the little flame to light your cigarette. It’s intimate, in a way, and if you had the emotional elasticity for it you might have blushed.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks after a few drags.

You shrug. “Dads suck.”

Simon hums. “That they do.”

“It’s just like-“ You make an exasperated sound and run your fingers through your hair. “Like if you’re not around for fuckin’ twenty years, you don’t get to act upset when I don’t want to talk ever. Just because now I’m the one that set the boundary. It’s stupid. It’s mean.”

Simon nods along as you ramble, your voice trailing off eventually. You both sit there quietly, for a moment. This is the type of silence that you don’t mind. Enjoy, even. Just existing together. At first you thought he hated you, or just didn’t like much of anybody, but you’ve come to theorize that he’s the same as you. That he gets stuck in his head, too. It’s nice, having someone to sit with without the need to entertain them. To preform.

Your lip quivers even as you attempt to stop it by sinking your teeth in. A killing blow. It doesn’t work. You bury your face in your hands. “I don’t know why I’m crying…”

“Because you’re hurt.” Simon bluntly replies. It’s soft, though. As soft as a voice like his can be.

“He doesn’t deserve it.” You sob, messily wiping at your eyes. Your eyeshadow is probably smudged to hell now but you can’t bring yourself to care. Hopefully the others don’t ask about it.

An arm wraps around you, tucking you close. The surprise of it almost knocks you out of your crying fit entirely. Simon isn’t touchy. With anyone. He doesn’t look at you, just keeps his eyes forward while he takes a long drag, but that arm remains around your shaking shoulders with you pressed to his side.

It’s quiet, as it usually is when you close up with just Simon. The others took off for the night. Johnny said something about a date before dragging Kyle off arm in arm. They must have set up some kind of double date for the evening. John’s last appointment had to reschedule so he knocked off early as well. It’s nice, really, to be alone in the shop with Simon. He lowers the music, helps you with sweeping and the trash. Tells you the newest joke from wherever the hell he gets them. Popsicles, you think, based on his sweet tooth and the quality of pun.

“C’mon. We’re takin’ a field trip.” Simon tilts his head toward the street past the turn to your apartment. He still insists on walking you home, even if the sky is still relatively bright.

You look up, frowning. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”

You follow him down the quiet street. It’s warm and muggy as you go. You keep glancing up at Simon, waiting for some sort of tell. Some hint at where he’s leading you. In the back of your mind, you become innately aware that Simon is probably the only man you’d follow this blindly.

You nearly knock into him when Simon comes to a sudden stop. “Here.”

You look up, squinting at the tacky sign in what you can only describe as “intense manly man” font. Bold, blocky letters in bright orange with faux cracks scattered through the letters.

TANTRUM TANK

A mixture of stunned and curious leaves you quietly following Simon in. You press the spot between your brows to dissipate the confused frown. The lobby is pretty basic with a few decorations that mimic the style of the sign. Cracked facades and black walls. The room is lined with plastic chairs and a couple safety posters reminding patrons not to hit each other with the bats. A large television screen flashes between images of people in hazmat suits smashing various garbage and debris, pausing on a menu of times and prices.

“Simon!” A man appears behind the counter, face bright. “Here for your usual hour?”

Simon steps up to the counter, nodding in your direction. “Actually, I’ve got a plus one.”

The man’s brows raise and he looks you over, giving you ashort, polite greeting. You nod and smile back, pretending like you know why you’re here at all. You just watch as Simon briefly chats with the clerk who obviously knows him well. He’s a regular here, then. He doesn’t give anything away, just makes some brief, perfunctory small talk before taking a key and waving you after him. Why’d he bring you here, of all people?

Your heart skips at the thought of Simon wanting to do something with you, though. He brought you here because he wants to hang out - in his own way. He must do this with the other boys, too. Maybe one of them bailed on him or something. Part of you wonders if he didn’t want to come alone, but that doesn’t sound like him. Plus, you can’t say that its’ at all out of character for him to decide something and just do it with no other communication. You also can’t say you mind much. Not with him.

“You come here with the others a lot?” You ask as you follow him back to the room.

“No.”

You frown. Oh.

The two of you lapse into silence as you put your things away into designated lockers. There’s a sort of interim room before the actual rage room with storage and a few stacks of protective gear in various sizes. Simon’s quick about it. Practiced. He slips on the protective plastic suit quickly while you grunt and struggle with unfolding it. Your hair crinkles with static as you finally get the mass of plastic unfurled and step into it. Of course the one that fits you around is too damn long. At least the gloves fit.

“Simon?” You murmur, finally finding your voice - as weak as it comes out. “Why’d you bring me here?”

He looks you over for a moment with that same steady gaze as before. You’ve never felt seen like you do with Simon. Even with the others… they don’t see to the core of you like he does. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Some pathetic little part of you left over from your misunderstood teenage years.

“I ’ad a pretty shite father.” Simon says as he zips up his suit. “Taught me a lot of anger. I didn’t- I don’t want to be like ‘im. Don’t want people t’be scared…”

You stare, wide eyed, frozen in place. As if any movement would disrupt this new found honesty - would frighten the man away from confiding in you. It’s sudden and far more than you’ve gotten out of him in the months you’ve known each other. It’s too special to risk.

“Sometimes you’ve got t’get it out of your system. Better than breaking your foot on a skip.” He snorts, stepping forward and carefully pushing a pair of safety glasses over your eyes. One hand runs over your hair just for the briefest moment; another lightly pats your cheek before he turns on his heel, grabbing one of the bats hanging on the wall and making for the door.

You stare after him, shell shocked by both the admission and uncharacteristic physical touch. You involuntarily reach up to trace your fingertips over the cheek he touched.

Don’t want people to be scared…

A part of you breaks in the back of your mind. The obvious, unsaid ‘of me’ sits heavily on your tongue. Some distant image of what he might have looked like as a child. Small and blonde with those big dark eyes… You gulp down a tight breath and follow after him, just a little too close to crying at the implication.

Simon gestures toward a crooked, half broken office desk. “Ladies first.”

And oh, if that first swing wasn’t the best release you’ve had in a long, long time.

A/N: Sorry for being inactive the past couple weeks, I could literally write a novel with how much as happened irl🙃

Anyhoo next part y’all are getting lots of Price because that homecoming skin has got me fucked up

[princessbrunette]

dbf!rafe thought he was doing a pretty good job at pretending he didn’t care too much about you. but it was coming to the late afternoon, and he’d driven past you wandering around town on your own wearing one of those stupid little mini skirts you’re crazy about and he had to do his duty and command you come with him. for your safety of course. he’d hate if some sick older guy got his hands on you.

“get in. c’mon.” he’s already acting irritable with you and it only spurs you on to act mischievous.

“why so glum, hm?” you pout, letting a small giggle slip through as you fasten your belt — the friend of your fathers glancing around the area briefly to see if anyone had seen his bosses daughter climb into his car before zipping off.

“what’d i tell you last time i saw you just— just walking around asking for trouble?” he berates and he’s not even sure why he’s so wound up. you just got him so pent up and touchy that he always found himself being this way with you.

“asking for trouble? mr cameron i was just hanging out.” you laugh, stretching your legs and going to rest your feet on his dashboard. he shoves your legs off, sending you a scalding glare.

“in that little skirt? yeah i wasn’t born yesterday, alright— you were probably off meeting guys.” he grumbles and you turn your head to him, heart fluttering at the jealous tone he had failed to conceal.

“oh no, not hanging out with guys my own age… that would be the most awful thing in the world, right?” you sark, and he resents the way he can hear the pretty smile in your voice without even turning his attention away from the road. he huffs out a scoff, shaking his head as he pulls up to the traffic light.

“told your old man i’d look out for you, right so — so i am just telling you that you shouldn’t be wandering around meeting guys dressed like a hooker. i know how guys brains work, okay — i am a guy. s’why i’m taking your ass home where you can’t get into any of that shit.” he rants, and before you can complain about him calling you a hooker your attention is caught by his promise to bring you home and you shoot up in your seat.

“no, please. just— anywhere else. not home.” you suddenly sound serious, and he nearly misses the stoplight turning green to glance at you in confusion.

“and why the hell not?” he drawls and suddenly you’re a lot more quiet. he raises his eyebrows waiting for a response.

“i’m fighting with my parents. i just… i don’t want to see them yet.” you sigh, staring at your manicure in your lap. as much as he wanted to teach you a lesson and drag you back into the house to your father, he knew what it was like to have a rocky relationship with his parents. because of this he sighs after his slight hesitation and turns in the direction away from your house.

“ah… shit, alright fine. the fuck do you wanna go then? gotta drop you somewhere, alright?” he relents and you beam.

“really? thanks mr cameron.” your elated expression calms itself into a pur as you lean across the gear stick and press a kiss to his cheek. he clenches his jaw.

“watch it.”

to this you respond with a giggle and he relaxes a little, knowing he had a little more time with you.

“where do you wanna go then? haven’t got all day, kid m’not a fuckin’ taxi.”

“hmm, your place?” you’re quick with your answer, almost like you had it planned. he’d given in a few times, let you have your way with him even though he knew it put his career on the line — and he told himself and you that this could go on no longer.

he huffs out a laugh, scratching at his cheek and shaking his head, choosing to ignore the suggestion. your bottom lip curls over at this, frowning a little.

“raaafe.” you whine and he resists an eye roll.

“what you’re — you’re serious about that shit?”

“mhm… i missed you…” you coo, and he feels your warm body lean across the centre console again, a clawed hand finding his thigh as you speak into his ear. “c’mon dad.” you groan and he feels a hot rush of blood fly through him at the nickname. god you were sick.

“don’t fuckin’ call me that.” he turns into his driveway at tannyhill, parking up infront of the house haphazardly before turning off the car and not making any move to get out.

“just wanna play a little bit.” you complain, kissing down his white shirt leaving lipgloss prints that he’d soon complain about down the expensive material as he watches you with parted lips, feeling your hot breath fan over his hardening crotch.

“well if you’re gonna suck me off just fuckin’ do it alright. don’t wanna hear that shrill ass little voice unless you’re tellin’ me how good that shit tastes. c’mon.”

you couldn’t help but obey.

[tacticaldiary]

omg hi, i love your writing and saw requests were open for cod. i was wondering if you could write something where reader and simon are in an established relationship (can either be public to the team or a secret) and they are on a mission. reader has a scare during a mission and ghost has an “i almost lost you” moment with her.

Anyone But Her

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Their line of work has never guaranteed the assurance of coming home, but that doesn't make the fear of loss any easier to deal with, especially not when it happens right in front of his eyes.

Masterlist

If asked where one feels the most comfortable, people who respond with something like 'home' or 'the beach', something achievable and wholly normal.

Her? There was nothing more comforting than the feel of hot metal in her tight grip during a mission, the easy reloading of her sniper almost by muscle memory as she gazes down the scope. The commands, the back and forth with tasks and delegations, and the constant movement and adjustment needed to bring home a victory is what keeps her on her feet.

"In position on first building." Ghost's rough voice travels through the comms, bringing her attention away from the scope she's looking down. Laying down on the top of a hill, spotting the other members as they infiltrate a Russian warehouse, was an easy job. In and out before they realised that the team was even there.

It's an ugly thing, what the 141 deals with, but it's so far set from what normal is that she's long since accepted that there's no going back.

Part of her is glad she hadn't tried. If there was never a chance she'd have been selected for this squad, she never would have met the enigma that is Simon Riley.

Standoffish, brash, deadly.

Understanding, confident, loving.

They'd butted heads on her first day harsher than any of the others ever had, and after an order from Price to resolve their tension lest it interfere mid battle, the both of them had come to realise that they had much more in common than they thought.

The rest had been history. They already moved in sync on the field, and after a try they'd discovered they worked just as well together as something more than teammates. It was hard to keep things professional with glances so heated and words that no friend would ever offer each other.

Some of the things he's said to her in the heat of the moment and the privacy of their quarters makes blood rush to her cheeks just thinking about it.

She was just a precaution, really. A failsafe, because the odds may be in their favour but they were never always truly compliant.

"Breaching second on your command." Gaz's voice relays through.

"Sergeant, how are things from above?"

"All clear, L.T." She says, doing another final sweep of the grounds. "No visible hostiles near your vicinity." The good news is delivered with an undertone of caution.

If their intel was correct, this warehouse should be housing stolen US documents, information that could deal real damage to their operations if transported farther than it already had been.

So where were all the soldiers?

The only ones she sees are a few mulling around the grounds, three by the radio tower nearby and another few near the vehicles at the back of the compounds. Surely such valuable intel would be more heavily guarded?

Her gut speaks to attest that something is wrong, but before she can bring it to light, Ghost and Soap, and Gaz and Price breach the doors of their respective warehouses.

"Copy." Ghost rasps. "Breaching now." She pauses for a moment to fiddle with her comms unit, the voices filtering through to her earpiece crackling in a way they shouldn't be if the device was fully functional.

Looking down her scope, everything seems normal. The grass swaying in the wind, the silence that follows and-

Silence?

She stiffens at the sudden lack of noise. It was too still, the clam before the storm. Hand flying to her comms, she speaks into the device;

"Ground team, how copy?"

Static. Then silence.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she repeats herself louder, more firmly, frowning where there's nothing but muted static and crackling. She does another sweep of the facility with her sniper. All seems quiet until her gaze focuses on the radio tower.

Adjusting her scope's distance, her mouth goes dry when she realises exactly what the three at the base of the structure are holding. A device she herself has used many times during missions like these.

A jammer.

Sudden movement makes her eyes snap back to the vehicle form before. Her stomach drops as the doors to the truck swing open and soldiers armed to their necks pour out, spreading all over the facility.

An ambush. They knew they were coming. Jammed their comms to isolate them and hide their forces until the others entered the warehouses probably. Surrounded. They'd be surrounded in mere minutes if they didn't do something.

Her comms are useless, so she can't warn them, and can only watch in muted horror as they start to scatter around the building.

Fuck.

She can't take out the three men at the tower from here. That wouldn't stop the device and only act to reveal her position. Hands-on was the only way.

Slamming her sniper onto the strap on her back, she extracts her pistol, breaking into a harsh sprint down the hill. There was no time, she had to warn them herself. To hell with staying out of sight.

The 141...they were like family to her. Soap and Gaz's constant cheeky remarks and antics, Price's steadfast and reliable leadership, Ghost...Simon's patience and understanding, his muted passion and actions that when decoded conveyed more love than anybody had every offered her.

The day her team took a loss would not be today. Not like this. Not when she could help it.

Finding herself in the middle of the compound by ducking and staying out of view, she kneels behind a crate, unhooking one of her frag grenades, pulling the pin out with her teeth.

This would give away her position, a dangerous gamble while hostiles surrounded her from all sides, but what better way to alert battle-ready soldiers than with the bang of a grenade. A sounds they knew all to well.

She'd just have to hold her position until they could regroup. She's done tougher things before, and this was so or die right now. With the thought in mind, she steels herself and tosses out the grenade at the most densely packed area of soldiers, clenching her jaw and taking cover at the resounding bang that cracks through the air.

The gunfire follows soon after.

Her comms crackle, evidence that someone's trying to reach her, but with the jammer not sounds can be deciphered.

Soldiers yell, and fire at her location, the heavy thudding of footsteps on either side of her clueing her into their intentions to flank her sides and gun her down. Returning fire, she ducks between the crates to make her way to the radio tower, just a couple of metres away. Bullets clink and bang and ricchoet of fthe metal around her, but miraculously, she's mostly unscathed as dives behind a vehicle and takes down the three men aiming their rifles at her.

The jammer lays at the feet, blinking green.

Right in the middle of the open field. She had to get there, had to get it off so they could all communicate with each other and move smoothly. There was a higher risk of casualties if one moved without the knowledge of the others.

Unpredictability was the worst of enemies in the field.

Steeling herself for going out in the open under the inevitable spray of bullets, she unclips a smoke grenade and tosses it, holding her breath as acrid smoke obstructs everyone's vision. Stumbling into the mess, she keeps low to the ground to avoid the blind fire into the smoke and feels around for the device.

Her hands curl around the metal and she sprints back to cover.

She doesn't make it.

Their blind fire proves effective, as a bullet rips through her shoulder, another one through her calf wrenching out a choked scream from her. The smoke was slowly dissipating, and pretty soon visibility would be back and then any bullet wounds she'd sustain would not be as unfatal.

Panic claws up her throat, but years of practise allow her to swallow it down. She pulls herself up, but groans and collapses, her leg unable to support her weight and her shoulder unable to drag her across the ground.

Shit, shit.

Her breaths come ragged and uneven, her knuckles turning white with the harsh grip on the device. Changing courses, she brings the jammer close to her, focusing on it instead, turning knobs and pressing buttons.

If she bit the bullet here, she'd damn well do so making sure the others stayed alive.

The second the jammer switches off, voices filter through her comms, a flurry of mixed yells, gunfire and pounding footsteps.

"Sergeant?!" A familiar voice barks down the line, hoarse...worried? "Are you down?"

Lightheaded, feeling blood soak through her clothes, she can't bring herself to respond. The smoke starts to clear and the best she can do is shift herself behind a tree a few feet away, leaning against the thick trunk for cover while unable to grasp her weapon through the slippery bloody coating her hands.

Was it normal to have that much blood? Feeling a little delirious, she drops her weapons besides her and presses down hard on the wound on her leg, biting back a groan. Gunfire pings around her, gunpowder and smoke acrid in the air.

It's only when Ghost snaps her name through the comms does she come back to herself a little.

"I'm..." She squeezes her eyes shut trying to get her tongue to form words. "I'm down. Bleeding out near the radio tower. Fuckers jammed out comms. Ambush. Had to...had to warn you. Had to fix it." She coughs, spitting into the ground beside her as blood trickles down her chin.

Definitely not normal.

Swallowing is hard, her thoughts swim as the grass beneath her is stained crimson. Her body feels too heavy, head to light and she wonders if this is really the end.

Someone speaks through her comms, words to muddled in her head to make out. Gaz? Or was that Price? Maybe Soap? Or Simon?

God, what she wouldn't give to hear Simon again, just once. Her eyes flutter shut with a groan. Just once more. She just wants to hear that gruff voice one more time through the comms, saying her name. He's never told her he's loved her verbally, even when she expressed it herself, but words haven't ever been his strong points.

His actions spoke far far louder.

The ways he's memorised all her little routines, her favourite foods, her favourite activities, the particular way she likes to store and clean her weapons. the silent moments at night where he pulled her close and the shared a book together, the nights spent together in bed where he showed her that he was not lacking in love when it came to her.

Simon Riley had left a mark on her life that she wore with pride, and if this...this meant that he lived on another day. She grits her teeth, shallows pant soft breath as blood pools between her fingers.

Then it was damn well worth it.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

An unstoppable force by nature, Ghost is the scariest anybody's ever seen him right now.

That last comms transmission from her had made his heart practically stop in his chest, even if he was as apathetic as ever from the outside. He had called out to her again, demanded she stay awake and give a precise location but no matter how much he shouted and order through the comms he was met with a deafening silence.

Silence that suggested the worst.

Fuck, no. No way. This wasn't happening, this simply wasn't something Simon would allow to happen.

Not her. Not any of them, really, but especially not her. Not her soft smiles and meaningful glances, not when she made him feel as if he might not break everything he comes into contact with.

Not when she was the only one who's ever coaxed out Simon Riley from Ghost.

His actions grow harsher, more brutal. The moment he hears she's near the radio towers bleeding out, he's a man on a mission, and none of the others make a peep of protest as he clears the way through to her, a spartan leaving a trail of blood behind as he moves.

He does not rage. Rage implies something uncontrolled and fierce. No, this is not rage. This is something much colder, much more calculating. Every throat that he slashed with his knife, every bullet that lands home in a skull is done with precision and deadly force. He means every bit of hurt he causes, hurt that stems from his own panic at her sudden silence.

This was not rage. This was icy cold desperation disguised as cool anger.

He's the one who finds her after everybody spreads out to clear the facility.

Back to a tree, eyes closed, hands limp at her side.

She might have been sleeping if not for all the fucking blood.

Dropping down beside her, he shakes her shoulder firmly, calling out her name.

"Wake up, Sergeant." He orders, eyes raking over her figure to find the source of her injuries. His jaw ticks as he notes the two fresh wounds. She doesn't move when he extracts a rolls of gauze from his belt, doesn't flinch when he tightly wraps her injuries.

Does not wake up to notice how his hands are shaking as he ties the final knots.

"Wake up." He says, voice much lower, something deeply needing. Shifting closer, he pulls her into his arms, away from the rough bark of the tree. Her head falls to his shoulder limply, making his breath hitch, true, cold fear gripping his heart. "Wake up, sweetheart, c'mon." He urges. She's still alive as per the shallow rise and fall of her chest, but she won't fucking wake up and it's killing him, making panic claw at his throat because not her, not her, not her.

Reaching around, he pinches her sternum hard, relief slamming into him when she finally groans and whimpers, a weak hand reaching up to push his away. "That's it, love. There you go." He mutters praise, hooking an arm under her legs and hoisting her up, carrying her. "Keep those eyes open for me, yeah? Don't you dare fucking close them, you hear me?" His accent is thicker than normal

"..Simon?" She groans, barely a whisper, making his heart wretch painfully.

"It's me." He confirms, clutching her tighter as he makes his way back to the exfil he'd ordered Gaz to request. The heli stand waiting near the first warehouse, a mass of dead bodies paving the path for them to step over. "I've got you, love. Stay with me, just a little longer.

He doesn't know if she can hear him let alone understand what he's saying, but it seems to work, her groggy gaze taking in their surrounding, watching but not really seeing.

She shoves at his chest suddenly, weak but firm. "No...you gotta-they're here." She rattles in a breath that makes even him wince. "Ambush, Simon. Gotta-get yourself out."

"Fucking hell woman, you think I'd leave you?" He hisses, hiking her up closer so their bodies are pressed together. He feels a rush of anger peer through the crushing panic and worry he's beating down.

"No time." She breathes. "Leave-"

"Not another word." He warns, angry at the thought that she'd even think for one moment that he'd let her die on his watch, that he'd ever leave the one good thing in his life.

Her compliance scares him to the bone.

Simon practically runs the last few meters towards the evac heli, barking out instructions for a medic as they bring out a stretcher. Gently, an action so at odds with the flames burning through his veins, he lays her down on it, staying by her side as they hoist her inside.

The jolting makes her whimper, aggravating her injuries no doubt. "Careful," Simon demands, and a single glare from him is enough to make the team move her with much more cautiousness.

The team clamours in and it's not long before they're all in the air.

A silence is passed around the space, an acknowledgment and shared anger at her state, how she was riddled with bullets like a target because of her selfless nature to save and give.

They hadn't gotten the intel, but Simon has never given less of a shit about anything before, not when she's laying next to him pale and trembling, looking up at him as if he might be the one to make her pain go away.

May God strike him dead if he doesn't try his fucking hardest.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The steady beep on a heart monitor and the sharp smell of antiseptic is what slowly brings her back to the living world. She feels...

Well she feels like shit.

That's kind a given though, judging by how she determines by the scratchy sheets under her that she's in a hospital bed. One would be more disorientated by waking up like this, but she's seen her fare share of white bedspreads and jello cups.

Finally gathering up the courage to blink her heavy eyes open, she squints at the ceiling light, slowly getting her bearings.

They were...on a mission. She tries to recall. Warehouse. Men. Jammer...

The jammer! Were the others alright? All she remembers is passing out by the tree and-what else?

Alarm ringing through her, she moves to sit up but immediately groans at her body protesting, her limbs burning at the movement. Shoulder and leg tight with stitches, she tries to force herself to sit up when a large, warm hard pushes her back down.

"Easy does it. Lay still for me." The familiar voice washes away the alarm and when she slowly, groggily turns her head, there sits the one person she wanted to see.

Simon sits beside her bed, looking ragged and poorly even beneath his mask. She can see it by the tension in his shoulders.

"Wh-" She trails off, coughing and wincing at the pain in her dry throat. There's a rustling, and then a hand at the back of her neck, guiding her lips to a cup full of cool water. "Drink." Simon says simply, helping her swallow the liquid until she pushes on his hand.

"What happened?" She finally manages, meeting his eyes. "You look...like shit. You okay?"

Amusement may have flickered into those eyes of his, but it's next to nothing with the other concoction of worry in his eyes.

For someone so stoic, he had very expressive eyes if you knew how to read them.

"Am I okay?" He stares in disbelief. "Considering I didn't get shot twice and nearly bleed out, I'd say I'm doing better than you."

"Ever the comedian." Her joke doesn't crack a smile from him and that's when she knows something is truly wrong. "Simon what-"

The scrape of his chair cuts her off as he stands abruptly, moving over to her side. He seems hesitant for a split second, arms pausing as they reach out.

He decides to push away the doubt, however, because moments later, strong arms are wrapped around her, pulling her into him. She relaxes at the familiar scent of him, of his clothes as he tucks his chin over her head.

His heart is racing under his cheek, her fist loosely gripping his shirt.

She knows he'll speak in time, that she just has to wait for him to gather the words and decide how to express them out loud. So she does exactly that. She waits while he regulates himself, gathers his thoughts.

His arms tighten around her. "Thought I lost you." He says, and if it had been anybody but her, they might have missed the slight tremor in his voice. "When I saw you bleeding out against that tree...Fuck, I thought you were gone."

"Not that easily." She hums, pressing into him further. "Never than easily."

"Better fucking not be." It coaxes a hoarse giggle from her, what he growls in her ear.

"I'm alright, Simon." She assures him gently. "Alive and kicking."

He nods against her head minutely, his lips pressing against her head through his mask, a gesture that makes her melt because if Simon was resorting to such a thing he must have really had a scare. He hated PDA and although they were the only ones in the room, normally they reserved this kind of intimacy for their own rooms when they're alone together.

He stays like that for a while, convincing himself that she was there, that she was alive and breathing and in his arms and untouchable as of now. All the while she runs a soothing hand up and down his strong arms, mumbling assurances of their safety.

She'd do it again in a heartbeat, would put herself in harms way to save her team, but as she sits there pressed against him, the sun spilling into the room warming it with it's rays, she can't help but think of how thankful she is to have felt this again.

To have the chance to continue experiencing the protective love of Simon Riley.

Requests Are Open!

(25/06/2023)

[lightseoul]

you and me, both

synopsis. mina and kirishima invite you to a night out. ‘it won’t be like last time!’ they said. you begrudgingly go. (part 1)

cw. gn!reader, gradstudent!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (~23 yrs old), mina ashido x kirishima eijirou, fluff

word count. 1.9k words

You check your watch for the umpteenth time, which now reads 6:29 PM. It hasn’t even been a minute since you last checked it, yet it feels like you’ve been waiting here for hours.

The ramen shop you’re waiting in front of and agreed to hang out at is slowly getting packed with people, tired businessmen and students alike eager to eat the day’s worries away and head home full and satisfied.

Rocking yourself on your feet, you chance another peek at your watch. You stare at it as the minute hand finally strikes the number 12. With a heavy sigh, you look up to find Bakugou walking towards you, hands in his pockets, just in time.

Of all things, the last thing you need him to be is punctual.

You stare at each other in awkward silence before warily exchanging hello’s.

Before Bakugou could even bring up the elephant in the room, you quickly explain, “I think everyone else is just running late.”

He nods silently, and in three strides, arrives at the spot to your left, all the while sparing a respectable distance between the two of you.

Clearing your throat, you look around at everything else but him. The ramen shop you chose as a group called Kikanbo is known for its signature ‘devil’ ramen—devil because of its (allegedly, hot and numbing) spiciness.

You were initially against it, not wanting to make a fool of yourself in front of Mina and Kirishima’s Pro Hero friends, but ultimately decided to go with the flow. The last thing you needed was for them to tease you about being self-conscious around Bakugou. Which you aren’t.

Suddenly, it dawns on you how suspiciously couple-looking you’re coming off right now. Giving Bakugou a quick once-over, he’s dressed in black joggers and a grey crewneck sweater, insulated by a thick, long coat. You internally sigh in relief at the sight of his baseball cap, which should shield his identity from prying eyes.

Though, you doubt his bulging muscles and piercing crimson eyes do much in terms of keeping a low profile.

While looking him up and down, he catches your eye. Embarrassed, you blurt out: “I’m gonna call Mina.”

Desperate to get away from his immediate radius, you don’t even wait for his acknowledgment before stepping away into a quiet corner. The phone rings three times before you’re greeted with a chirpy (too chirpy, if you were to be honest right now), sing-song voice.

“Hi, Y/N! What’s up?”

Twelve years of friendship and you still can’t believe this girl, “Mina? Where the fuck are you?! And everyone else?”

She has the nerve to guffaw, “Like I said, it won’t be like last time anymore! Tonight, it’s only gonna be you and—drum roll, please,” in the background, you hear someone—Kirishima, probably—imitating a drum, “Bakugou!”

Fuck. You can’t help but whimper, “You have to be kidding me.”

“Sorry, Y/N. We figured this is the only way we can get you guys to spend time together outside of just texting. By the way, you guys sure are going at a snail’s pace, huh?”

You can feel the blood rush to your face, “What? How’d you even—”

“Bye, bestie!” she cuts you off, “Have fun!”

“Be safe, bro!” Kirishima adds before she hangs up, leaving you slack-jawed and your heart going at 150 beats per minute.

When you turn back, you see Bakugou leaning with his back against the wall, a smirk decorating his features. What’s he all fucking smug about?

You reluctantly walk towards him, waving your phone for emphasis, “Did you know about this?”

“No,” the smirk has now been replaced with a subdued scowl, “but I put two and two together on the way here.”

And just like that, he drops the conversation. He simply makes his way to the entrance and you follow suit, forced to deal with all the implications by yourself.

Just like the dinner from two weeks ago, it turns out that hanging out with Bakugou isn’t so bad after all.

After ruefully accepting the fact that you both got absolutely betrayed and stood up by your best friends, you entered the ramen shop and got seated on the stools facing the chefs. You ended up going for the regular level spices, or futsu futsu, while Bakugou went all in and ordered the devil ramen or oni mashi.

He barked a laugh at how your eyes bugged out the moment you saw how red his broth is. Instead of challenging you to a spice-off, though, he simply offered you the first sip (which stunned you—you didn’t expect him to make such a courteous gesture). Grateful, you took his offer.

You shouldn’t have, though.

You ended up choking so hard, alarming everyone in the restaurant, and Bakugou had to keep in his snort (that was surely gonna be loud and attract even more attention) in favor of getting you some milk to wash it off.

Once you recovered, you went on to eat your dinner, talking about the kinds of things you’ve conversed about over daily texts. Real-life conversation with Bakugou, to your pleasant surprise, is easy and free-flowing.

Contrary to how he’s depicted in media and your first impression of him from that run-in in the middle of your commute home from university, Bakugou is thoughtful and considerate. Sometimes brash, yes, but never mean.

He also seems to be genuinely interested in what you have to say, mindful of shifting the conversation from revolving around his hero work to asking about how’s post-grad these days, or if there’s anything eventful that happened in Manual’s agency earlier, seeing as how’s today’s a Saturday, the day on which you work part-time as admin staff.

You couldn’t school the surprised expression on your face fast enough at his remembering, and a small, somewhat self-satisfied smile took over his lips at your reaction. You probably, maybe, could’ve died a happy person then and there, but you kept yourself in check.

Soon after the bowls were clean of delicious ramen and bills were paid, you then headed out and decided to walk in the cool night breeze, with Bakugou taking the lead.

Which is how you wound up here, in a somewhat populated park that you’ve never heard of, sitting on the bench overlooking the view and in comfortable silence.

“So,” you start, admiring the scenery (first; second, avoiding eye contact), “do you usually go here?”

He grunts in response, “Yeah. Though I usually stroll around alone, instead of…” he gestures awkwardly toward your direction.

You struggle to contain your chuckle. How can he be so domineering in the field yet so bunglesome when talking to you? It’s endearing, to say the least.

“But you have brought some over here, have you?” you look around again, inspecting the greenery, the stone infrastructure, the lights. “This place is so beautiful.”

“I have,” he starts, “I think I’ve jogged with Dunce-face and Bug Eyes here once.”

You snort at the nicknames he calls his friends, “Dunce-face? Are you referring to Kaminari when he—”

He smirks, “Yep.”

You can’t help but laugh out loud, and he joins in with a snicker.

“But wait,” you look at him, “I meant have you brought over a girl over here before?”

You mentally slap yourself for uttering the question before thinking it through, undertones and all. Bakugou’s eyes widen a bit, but his face remains controlled. If he’s masking his knee-jerk reaction, you’re thankful for it.

“I mean,” you peer amongst the people who are enjoying the night air with you, “Most of the people here are in pairs—couples, because of how romantic the place is at night, with all the light fixtures and all.” You shrug, “I’m sure any girl would appreciate being brought here.”

You sure as hell are hoping you’re coming off more as the ‘helpful-friend-giving-some-well-meaning-advice’ than the ‘jealous-bitch-who’s-crazy-over-past-girls’.

He huffs, and you’re starting to think you’ve overstepped his boundaries when he cuts off your train of thought. Hell—railroads you and leaves your mind embarrassingly blank.

“Actually, this is the first time I’ve ever been on a date. At least,” he snorts, “the one-on-one kind.”

Suddenly, a million questions start racing through your mind.

He’s considering this a date? Did he consider the fiasco from last time a double date? This is his first? What?! How?! Why did he bring you here, anyway? Does he think of you in that way…? How can he be so bashful yet so straightforward at the same time? How the fuck is he so cute?

All these very important (some outright silly) questions, but the one you pipe up with is: “But back then—you agreed when I said you had a lot of experience—how?”

“I grunted, dumbass. There’s a difference. I wasn’t about to tell ya how inexperienced I was in this sort of thing when you were hyping me up like no other.”

“Huh.”

He side-eyes you, “From the looks of it, I’d say you’re the one who’s had far more experience.”

You’re too embarrassed to admit the truth, and too dizzy from the implications of his statements, but you figured you owed him at least your honesty. Looking down at your clasped hands, you mumble under your breath, “This is actually my first time, too.”

Silence falls upon the two of you, and unlike earlier, it’s filled with budding anticipation rather than comfort. You finally will yourself to look up, only to see him red. Red all over—neck, ears, and face.

Redder than when he slurped down that monstrous broth from earlier.

Then it hits you.

What Mina said was…real.

She sure as hell omits some truths, concerningly more often than not, but she never lies to you.

You can’t help but let out a soft laugh, and he turns away at the sound, perhaps in embarrassment.

You smile, “For the record, I’m glad you’re my first.”

At that, he abruptly stands up, and for a second you’re thinking you ruined the moment by saying that, but you don’t get to wish for the ground to swallow you up whole because Bakugou looks back at you with a fierce determination in his eyes that makes your mind go hazy.

“Come on,” he holds out his hand, “I wanna make sure this is the best fucking first date you’re ever gonna have.”

Bonus:

(as he’s walking you home from the park)

“Wait, so am I the first person you’ve been texting, too?”

“Yes. Now quit yapping about this ‘first’ shit or I’ll make you.”

You laugh good-naturedly, “But you’re so good at it! The pacing, the withholding of information to keep them wanting more—I was convinced you’ve done this with a million other people.”

He sighs in what you think is fake exasperation, as his cheeks are tinted with a faint red, “For the billionth time, you’re my first. And,” he looks away, “I had Shitty-hair help me out a bit.”

Normally, you’d extinguish any and all species of butterflies in your stomach brought to existence by a boy because you can’t afford to get distracted right now.

But, today isn’t normal.

You, instead, let the grin that’s been fighting to take over your face the entire evening finally win over. You can’t help it—hearing that from anyone—especially Bakugou, makes you happy.

You continue walking in comfortable silence until he’s the one to break it.

“So,” he starts and you don’t even have to look at him to know there’s a smirk adorning his goddamn handsome face, “all sorts of company, huh?”

“Shut up.”

tagging. @wolfunderthethree @bakugo-dee @poemzcheng @fallingmoon02 @eksd @niiine @gold24fish @animehoe666 @distinguishedlight

[citrustan]

lovefool [drabble 5] (jjk)

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut

summary: where jungkook shows you how much he likes you. ;) ft. taehyung and yuna :p

wc: 2.8k

note: WELL its here... i smutted. this is a part of the 'lovefool' au. you can also find the main story on my pinned post! this drabble contains smut--- it's mostly smut (kissing, boob stuff, cunnilingus, the tiniest slightest bit of voyeurism, its almost nonexistent). + this takes place way after chapter 6 happens. this is a reupload (sort of) bec i rewrote the thing.

You stretch your legs and point your toes, poking your boyfriend's side.

He then casually grabs your feet, places them on his lap and begins to gently press and massage your heel and toes. He purposely avoids your sole because you’re extremely ticklish.

“My feet are too dry.” You complain. Jungkook glances at your expression and back at your feet.

“Want me to suck on them?” He partially lifts your foot, bringing it closer to his open mouth.

While you resist and playfully kick him, you wonder whether he would actually be into it. You just want him to touch you all over, you want to feel his presence on your entire body and soul.

"Come 'ere." Jungkook grunted with his arms outstretched towards you.

He sat back on his end of the sofa.

Somewhat shy, you comply. You fold your legs back and painstakingly kneel-crawl towards his side on the couch.

Jungkook lovingly engulfs you in a tight hug, disabling any movement for you to make.

"Hi." You coyly smile at him when he pulls back, yet holding you close.

You can smell cologne and cigarette smoke on him. It's so sexy. Smoking is terrible, but you find it really hot when he smells of it. But you'd never tell him that.

Somehow, he already knows. He notices the way you get a lot more nervous around him after he's stepped out for a quick smoke; the way you rub up and down your own arms to self-soothe. You start acting cute, give him stupid, big eyes and look away when he catches you.

You think you're being lowkey but you really aren't. It's funny, but sexy funny.

Jungkook's response is instant, "Hey."

"Wanna kiss." You softly speak, still shy.

"I want to love you." Jungkook whispers as he stares directly into your eyes.

You, however, shy away from his gaze and turn your head to the side, opting to look at the laptop screen instead.

Still somewhat in your kneeling position, you lean forward and put your weight on him, indulging him in another hug.

This time, Jungkook sits up before accepting your hug. You bury your head in his chest.

"Why are you acting shy, hm?" Jungkook mocks. "Let me see your face, red delicious."

You know, like the apples? Because you're blushing. Even if it doesn't show, he knows the blood has rushed to your cheeks now.

You keep your face pressed against his chest.

He was a very patient man.

You deeply sigh before finally gathering the courage to actually turn your words into action.

In one swift movement, you get off his couch and stand before him, urging him to get up as well.

When he does as you wish, you hold his hands and lean in to peck his lips.

You kiss on him once. Then again. And again.

Jungkook smiles and keeps his eyes shut as he allows you to find your vibe.

His jeans begin to tighten around a specific region, but he does his best to ignore the animalistic urge to just grab you and start grinding on you. But, you really liked when he did that. You like it when Jungkook takes charge, but it's important for him to know you're truly comfortable and ready, so he lets you lead first. Consent is sooo sexy.

"Babe..." You pout and look at him through your lashes.

You're acting cute again.

"Uh huh?" He teases, acting as if he doesn't know exactly what you're asking for.

At this, you push yourself towards him and sort of, rest your breasts on him. Your breathing starts to get heavier.

Jungkook looks down at the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest. He can feel your nipples harden.

"You should wear more dresses like these..." His voice trails off as you begin rubbing his bicep.

The two of you stare into each other's eyes. You see the lust brewing in his (eyes).

You bring your hands to the collars of his jacket and smoothen them out. Your cold fingertips momentarily graze the naked skin of his neck.

Jungkook lets out a low moan. "Babe."

"Hm." You then run your hands up and down his chest.

Jungkook plays with the hem of your white sundress, lightly brushing against your thigh in the act.

Starting to become somewhat riled up, you suddenly grab his hands and place them on the back of your bare thigh, under your dress.

Instantly, he understood what you wanted him to do.

Jungkook dives in.

He tugs you closer by the thighs and kisses you deeply.

Although you saw it coming, you still moan in surprise. Actually, it's more in delight rather than the former.

Slowly, he inches up to your butt, and then your waist and back.

With your hands now making their way to play with his hair, you slightly open your mouth to allow him to suck on your tongue.

Your thighs are tightly pressed together as if that were to plug your pussy up as his hands grab at and caress your body.

Jungkook kissed and sucked on your lips and tongue. Your teeth knocked against each other's once or twice.

Your eagerness was adorable.

You continue kissing and moaning until you start feeling Jungkook get bigger and harder in his pants, rutting against your stomach.

Slowly and steadily, you pull away from him with only a thin string of saliva connecting your mouths.

There you stood before him--- your lipstick and gloss smeared on your face, pupils dilated with love and ecstasy, lips swollen and ready to be kissed once again, and drool running down your chin.

A little out of breath, you softly smiled at him.

"Wanna show you something." You look down at your chest and start to unbutton your dress.

Jungkook palms his cock through his jeans for a little relief, still breathing heavily, unable to take his eyes off your pretty chest.

After unbuttoning the first four buttons, you gently move the pieces of clothing on either side of your breasts.

You flash him your newly bought lace balconette bra. It's white, decorated with a pink strip of satin tucked in on the lining, with a perfect, little bow perched in the centre, and sheer.

With hitched breath, Jungkook places both his hands on your shoulders and runs his thumb along your collarbone. "So pretty, baby. The prettiest girl in the world. _____."

Flattered, you push your chest out a little more.

"Can you... Do you want to touch them?" You embarrassingly reword your question. He playfully smirks at your shyness.

"Yeah. Will you let me touch them? Can I kiss them? Can I suck on them? Your nipples are begging to be touched, doll." Jungkook’s thumbs now inch towards the top of your breasts.

You blush and coyly, yet eagerly nod.

On your affirmation, he roughly pulls your bra below your breasts and they pop out with a slight bounce.

Suddenly, you squeak and involuntarily cover your chest with both hands. Your eyes were instinctually squeezed shut and trained down at your feet. His hands slid down to your sides.

Jungkook chuckled, “Babe?”

“Sorry…” You smile embarrassingly.

“Nuh uh," Jungkook smiles as if he were to say 'do not apologise for having boundaries.' "Do you still want to?” He caressed your cheek.

Once again, you nod.

At that, your boyfriend firmly pries your hands away from your chest and propels them around his own shoulders. You massage the nape of his neck.

He urges you to look into his eyes, and when you do, he swiftly dives in and attaches his wet mouth to your nipple.

You gasp and throw your head back in pleasure.

You shift your weight back and forth on your feet, rubbing your thighs together to relieve the hot, burning sensation in your belly.

Jungkook groans into your skin and begins to lick your nipples. He drags his tongue on the circumference of your areola and then from one nipple to the other, occasionally thumbing and softly pinching them.

He gives equal attention to both your tits, suckling and squeezing them. Never letting either one go neglected.

Jungkook teases your nipples with his fingers as he kisses up your neck, making you whimper and gasp. Your fingers are buried in his hair, tugging and soothing his scalp.

His fingers circle and rub on your nubs so rapidly and for so long that it begins to overstimulate you. The discomfort of still being on your feet, in Jungkook's hold, and squirming--- you love it. And you're starting to be more vocal, unable to hold back the little moans that threaten to come out.

"Don't stop... please... it's so... so good-" You whine.

He moans in response, as to say 'okay' and continues the pleasurable abuse on your sensitive nipples and neck.

Jungkook briefly raises his head up to lock you in a sweet kiss which you happily accept.

Before he returns to kissing and inadvertently bruising all over your chest, you stop him with a whisper, "JK..."

You seem of breath. And somehow, still so bashful.

Even when you've bared your chest for him, you're so shy.

"Tell me, doll." As Jungkook waits for you, he pecks you in random places. First, on your forehead, then your throat, then your sternum, your right nipple and so on. You lean into the warm, fuzzy feeling the action brings.

A little distracted, you shake your head. You can't begin to explain what you want.

So you simply resort to a - "Jungkook... I want you."

"You have me, _____." He sincerely smiles and kisses your lips.

"Noo..." You cutely exasperated, furrowing your brows. "Ugh."

"Yes?" Now you had Jungkook's full attention. He stops kissing on you to look you in the eyes.

The expression on your face shows that you're using every, little brain cell to get this out of you. Your boyfriend stares on endeared and almost laughs.

"Wantyoutotouchmethere." You blurt out in a single breath and look down at your bodies, resting your forehead on his chest.

"Oh." Jungkook smirked, "That's all?"

You pull back and roll your eyes at him. "Yeah," You mock, "That's all."

Jungkook snorts and immediately returns to lick your nipples just to rile you up a bit more.

The sudden assault makes you roughly push away from him. "JK! I'm- it's like. So-" You groan, a little frustrated and a lot flustered.

What you really want is for him to eat your pussy. Your girl is like yearning to be savoured.

Now, Jungkook laughs out loud. "I know, baby. I just wanted to cherish you." He pouts towards the end.

Shyly smiling again, you sit back on the sofa.

Like a moth to the flame, Jungkook turns to face you and kneels before you.

Ever ready to give you what you indirectly asked for, he taps your limbs. "Open up."

When you hesitantly part your legs a few inches wide, Jungkook lifts your feet off the floor by your knees and then sort of just... folds you. Your thighs were pressed to your chest.

He smiles up at your flushed visage. You stare at him with big eyes, patiently waiting, yet eager for his next move.

Your core is presented to him on a platter as if he were some kind of king waiting to feast.

He rubs you all over your inner thigh, leading to your lips.

Your mismatched white cotton panties with a black bow in the centre hinder his view of your pussy. The underwear somewhat resembles your bra, he thinks it's from the same line, only a different colour. (pink satin lining bra/ black satin lining panties.)

Jungkook's cock is painfully hard, but he chooses to please you first. Although, eating you out going to get him off too.

You tenderly place your hands atop your knees and nibble on your manicured fingers in anticipation.

Jungkook leans down to kiss you through your panties and takes your scent in. His mouth is already watering. He then places one, harsh lick over it making you shiver.

He smirks up at you, and mouths at your swollen lips over the fabric before slowly pulling them to the side. You whimper and jerk and reach down to hold your panties to the side for him.

Jungkook smiles down at you. He's practically drooling.

Your pussy glistens in the sunlight.

He traces your slit with gentle touch making you quiver and clench around nothing.

You clench your toes in order to contain the rush of excitement taking over you.

Jungkook reaches out to hold your free hand which you gladly accept. And you kiss his fingers.

Then, finally, he places a soft kiss on your cunt. And then another one, not as soft. And another one a little harder. Every touch makes you moan a little louder. And finally, he deeply kisses and tongues your pussy, making you yelp in surprise.

He forces your lips open with only his thumb and index finger and dives in. You throw your head back and whine loudly.

Jungkook purposely avoids your clit but eats all around it, over, under, and on the sides. It drives you up the wall. You're wiggling around and Jungkook releases your hand to hold you down forcefully.

Forcing away your hand that holds your panties to the side, he relies on his own face to keep your underwear out of the way.

His tongue occasionally prods at your tight, wet hole. Jungkook groans in satisfaction, hurriedly licking up every bit of your sweet, and sticky essence.

Jungkook then instructs you to play with your tits, and you do as he wishes, pressing down circles on your sensitive nipples. He wishes he had more than two hands to touch you everywhere at once so you can be his pretty little pillow princess.

Your eyes are tightly screwed shut and you don't know what to do with your head. Your squeals and cries are consistently loud. All you know is that you can't stay still. It's too much!

Your boyfriend grabs your thighs, pulls you closer to him, and spreads your legs wider, "Mmhh, JK... Pleeeaseee..." - Mentally, you joyfully thank your younger self for doing all the yoga that made you susceptible to all the stretching, bending, and manhandling Jungkook is subjecting you to.

Running his hands all over your inner thighs, he jeers.

You feel so hazed, and dazed, and overcome with pleasure- "Oh!" You almost sob as your boyfriend suddenly wraps his mouth around your clit. He moans back in response.

At this point, your train of thought is simply nonsensical. "Yes....aarghh, you're so, so... meaan, JK!"

Jungkook rapidly licks your sensitive, little bundle of nerves. He makes your eyes roll to the back of your head and your toes point to the heavens. You're near to tears as you cry, "I wan' marry you, JK... I will make you cakes... and I will kiss you and love you... forever and ever and pleaseee... moreee...!" You feel him smile into your cunt.

When you start to grind against his mouth and harshly grope your own body, Jungkook knows you're close. Wanting to prolong this, Jungkook goes back to licking all over your swollen lips when, all of a sudden, you hear a loud cackle.

Immediately following that comes the most annoying screech you've ever heard.

Ok, you know that noise.

Your eyes snap open and you look around to find the source of those sounds: Taehyung AND Yuna.

A little pussy-drunk, Jungkook takes a while to pull away so you had to force his head away from your sensitive princess parts.

He finally looks behind him.

At his door, stood Taehyung, and Yuna who had now covered her eyes. Taehyung, of course, just gawked shamelessly.

He instantly snaps your legs shut, holding them together, and cusses in anger, "Dude, what the fuck?"

You're confused, still quivering, and very horny. Taehyung's sight falls on you. Your hair's a little wild, your mouth slightly agape, your face red, and you're virtually crying tears (of pleasure that now turn into ones of frustration.) He can't seem to look away.

Forcing himself to snap out of it, he plays it off teasingly, "Dudeeee. Don't let us stop you, we're only here for the oven." Taehyung laughs and struts into the room.

"Nice tits, _____." Taehyung directs at you.

Still hazy, you smile sweetly, "Thanks!"

Jungkook and Yuna's heads snap towards you in shock.

Wow... What had he done to the shy _____?

You only sighed dreamily and slumped even deeper into the couch, your orgasm long forgotten.

Jungkook then took it upon himself to re-robe your naked tits.

Soon, Yuna walks into the room and sits diagonal to you, instantly busying herself with her phone. Neither of you acknowledge each other.

Typically, you'd be humiliated and embarrassed about being caught nude, but right now? You're ecstatic even though you didn't get to cum.

You're childishly enjoying Yuna's forced nonchalance and bitter expression, cheesing so hard on the inside that your lips involuntarily start curving upwards.

And as if Jungkook sees right through you, he leans in and kisses you. "Stop that, you little monster." He reprimanded half-heartedly.

[malum-forev]

jealousy, jealousy

Summary: You're usually someone who preaches love but there's something about a new recruit that makes your blood boil.

Jealousy isn’t part of your vocabulary, it never has. So when you started dating Bucky you assumed it wouldn’t be a problem. Of course you noticed the widened eyes and hushed words people- men and women alike, Buck’s got game left and right- whenever the two of you would walk into restaurants. When you started pointing it out to him, he would always say: “It’s not cause they like my looks sweets, they’re afraid of me.”

Maybe at first that was the case but definitely not now, the public’s perception of Bucky turned positive. From terrifying Winter Soldier close all your doors to I’ll set my house on fire just to get a look at Daddy Sarge.

And there wasn’t anyone who loved teasing him about it more than you. Some nights, whenever he’s been especially annoying you would search his tag on twitter and read what people post about him. His cheeks would burst red and he would bring the comforter up to his face.

“Could you please stop with that!” He groaned but a smile tugged at his lips. “You know it gives me a weird feeling!”

“I would love to see the Eiffel Tower, they say Paris is beautiful this time of year. @BuckyBarnes @SamWilson.” You giggled as you brought your phone closer to your boyfriend.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Do I even want to know what that means?”

“It’s-well- kind of when you-“ You pursed your lips and made a triangle shape with your hands. Maybe a visual aid would help?

Bucky grabbed both of your hands and brought them to his lips. “Can you please put me out of my misery?”

But today was very different, it had been for a few weeks now. There was something about the new brunette agent that rubbed you the wrong way. Maybe it was that she was currently rubbing Bucky’s bicep. 

Jealousy does not exist in my world. My happiness comes from within me. There is no jealousy in true love. 

You repeated this over and over in your head, raising the speed on the treadmill and focusing on the windows in front of you. You were not going to focus on the fact that there was a hot pink nail polish wearing agent openly flirting with your boyfriend. Definitely not focusing on that. 

Your heartbeat started to rush as you kept on running, seeing red. No mantra was enough, you wanted problems. You were going to go up to her and pin her down on the floor until she was patting on the mat, taking her last brea-

“You okay?” Natasha asked, placing her hand on your lower back to stabilize your body as she lowered the speed on the treadmill. “It looks like you’re trying to challenge the speed of light over here.”

You took a deep breath to calm your anger and looked at the redhead with a smile. “I’m trying to get rid of all my- you can call it extra energy.”

Natasha threw her head back with a laugh. “Bucky training the new recruits?”

“This hasn’t happened before, I’m usually very chill about everything. But there’s something about this one.” You said, forcing your eyes onto Natasha’s instead of behind you. Where they were now about to start sparring. 

Natasha’s eyes traveled from yours to behind you. “If that’s the problem then I strongly suggest you don’t look now.”

You turned your head just enough to see the young recruit asking for your boyfriends hand to stand up, putting her other hand on his shoulder as she came up. You heard her giggle as she draped her arm over his shoulder and started complimenting his new shorter haircut. But the thing that threw you over the edge was how she placed her palm against the back of his neck. 

“Excuse me.” You said to Natasha, ripping open the pocket on the left side of her tactical suit and taking out one of the small knives you knew she hid. “I just need to borrow this for a second.”

Before Natasha could even get a word out you planted both of your feet on the gym floor and sent the knife flying in between Bucky and the new agent’s face and landed on the wall behind them. Bucky leaned back a little as he felt the air rushing when the knife passed him, turning to face you with a stupid smug smile. The recruit on the other hand, fell to the floor and clutched her chest. 

Nat tried and failed to swallow her laugh.

You brushed past Bucky and the agent, who was still on the floor. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“You should really work on your aim. Someone could have gotten hurt.” She shot you an annoyed look as you un-stabbed the wall. 

You turned on your heel and debated your answer. 

Actions speak louder than words. You thought. 

Without breaking eye contact with the woman, you sent the knife flying right to the spot next to her head. With no effort the blade stuck to the foam flooring. 

“I have perfect aim.” You smiled walking past Bucky who was biting the inside of his cheek to suppress his smile.

“Are we still on for dinner Sweets?” Bucky asked, the sides of his lips curving upwards. 

“7:30, don’t be late.” You said without turning to him. 

---------

Part 2: jealousy, turning saints into the sea

Wanna read more like this? Here’s my latest post. 💖

Author's Note: Kinda short but I hope you guys liked it! As always my requests are always open!! Be sure to comment, like and reblog if you like!!💖💖🦾

[cathrrrine]

came across this screenshot of a tweet on pinterest and i couldn’t help but headcanon making it through the twd apocalypse because of a painfully obvious crush on daryl.

twd headcanon: obviously crushing on an oblivious daryl dixon.

giggling in the distance while daryl dixon is in the middle of killing walkers, “ugh he’s so cute when he does that”

kicking your feet sitting up in a tree going “hiiiii daryllllll! <3 whatcha doinnn” and he’s like “???” cause you’re legitimately surrounded by now dead walkers and covered in blood

very sunshine x grumpy coded

whispering to maggie “oh my god do you think he was checking me out?” in the middle of a battle

“does this top look cute on me?” “what do you think is his type?” “should i maybe start smoking so we can go on smoke breaks together”

reminding yourself you’re a grown woman with composure and dignity when you find yourself wanting to scream into your pillow, because this daryl crush is so frustrating and he’s just so hot and his arms are so perfect and the way his voice makes you want to climb him right then and there-

wanting to be all mysterious and cool around him but it’s like the spirit of your teenage self possesses you whenever he’s around

subtly standing riiigghhhtttt behind him so rick pairs you together for supply runs then fist-pumping to yourself when it works

rick pretends not to notice. he pairs both of you up on purpose everytime

if he helps you up, you hold on to his hand for longer than you need to, in what you think is a subtle way but everyone notices

while almost dying, “fuck, can someone make sure my hair looks good before daryl sees me? rosita PLEASE im your FRIEND stop messing with my wound and fix my HAIRhdhwhrjue”

“maggie if i pass out can you please do me a favour and make sure daryl is the one who carries me? <3 oooh do you think he knows how to do cpr-“

*in the middle of killing walkers* wow daryl!!! *slash* that was *stab* a great shot!

daryl being ultimately clueless about your flirting and genuinely just thinks you’re being friendly

carol having to tell him “daryl she’s in love with you it’s so obvious”

and he denies it “nah she acts that way towards everyone” even if he secretly wishes it was true

carol wanting to smack him on the head because everyone knows you’re head over heels for daryl dixon except for daryl dixon

when you’re caught in a herd, you force yourself to keep going because there’s no way in hell you’re going to die surrounded by walkers. in your dazed state you’re thinking “fuck this shit im tracking dixon down and im gonna use my last breath to tell him i love him”

and maybe dying in his arms sounds better than being ripped apart by reanimated corpses so you keep pushing yourself

when you make it home you basically just throw yourself at the gates and everyone rushes over to get you to the infirmary

you could’ve sworn you heard maggie yell at daryl to carry you but you’re too out of it to process the thought

bleeding out and feeling yourself fading but then you hear daryl’s voice

“come on, y/n, you’re a fighter. you gotta make it through this. i know you can. please, you have to.”

it’s a miracle how instantly that makes you open your eyes when you were seconds away from death just before that

bringing you flowers and random little gifts while you’re healing up in bed but only putting them next to you when you’re asleep because he’s too shy

him not used to the days being so quiet without you being two steps behind him

finding himself missing your ridiculous quips when he’s on a supply run killing walkers and having to fill the silence with your voice in his head, recalling all the things you regularly say to him, because it feels too weird without you

being so attentive to your needs when you feel good enough to be out and about

daryl feeling much, much better when you’re back to being yourself and the days feel normal again with you going “hiiiiii darryyylllll <3”

carol: she’s in love with you.

daryl: she ain’t. stop it.

carol: fine! but you can’t deny you’re in love with her

whole thing is very reminiscent of a high school crush; innocent, bashful, endearing. everyone’s so entertained by The Daryl and Y/N Show

they have a bet going on to see who asks who out first

daryl asking maggie if what carol tells him is true, trying and failing to be casual about it

very shrill “he WHAT?!?” scream heard from your room, just minutes after the exchange

“TELLMEEVERYTHINGHESAID-“

[aliwritex]

Hey I don't know if your request are open but...

Could you do max/fem reader ft oscar or lando

Not a pre existing throuple but def Poly in the end.

Coming back from the club from celebrating his win with the other drivers. *You can pick which other drivers are in the van.)She was dancing and teasing him all night in her little black dress. He wasnt the onky one that noticed. she gives him head in the back of the party van.

Tipsy/drunk max = horny max = cuddly max

I really want to see max not caring at all if someone (the other drivers) notice what they are doing he has no chill. If someone saw he'd be like mind your business and it's clearly why they always sit in the back when on group outings. Other are so used to it but like maybe oscar or lando not used to the dynamic blushing when they see.

Drunk chatter, music no one notices or maybe they do.

Maybe the back is a 3 sitter and he's sitting next to them falling asleep or not feeling too good. He's not used to partying as hard. They bring him back to the hotel. Pisatri cant find his bedroom keys so they take him with. Max is a bit more sober now puts oscar to bed and his gf next. cuddles in bed while she praises him for his win. he fingers her while holding hands with a cuddly oscar.

In the morning maybe they find out oscar wasnt asleep in the bed when it went down and hes like well that was hot let's do it again.

Hey, this is a little different and definitely shorter. I might make this into an actual one shot someday but here’s the drabble.

Japan 2023.

Your boyfriend’s 13th win of the season and Oscar Piastri’s first podium in formula one. You had to celebrate.

You landed in a club that someone suggested was good, the word spread out and there you were with all of your boyfriend’s coworkers. Already a little tipsy you decided to take the dance floor, your hips loosening to the rhythm of the foreign music. Max’s eyes were on you the entire time, but so were the brown pair that watched from afar. Max was going feral in his seat, watching and cussing himself for agreeing to go out when all he really wanted was to have you spread out and begging for him.

When he finished his second drink he got up from the seat and made his way to you. His crotch meeting the curve of your ass as his hand pulled you closer by the waist and your head dropped on his shoulder. His thoughts had gotten the best of him for the last couple of minutes and made his blood rush down his body. You felt the slight erection poking at your back as he danced with you for a bit.

“You feel that, right?” you nodded “C’mere” he guided you away from the dance floor, pulling you through the people till he reached the bathroom. He looked to make sure the stalls were empty before taking off his jacket and throwing it on the floor in front of his feet. “C’mon, schat, you know what to do.”

You kneeled in front of him, hands immediately undoing his belt and his jeans. You kissed his growing shaft through his underwear, nails hooking under the band and pulling down slowly. Max didn’t mind that you were taking your time, he loved to watch you on your knees anyway, so he ran a hand through your hair sweetly as you pulled him out of his pants. You kissed and licked his tip before letting your jaw fall open to take him in. Your mouth stretched when you got to the base, your hands met his hips to pull away slightly when he touched the back of your throat.

Max’s eyes now watched you impatiently so you looked up at him as you flattened your tongue and relaxed your throat, a slight tap on his thigh letting him know what to do. His fingers tangled into your hair and pushed your head forward, slowly picking up his movements till he was fucking your mouth. You took everything you could, trying not to gag but he was too big for you, his moves had you chocking around him every couple minutes, your tipsy self not being able to keep up with all you told your body to do.

“You can do it yourself, then, schat. Careful” he told you, holding your face by the chin and tapping your lips with his cock.

You nodded and placed your hands back at his base, twisting and pumping as you took him to your mouth. Your tongue worked around his head and on his underside every time you pulled away.

He had started to let out moans by the time Oscar opened the door. None of you noticed at first, Max too distracted with your mouth and you had your back turned to the entrance. Oscar just stood at the door, watching the way your head bobbed and imagining how fucking warm it must feel. When max’s eyes caught him he was gone, there was no way he could defend himself, it was clear that he had been there a while, the bulge in his pants being a dead give away.

“Fuck, baby, put on a show, we got a crowd” he teased.

“I’m sorry, mate, I just wanted to use the bathroom, got distracted. I’m sorry.”

You couldn’t really make up who the voice behind you was but if Max wasn’t bothered then neither were you.

“Not to worry, she doesn’t mind it. Do you, love?” you shook your head with him in your mouth, the move making him groan “Come look” Oscar walked over to you hesitantly but when he saw the way your lips wrapped around Max his blood all rushed down, all rational thinking gone. “She’s pretty, yeah?”

You finally recognized Oscar, the man who stood next to your boyfriend on the podium earlier, as he nodded to max, a blush adorned his face from ear to ear. One of your hands left Max and reached for the leg of the man who stood next to him, eyes looking up to get approval before you proceeded. He gave you a nod and you looked up at Oscar waiting on his own approval, after earning it your hand traveled further up. You first gave him a squeeze through his jeans and started undoing them, your hand quickly sneaking into his underwear.

“Is this okay?” you asked properly and he nodded again.

He watched closely as your mouth took Max’s cock in again and your right hand wrapped around his own. You matched the movements of your head to your hand, both men getting the best you could give them for a while before you had to concentrate on Max. As soon as he started twitching in your mouth your right hand stopped around Oscar, the one around your boyfriend jerked him as you sucked hardly on his tip. In seconds you had him coming in your mouth.

As usual, you opened your mouth to show Max his cum on your tongue and swallowed it, opening it again so he could see you got it all. The action had Oscar throwing his head against the wall as you kept on pumping him in your hand.

“We can take this back to the hotel if you wanna get finished” Max told him as he did his jeans and belt up.

“Are you sure?” he asked without looking at any of you, his eyes shut tight as you pleasured him.

“Yes, Oscar, we would love to have you.” you confirmed before kissing his tip and letting him go of your grip.

“Okay, then, give me a second and I’ll meet you outside, yeah?”

“Yeah” you whispered softly as Max helped you up and picked up his jacket from the floor

[hoshigray]

So here's the scenario: Toji is your hot dilf apartment neighbor. You moved in next door to him, and you two hit it off as good neighbors ought to be. You're already in a relationship, but that "unfortunately" leads to a rocky end. But have no fear because Toji is here!

A/n: Just a lil' smthn I have to write out for a fic I'm about to write and not post bc I'm hella busy this week;;;w;;; But anyways, here we go, and I hope you enjoy! This was a lil rushed so sorry for typos or incorrect grammar!!

Cw: soft dom! Toji x fem! reader - it gets cute the first half but smutty the next, so minors DNI - makeout session - daddy kink - pet names (baby, good girl, mama/ma, sweetheart, sweetie, princess) - praise - missionary position - his dick touches your cervix - mention of violence and blood on Toji's end.

Wc: 1.7k

Dilf! Neighbor Toji...

...who rolls his eyes when he realizes someone will live next door to his unit. You first meet him on the day you move, happily introducing yourself to the tall man. Once he saw you, Toji was captivated by your kind tone and inviting atmosphere.

...who slowly but surely gets to know you as the days go on. You share moments of your life, and he shares some of his. You find out about his children, Tsumiki and Megumi, who you propose to babysit if he ever needs it, which is considered. Toji is told about your boyfriend whom you've been seeing for a long while. He pulls back from this information, but that doesn't mean he can't look at you when he pleases.

...whose children are the sweetest around you. Tsumiki enjoys playing and being around you, while her younger brother, Megumi, practically follows your every move like a baby duck. The more you spend time with them, the more you play a role in their life, and Toji can't help and think what if you were in their lives.

...who briefly meets your boyfriend and immediately catches a bad vibe from him. When he doesn't call or text you back after literal days go by, when he doesn't give you a ride to work even though you'd do so for him, even Toji's kids avoid him when he's around.

Oh, but the worse case of all was when Toji caught that little devil bringing another woman inside your apartment.

He wanted to do nothing but screw that man's face down, painting the hall with his blood. But he knows you'd be horrified, or worse, faint at the petrifying scene. So now, he stays quiet and waits for the perfect time.

...who loves the beautiful sound of your angry voice through the walls, with your door bursting open and your boyfriend's feet scampering down the stairs. Toji opens his door to see you breathing heavily, tears leaking on your face that's hot with anger and shame.

It hurts him to see you so broken, so he brings you inside for a cup of tea. It's up to you whether to talk about the issue; he knew you only needed company.

...who notices you hang out with him and his family without having to invite you over. Rather than going to your own apartment, you spend more time in his, playing games with his kids and making lunch for them or watching over the place while he's off doing hitmen business (which you don't know about yet).

He's not complaining at all, though. He welcomes you and would rather you be by his side than some other bastard who'd break your heart again.

...who enjoys it when it's just you two. The two of you are watching a movie together at Toji's, and the kids are at a sleepover.

You're lying next to him, your head resting on his shoulder with his hand stationed on yours. The television had your attention for quite some time until you felt someone's eyes looming into you. As you turn to see Toji, his gaze captures your eyes, and a smirk is thrown your way.

"What are you smiling about?" You raise a brow at him and chuckle.

A brow is raised in return. "Ya know you're very pretty, right?"

You bashfully look away from him. "Oh, stop it," you mumble as you can feel your face get a little hot. Toji snickers, the rise and fall of his chest causes your stomach to do flips.

"C'mon, don't be like that." He grips your shoulder to bring you closer, and his free hand gently pulls your face back to him. "I mean it, sweetheart. You're so fuckin' beautiful. You don't know what you do to me."

Your breathing goes slower, and your eyes can't seem to leave his green orbs. "What do I do to you?" Your voice drops down into a whisper.

There are no words. The two of you stare at one another as the movie fills the silence.

Toji's eyes don't leave yours, gaze so sharp as if you aren't allowed to either. The uncomfortable lack of response was gnawing you alive, and all you could do was hope for something to end this.

And then something does happen. Toji moves his face close enough for your nose to lightly brush his. Your body went rigid.

His chuckles were too low for your brain to function in this situation. "Nervous, huh? Close your eyes, baby. I'll take care of you."

You blink. Is this really happening right now?

Hesitation is present, yet your eyelids curtain your eyes. Toji grins harder in satisfaction and fulfills your silent request as his lips land on your anticipating plump ones.

Jerking a little, you reciprocate and kiss him back, your hands placed on his chest for some support. He brings one hand down to your back while the other holds the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as his tongue governs over yours.

The kiss is broken, in addition to the shaky breaths you inhale to steady yourself. Toji peers at you through a haze, drinking in your soft expression and the cute whimpers.

He grins at you. "So beautiful fr' me, sweetie, so fuckin' beautiful." He kisses you again, and the sound you make when he bites your lip has him wanting more. "Damn..." Toji grabs the TV remote to mute the television and cups your face with his big hands. " C'mere, mama," he says, his lips taking control with lustful haste.

You yelp into his mouth when you lose your balance, and Toji takes the initiative to lay you on the couch. Comfortable with the new position, your hands can roam around his back that hides under the black turtleneck, and your legs hold onto his waist as he rocks into your throbbing core.

Toji is absolutely relishing this moment. All this time, he could only watch and respect your prior relationship. But the more you smiled at him, played and cared for his children, wished him luck on his missions, and even visited his late wife's grave to pay respects, his resistance was hanging by a thread bound to snap.

And now that he has you in his grasp, mewling and squirming under him and softly gasping out his name in ecstasy, Toji would be even more idiotic than your ex if he let such a darling like you whisk away after all you've done for him.

It took a few moments for the makeout session to end, the two of you gasping for air instantly. You look at Toji, only to be met with the most breathtaking picture of your life.

The light from the TV highlights a side of his face, with his lips a little swollen and red from all the kissing that transpired. Strands of his slick black hair gravitate downwards away from his forehead. His emerald eyes are hooded softly, but the intense gaze isn't hindered as the feeling of hunger is portrayed through them.

You chew the bottom of your lip in anxiousness, and Toji laughs breathlessly.

"See?" He caresses your cheek. "Told you I'd take care of you, princess."

...who can hear the vibration of your phone ringing on the bedroom floor, with the caller ID titled your ex's name. But it doesn't matter to Toji. No, sir. Because at this moment in time is when you deserve his full attention as you're crying and panting heavily under his bow, your figure pressed into the bed as he drives his cock deep inside of you.

Salty tears on your face are wiped away by his calloused fingers. "Hnnngh, shit, shit, shit," curses fly out through gritted teeth as he slows his pace down. "Haaaah, damn, baby. You're grippin' me so hard, I ain't goin' nowhere."

He has you under him in missionary, but it wasn't the first position of the night. You're in your third round, and your body is aching. Your lips are swollen and plump, your legs twitch around his sweaty body, and your abused vulva is now a slick-covered mess extending to your inner thighs. The base of his cock has formed a creamy ring, evidence of the connection between your sexes, along with the sounds of skin slapping against each other.

"Ahhhh, haaaah, Daddy, please—Mmmph!!" You feel the tip of his length brush your cervix, you clamp into him harder, and Toji hisses at your inner grasp around him.

His sultry voice is weighed with exhaustion, but his tone still affects you. "Fuck, ma, I'm gonna— Aishhhh, oh fuck," his groans fill your ears, and a shiver is sent down your spine. "Where do you want it, sweetie?"

"I-I'll take the pill! Ahhaaa, please, Daddy, inside, inside!" Your words are slurred, but you choke them out for him to hear your demands.

"Heh, of course, for being such a good girl fr' me, mama." Toji's thrusts get erratically faster and harsher, your poor cervix being abused by the merciless intrusion of his dick.

Your eyes roll upwards as you let yourself go. You spasm around his girth and wait for him to finish. Toji hammers into you a few more cruel thrusts and then exhales out of heavy groan, eyebrows scrunched together as he releases himself into you.

Once you two come down from your high, he slowly moves off you and pulls his cock out. The cold feeling of cum and slick mixed together dripping out of your puffy cunt has you gasping.

Toji presses his forehead against yours and praises you for being such a good girl. You let out a worn-out chuckle and kissed his nose. The two of you lay together for a bit, harnessing the sense of bliss and peace as your bodies sink into the mattress when sleep succumbs to you both.

...who looks forward to you moving into his unit permanently, as well as Tsumiki and Megumi, counting the days for you to always be beside them. You fit the role of a family member by bringing them together. Toji realizes this and enjoys the thought of you being with his family, especially when the worst comes to worst. And even then, he'd lay down his life for your and his family's sake.

When the time comes, maybe another little being can join this happy union you've created, and Toji will be fully prepared.

[strawbeerossi]

Hot Wax

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: After an accidental spill with your wax melts, Spencer discovers something very new about himself.

Content/Warnings: There's some cursing cause duh, wax play, soft dom!reader, sub!Spencer, unprotected sex.

Word Count: 1.5K

Kinktober Day Four: Wax Play

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

It was an accidental discovery, one that you were honestly shocked to find out. You’d gotten new wax melts for the impending autumn season, the smell of vanilla pumpkin had filled the apartment after a few days, getting ready to get the wax changed out when your boyfriend was coming home from work. “Spence!” You offered a wide smile, the heated plate now being picked up with ease as you were walking to the kitchen to clean it out. 

However you managed to trip over your own two feet. With a groan echoing through the living room, you realized you’d just thrown hot wax at your partner’s chest.

“Oh my god! Spencer, I’m so sorry!” You’d panicked. What if you gave him severe burns? Well.. The wax wasn’t that hot but it didn’t stop you from stressing that you’d managed to melt his skin off. The mere thought of hurting him made you feel like human garbage.

However what wasn’t mentioned was the tent in Spencer’s pants, the man quickly waving off your many apologies. “Honey, it’s okay. It was an accident.” He spoke, his cheeks flushed because of the blood going straight downstairs. Did he really just pop a boner because I splashed him with wax? 

The conversation wasn’t had until a few weeks later, Spencer coming home from a case along with a gift. You were in bed when he walked in, a purple gift bag in his hands. Your eyebrow raised as you glanced up from your book. “Is that a present?” You didn’t miss an anniversary and you knew for sure that it wasn’t your birthday. “Uh, yeah. I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

A present and a serious talk. Was he breaking up with you and letting you down easily? 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Spencer rushed out when he noticed a falter in the confused look on your face. “It’s not bad but.. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to talk about it.” He spoke while moving to sit on the edge of the bed while pulling out the candle. “Spence, you know I don’t burn candles..” You frowned.

“I do, but this is a, uh, special candle.” The words were soft, embarrassment setting in. What if you told him he was weird? That wax was something that you didn’t want to delve into? The idea made him regret even doing this. 

You were confused while reaching out for the candle, looking over the label. It wasn’t something you’d expected from Bath and Body Works. It was labeled as a massage candle. “What is this for?” You’d had a sneaking suspicion, however you wanted to hear him say it. “W-well, its paraffin wax. Did you know it’s actually moisturizing on the skin? It’s said that it can make skin more soft. And uh, it’s.. Very popular for sexual play with wax because it’s safe for skin.”

Sexual wax play.

“So you want me to pour this on you?” You were amused by how flustered Spencer was at the discussion, his hands moving to loosen his tie as he nodded sheepishly. “Y-yeah. I would like to try it.” He admitted, keeping a hand on his tie while he watched your movements carefully.

You unscrewed the lid, slowly moving to open the candle in your hands before bringing it up to your nose to smell it. There was no smell, which was a little disappointing, but hey, there are surely other special candles with nice smells out there. “It’s odorless.” Spencer breathed, stating what you’d already learned.

“Can you do me a favor? I have a box of matches in the kitchen drawer, would you mind-” Before you could even finish, he was rushing out of the bedroom to retrieve the items that you required to start this fantasy off right. 

Once he was back in the bedroom with the box, Spencer offered a smile as he was holding them out in your direction, already feeling his heart thudding with anticipation as the candle was lit and set on the nightstand on your side of the bed. “While we wait for it to heat up, get undressed.” You commanded, which his hands worked quickly to undo his tie before clumsily getting out of his clothes. With his work attire thrown in the room, he was stuck in his white briefs. “Come on, silly.” You spoke, opening your arms for him while grinning as he was falling into your arms, your lips almost immediately smashing against his.

The idea of trying something new was exciting. You wouldn’t say that your shared sex life was lacking, on the contrary. It was amazing. The both of you focused on taking care of one another and showering one another in physical affection and intimacy. You took charge a good majority of the time, Spencer being more of a service submissive.

You’d straddled his waist, his hard cock pressed against your clothed ass as you were reaching over to grab the candle from your bedside table. “Ready?” You asked, watching his head nod. “You know better than that.” You spoke while raising an eyebrow. “Let me hear you say that you’re ready or we aren't doing this.” 

“Yes! I’m ready. Please pour it on me.” His breath was shaky as he let his hands rest gently against your waist. The minute you tilted the candle, you watched the steady downpour of white wax now make contact with Spencer’s flushed skin. There was a hiss of pleasure coming from your partner. His gaze focused on the wax pool that was quickly drying on his skin. “Feel good?” You asked, watching his head nod slowly. “Y-yeah. Fuck.” The profanity made you decide on pouring more. 

This time, you let your hand sit in the warm wax while dragging your hand up his torso. The trail moved fluidly in your hand; the heat spreading to Spencer’s chest as he was whining for more. 

You were placing the candle down briefly, much to his dismay. “Gonna ride you while I do this.” You murmured, now lifting your hips to tug your sleep shorts down your legs. You were aching for relief, the idea of pouring hot wax on your partner doing enough to make you crave more than Spencer’s hips rutting against you from below. As you’d gotten your underwear and shorts tossed somewhere in the room, you were straddling his waist once more. 

His cock was wet by the amount of precum bubbling over the thick head of his shaft, red and angry for more attention. “Fuck, baby. You really like the wax, don’t you?” You breathe, hand wrapping around his cock while giving it a few tugs. It helped with spreading the helpful substance over the skin, working as lube for an easier time. “Fuck, fuck.” The male whined from his spot, head thrown back. He already looked so fucked out and you both had barely done anything.

Why didn’t you throw wax on him sooner?

After getting your knees settled on either side of his hips, you aligned yourself with his hardened shaft before lowering yourself down with a moan, head tilting back as your sex was swallowing every inch that Spencer offered you. As your hips rolled down into his, your body leaned to the side to take the candle back into your hands, lip between your teeth as you let the stream pour on his chest now, watching the way the wax was clinging to the light hair littering his chest, almost reminiscent of cum accenting his skin. 

His hips roughly snapped upwards, catching you by surprise as you bounced upon the impact. You were continuing the onslaught of dousing his body in the hot wax that was sticking onto his skin. “Fuck, Spence. Keep fucking me like that.” You squeaked, his hips continuing to piston into your body, impaling you in the best way possible as you continued glazing his upper body with the candle wax.

“I’m gonna cum! Oh, my god. I’m gonna cum.” He groaned deeply while letting his head tilted back, cock twitching inside of your warmth as he gave a few sloppy thrusts before he was hitting his high. The warm gush of cum inside of you was enough to prompt your own orgasm, both of you groaning and moaning together while Spencer kept a bruising grip on your body. 

As you’d both came down from your highs and you blew out the candle, it was back in its place on the nightstand. “God, that was amazing.” You breathed, body lifting from his while you fell onto your back on the bed below you both.

Spencer was quiet for a good while, chest rising and falling from the powerful orgasm he was swimming in. “Anything else we have around the house that you can throw on me?” He questioned, teasing you while he let his head tilt to the side while you laughed, moving to press a kiss against his lips. 

“We’ll figure it out.”

[purplegrapevines]

You're Welcome, Cupcake

Pairing: Vi x fem!reader

Content: enemies to lovers, blood, physical attack (mentioned), fluff, suggestive

Word count: 681

You and Vi do not gem well.

You guys are in the same friend group, so even though you try, you can't avoid each other. Constant disputes and fighting, it's getting annoying for everyone else in your group.

You guys will take any chance you get to insult or annoy each other.

One day, you return home all bloodied from an attack in the Undercity.

Everyone rushes over to you and asks you questions about what happened, everyone except for Vi, who sits silent on the couch.

But you can feel her stares from feet away, you can see the slight worry in her expression when she sees the gash on your thigh.

After your friends finish helping you patch up your face, you tell them that you can bandage your thigh by yourself.

You take your pants off and sit on the counter of the bathroom, grabbing the alcohol from your kit. You gently pour it into a cotton pad and, slightly hesitantly, dab it into your wound.

You hiss and yank your hand away, not expecting it to sting that much. As you are about to try to clean your leg again, you hear knock on the bathroom door.

"Um, who is it?" you call.

"It's me," the voice says. Vi's voice.

"I'm cleaning my wound. Go use the other bathroom, I'll be out in a bit," you reply sharply.

"Can I... come in?"

"What? What do you need?"

"The wound on your leg looked pretty bad. If you need help, I can do it."

"I don't."

"Are you sure? Just let me see," Vi says.

"I've got it under control," you reply. Truth is, you don't. You can not bring the alcohol to touch your leg again.

After a couple seconds of silence, you realize that cleaning and wrapping your leg will be hard to do on your own. You would rather call your other friends to help, but they've probably gone to sleep by now.

"Vi?" you call, "Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here," she responds.

"You can come in."

The doorknob slowly turns until Vi peeks her head out the doorframe. You suddenly become conscious of your lack of pants.

Vi doesn't seem to be fazed by it as walks towards you and takes a look at your leg.

"Do you need help?" she asks. I nod, pointing to the cotton pads an alcohol sitting next to the sink.

Vi wets some cotton with alcohol and begins to gently dab your wound. She slightly winces when she hears you hiss, but she doesn't remove her hand.

"Ow, Vi, can't you do it a bit gentler?" Vi doesn't say anything, but you feel her taps get slightly lighter. Wow, she actually listened. You didn't expect that.

"I'm done," Vi states.

"Oh, okay, thank you." Again, Vi doesn't respond. Instead, she reaches for the bandages and starts to unravel them.

"Oh, don't worry about that, I can do it myself-"

"It's fine." You don't protest anymore, letting her set the gauze on your wound.

Vi grabs under your thigh and begins to push your leg up.

"Hey- wait, what are you doing?"

"Well, I need to wrap it all the way around, so I need to lift it up."

Vi rests your ankle on her shoulder, as she still focuses intently on patching up your wound.

You turn away, hoping that she can't see you slightly red-faced from that unexpected action.

Vi expertly wraps the bandages around your thigh, probably getting the experience from wrapping her own hands.

"Alright, I'm done," Vi says, as she looks at you expectantly. You look into her gray eyes for a couple seconds, letting your awkward position sink in.

Oh shit. Your position.

You quickly bring your leg off her shoulder, and you feel my face get hot.

"I- thank you," I say, not looking her in the eye again, assuming she has some smug look on her face.

She takes my chin between her fingertips and turns it towards her. I was right, she looks very smug.

"You're welcome, Cupcake."

[widowbitessting]

what about is Reader has a nightmare? What would the trio! do?

The Coffee Incident

Wanda/Natasha/CarolxReader

Word Count - 1674

You jolt awake, still half asleep as the remnants of the nightmare still play on your mind.

You struggle free from the blankets enclosing you.

It's wrapped too tightly around your legs, feeling more like claustrophobic ropes bound to cut off circulation than a cheap duvet from Target, and you frantically kick yourself free; trembling body toppling out of your single bed.

You’re panting, breathing deep despite your lungs struggling to fill with oxygen.

You find yourself on the precipice of a panic attack and you’re frantic to bring yourself down.

“A dream…” you croak out, “it was just a dream.”

But your brain can’t stop replaying it on a loop in your mind and the panic is quick to consume you.

"MJ." You croak out, forgetting that she's spending the night at Peter's.

Fresh hot tears spill from your eyes and down your cheeks and you frantically grab for your cell through blurred vision.

You need them.

Struggling to open your phone, you lose your temper quicker than normal and end up biting into your palm to stifle a frustrated scream.

You have to put in your passcode, twice to be exact, until you're able to get to your contacts.

Clicking the first name in your recents, you pray that they pick up.

Blood is thundering around your ears as your phone rings.

Legs bouncing anxiously as you rest your forehead down on your knee.

"Please...please...please..."

A sleepy voice picks up.

"...hullo?"

"Nat?"

You can hear shuffling on her side before she replies, sounding more awake than she did when she first picked up the call.

"Y/N? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

You squeeze your eyes shut as more tears trickle down your face, the taste of salt seeping onto your tongue.

"I - I..."

You crumble and let out a sob.

"Y/N, baby, where are you?" Natasha asks.

You can hear another voice in the background, asking Natasha if everything is okay.

"Ho-home."

"Are you hurt, baby girl?" Natasha asks. She says something else but it's aimed at either Carol or Wanda and you miss it.

"No - I, I'm just scared. MJ isn't here. I'm sorry -"

"Don't be sorry, detka. We'll be there as soon as we can okay?"

"You're coming?"

"We all are, baby. Can you stay on the phone for me? I want to make sure you're safe until we're there, okay?"

"I - I'm...please, I didn't mean to disturb you..."

"Kitten, you never disturb us." Carol's voice jolts you a little. "You're our girl; you could never."

"Okay..."

Even though you're still trembling on your cold floor, you can't help but be soothed by them.

By their voices.

It takes them no time at all to reach you.

Letting themselves in by the key you had given them shortly after you had all officially started dating.

It's Wanda who comes through your bedroom door first, donning her slept in pyjamas; closely followed by both Carol and Natasha. Both in similar attires. 

You're on the floor still, duvet in a heap by your feet, phone pressed tightly to your left cheek.

Had you had been in a better headspace, you might have found it funny how you could hear them on the phone as well as see them rushing to your side.

But you can only stare past them, eyes glossy.

Wanda peels your phone from you, speaking to you through cotton filled ears; and it isn't until you're embraced in a warm hug, do you register that they're actually there.

In your room.

At 2am in the morning.

The hug feels amazing and you melt into it, eyes instantly growing heavy as Wanda's fingers twirl the baby hairs at the base of your neck.

While lips meet your cheek, kissing away any residue tears that had dried on your skin.

“Baby girl?” Carol speaks calmly, hand holding your own. “Come back to us.”

But the panic is quick to return and your lungs once again struggle. 

“I - I can’t…” You let out a sob, “I can’t breathe.”

Wanda cups your face, forcing your eyes to look at her. 

You take her in. 

Her green eyes that are looking at you with such a soft expression, you find yourself melting into her gaze.

You can’t help glance at the small freckle on the bridge of her nose.

You love to kiss that one. 

“Focus on me, my love.” She says, bringing you back. “Can you do that for me?”

You can only nod, words dissolving on your tongue. 

“Good girl. Listen closely and breathe for me. Nice and deep, in through your nose.”

You do as you’re told, nostrils sucking up oxygen and whistling as they do.

When you exhale through your lips, it’s shaky and you’re sure your morning breath hits Wanda square in the face. 

Regardless, she’s unfazed by it. 

“Do that again for me and after you’ve exhaled, my love, I want you to try and tell me five things you can see.”

“See?” 

“Yes, darling. Five things.”

“Well…you, Natasha and Carol…” you say. “That’s three.”

“Cheeky girl.” Wanda smiles, “go on. Two more.”

“My laptop…”

“Last one my love.”

“Erm,” You look around your room, seeing every potential thing to use but you can’t take it in. “Um…”

“One thing, baby girl. Anything.”

“My - my lamp.”

“Good job, kitten.” Wanda says. “Can you name me four things you can feel?” 

“Well…you…I can feel you…and my pyjamas.”

“Go on.” Wanda says, “three left.”

“The carpet on my feet…my bed frame on my back and…um…my hair on my shoulders…?”

“You’re doing so well for us, baby girl.” Wanda smiles, “Now, three things you can hear? Use those listening ears I know you have.”

You still feel as if your heart is about to claw out of your ribcage but you do as you’re asked regardless; squeezing your eyes shut as you force yourself to listen around you.

“I’d normally hear MJ’s snoring but she isn’t here so…” 

“That doesn’t count, baby.” Wanda says, “try again.”

“The -” Your voice cracks, “the horns outside.”

“There we go,” Wanda says, hands still holding your firm. “They’re so loud, aren’t they?”

You nod, smiling slightly.

“I can, I - someone is breathing heavily.”

There’s a beat of silence before Carol replies: “…no they’re not.”

Causing Wanda and Natasha to let out a small laugh. 

Your smile grows. 

“What else, love?”

“The dog barking downstairs.”

“You’re doing amazingly, love.” Wanda kisses your head. “Two things you can smell?”

“You’re minty breath…and, I…” You swallow. “My shampoo. It’s strawberry.”

“You’re being so brave, baby girl. So brave. Last one; what thing you can taste?”

“I don’t wanna answer that.”

“Why not?”

“…cos I’ll get into trouble.”

“Just tell us, baby.” Wanda gently pushes. 

“…I can taste my coffee…”

“You’re coffee, huh?” Natasha asks, smiling. “Now when did you have coffee?” 

You shrug, looking down.

“Answer me, kitten.” 

“Before bed I guess…”

“You guess?” 

“...yeah.” 

“Why did you have coffee before bed?” Carol asks.

“...because I really fancied one…and we had coffee in…”

“And you thought that was a good idea?” 

“I didn’t think I was gonna get caught…

You really wished the ground would swallow you whole.

“Okay, so,” Natasha says, “I think you know you’re gonna have a caffeine ban tomorrow regardless, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You sigh and pout, bottom lip springing free.

“Yes.”

“So for now, I think we’ll discuss the coffee incident tomorrow when we’ve all had some more sleep.”

“Yes,”

“Yes what, kitten? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to as well.”

“Yes mommy, sorry.”

“Good girl. Now, do you feel grounded enough to try sleeping again?”

You didn't even realise your heart rate had calmed; that you could breathe normally and move your body functionally again. 

“I didn’t…”

“Wanda is very skilled at bringing people down from panic attacks. She’s our super star.”

Wanda smiles brightly and nods in agreement.

“It’s all about distractions and grounding. I knew it would work better with us all here and look, it did. We even caught you out on a lie too.”

“Yippee for me.”

“Now less of that, do you feel okay enough to sleep for us?”

“…I - well yeah but not alone…I don’t wanna sleep alone…”

“We’re not going anywhere, kitten.” Carol says. 

You finally register - and to this day you have no idea how you missed Carol and Natasha putting out blankets and duvets and pillows - the floor littered with cosiness and click on your girlfriends’ plan. 

They never had any intention to leave.

There’s three pillows lined in a row, close to your bed and you can’t help but giggle as the image of you rolling out of bed and landing on them fills your brain.

Carol ushers you into your bed and kisses your forehead before Natasha slips a straw between your lips and tells you to “Drink up, our little coffee drinker.”

You do as you’re told and drink heavily before Natasha tucks you in tight and kisses your forehead too. 

Wanda copies the other two and even sneaks a kiss on your lips.  

“We’ll just be down here if you need us, okay?” She says.

You nod and nestle into your pillow. 

“Now close your eyes and try to get some sleep. Goodnight baby.”

“Night night.”

After five minutes you decide sleep isn’t going to happen. You’re far too lonely and wide awake to sleep. 

Four minutes pass and you decide there’s a big enough space on the floor for you to wedge in between Natasha and Carol. 

Three minutes later and you’re softly saying “excuse me.” with your pillow pressed against your chest. 

Two minutes go by and you’ve settled on the floor, Natasha hugging you tightly to her body while Carol plays with your hair. Eventually, Wanda complains that she’s being left out and the blonde shifts to face her and pulls her into a cuddle. 

One minute later you’re fighting sleep with Natasha's lips pressed to your head. 

Sleep, with sweet dreams, soon follows. 

Bliss. 

[siriusleee]

iii. sterling silver

Zombie Apocalypse AU | SIMON RILEY x f!READER

↳ SUMMARY: The world is trying to knit itself back together after fracturing apart. You're trying to put yourself back together with it; Simon Riley is just trying to stay alive. ↳ WORD COUNT: 2.2K ↳ TAGS: mentions of cannibalism, mentions of shooting things, mentions of dying. smut to come. canon typical violence to come. additional tags to come as the story progresses. female reader. no mentions of "your name". reader is given a nickname. ↳ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you to the discord girlies for letting me bounce things off of you guys. If you guys like the works, consider donating to my ko-fi. ↳ TAG LIST: There will not be a tag list for this story, as Tumblr has issues with letting me tag people. To get notifications of updates, please subscribe on AO3 or turn on notifications for my blog.

additional chapters | ao3

You don’t want to tell him your name - it feels vulnerable - the type of vulnerability you couldn’t feel in years; the type of vulnerability that you don’t want to have with a man who’s treated you like he has. 

“Tell me yours first,” your voice feels raw - you haven’t spoken this much in years. 

His fingers flex on the rifle; in his eyes, you can see that he’s having the same internal struggle you are - the same fight to keep every little part of himself that he can. Finally, his hands loosen on the gun, and he sets it down, leaning it gently against the wall. You keep your eyes trained on his hands, on the scars that litter the skin, watching to see if he’ll suddenly snatch the weapon up again.

“I’m Ghost.” The words roll off of his tongue heavily, as if he’s speaking a foreign language he hasn’t spoken in years. As if the restrained gentleness is so odd on his tongue that he can hardly stand the taste of it.

“That’s not your real name.”

“‘Course it’s not.”

It’s not an explanation, not one that’s going to stretch this conversation out longer and keep you from giving up a piece of yourself to him. So you don’t, the first thing coming to mind spitting from you with half-hidden vitriol at having to say anything.

“My dad used to call me Dove.”

It feels strange to tell a stranger something about yourself. This stranger who nearly burnt you to a crisp and force marched you through the forest. Apprehension and a sort of giddy feeling hang in the pit of your stomach - there hadn’t been a single person you’d told that too since before the ending.

His expression doesn’t change between the black fabric of his balaclava; without a word, he disappears into the back room with your bow and arrows still clenched in his hands.  His absence causes your brain to kick into overdrive: you could run now, but would he catch you? Would he need to catch you - why did he even bring you here? He still has your bow, and without it, you might as well resign yourself to starving between the trees.

You could take his rifle, but those are loud and attract Biters. Then there was the problem of finding ammo, so sparse these days that you might as well use it as a club for all the good it would do for you.

Before you can make a decision, Ghost arrives back into the room, hands empty of your equipment. He gestures to a chair on matchstick legs, hauling his pack onto the table. You hesitate to sit down, but finally give in when he shoots you a poisoned look.

It’s an immediate relief to be off of your feet. Blood rushes back into your toes, they sting painfully as you flex them in your threadbare boots. The skin that blistered beneath your burning pants itches terribly, and your chest feels like a weight of bricks lay on it, but it’s nice to just sit after nearly a day of walking. The muscles in your back ache terribly, and not for the first time since the entire world fell to shit, you find yourself wishing for a hot bath.

Your eyes never leave Ghost as he pulls two brown-gray packs from his bag; he tosses one at you, and you catch it on the end of your fingertips. You trace your fingers on the plastic package, your stomach grumbling and clenching at the sight of it.

“How did you get one of these?” You ask in awe, ignoring the suspicion that’s been plaguing you for the day.

“Does it matter?”

No. It doesn’t matter. Your hunger is stronger than whatever suspicion or anger you have at Ghost; anomalistically you rip into the bag, spilling the contents out across the table.

Crackers. Instant coffee powder. The little water-heated bag of lasagna. A chocolate chip cookie. Three different types of water flavors. Strawberry jam. 

It’s more food than you've seen in one place in months. 

You start with the cookie, shoving the entire thing into your mouth - it’s old and brittle. The chocolate has the chemical flavor of a cheap candy bar, but the sweetness is still so strong after having nothing similar in five years. Crumbs fall out of your mouth and onto your shirt, you hear your mom’s voice in your head chiding you about being ladylike, but you push it away. It’s not the kind of memory someone needs right now.

Ghost slides a half-filled bottle of water towards you; you snatch it up to activate the water heater of the food, holding it in your hands as it heats and reveling in the feeling against your cold fingers. 

“You haven’t eaten much.” 

It’s a statement, but there’s no judgment in Ghosts’s voice as he watches you grip the food, waiting for it to be done. You feel like a stray dog with a bone; you’d kill him if he tried to take it back from you. But he doesn’t do anything but lean back in his matchstick chair, his MRE unopened in front of himself. 

“I eat what I can find.”

“Can you find much these days?”

You don’t like how he talks to you, like you’re a dog he’s trying to placate and earn its trust. Running your tongue across your teeth, you watch him, suspicion creeping back in again. It doesn’t feel right - the tone he’s talking to you in.

“Why did you kidnap me? Are we supposed to stay here forever?”

Ghost’s jaw works beneath his mask.

“I told you: I don’t know who you might run off to.” Each of his words is measured, bitten off at the perfect size.

“And tell them what? That a man with a skull mask nearly burnt me alive?”

“Yes.”

It’s maddeningly vague, but before you can retort Ghost speaks again.

“You should eat that. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

Annoyed but starving, you tear into the package. The smell makes your mouth water, and for a second you’re back to dinner in your mom’s kitchen, but that second passes and you’re tearing into the hot food with your fingers. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so hungry. But all you’d had for weeks was the smallest squirrels that were too slow for your arrows. Most of them you’d eaten raw, your stomach getting hungrier with each passing day. A few you’d laid out in the sun to turn into jerky when you could spare the time to sit in one place. Deer were too large for you these days, muscle tone disappearing with the summer.

You lick your fingers clean, and then the package too. When you’re done, you turn your attention to the crackers, smearing them with the strawberry jam and then licking the crumbs from the package. 

The only light left is the oil lamps gently illuminating the room. Once you wash the taste of the food from your mouth, your suspicion returns. Ghost hasn’t moved the entire time and when you’re done, he pushes himself out of the chair. His MRE sits abandoned on the table - you eye it suspiciously. There’s a test here, but you can’t work it out.

“You can sleep over there,” he says with a jerk of his head towards the dusty couch. “I’m taking watch.”

Watch for what? You want to ask, but you keep the thoughts to yourself, the taste of jam lingering on your molars. Ghost stares at you for just a moment too long, until you stand painfully and walk to the couch. Sitting for so long has made the pain in your side sharper, the feeling inside of your chest at being locked inside of this small cabin with a strange man more hollow. Curling onto the end of the couch, you settle yourself so that you can see the front of the cabin through the adjacent window, plastic yellowing where it had been taped over a broken pane. The forest outside shivers with the coming snowstorm - you should have been halfway to your winter camp by now. You don’t even know how to get back on the trail.

Ghost slams the door shut behind him; the sound makes you wince. It’s as if he’s completely unafraid of noise, of drawing attention to himself. You don’t like it.

It makes your stomach twist on itself, and you regret eating so fast. You think you might throw it all up. Ghost settles down onto the little stairs right outside the door, rifle resting across his knees. You let your head recline on the arm of the couch, watching him, and waiting for the right moment.

It comes deep into the night when your eyes are fighting to stay awake and your mouth tastes like cotton. He stands, slinging his rifle over his shoulder, and shakes his arms out. His boots crunch over the snow and frozen leaves as he walks at a measured pace along the edge of the cabin.

The moment presents itself to you, and you take it. The door opens with a ragged creak and slams with a shut that rattles the night behind you. But you slip against the snow, knee hitting the hard ground painfully. You let out a pained grunt, and the sound must alert Ghost to your escape.

Feet pounding the ground, you slip on the snow that’s gathered in the night. Behind you, Ghost breathes heavily, but even as the sound of his boots hitting the ground follows you. You should have gotten your arrows from wherever Ghost had hidden them.

You do a hairpin turn around an oak tree, and you hear Ghost shout from behind you.

“Stop! You're going to run right into them!”

You barely have time to think about his words before the ground drops out from below you for the second time today. Your hands scramble against the roots and vegetation that cover the drop-down, trying to find a purchase as you plunge toward a thick darkness. 

In the snow-covered night, you crash into a ravine. The ice-cold water immediately pulls the breath from your lungs. You hear Ghost muttering curses as he slides down the drop-off. 

You sink up to your wrists in icy mud as you try to crawl away from him, but your body is too broken from the day, the pain that scorches through you is too heavy and cold for you to go too far or fight back as Ghost wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you, your hands squelching as Ghost drags you from the mud. 

He clamps his hand over your mouth, whispering harshly for you to shut up as he drags you back towards the wall of dirt and roots.

You try to kick him, but pain lances through the hip you fell on; Simon slings you behind the edge of a half-fallen tree covering your body with his, still hissing in your ear to shut up. You nearly bite your tongue from shivering so hard. He pushes you hard into the ground; you try to push yourself away from him when you hear it.

The cadence of human feet up above you, the steady clink of chains, and the low moan of Biter's. It comes from the bank opposite of you and Ghost. A sliver of flashlight appears at the top of the ravine, sweeping along the banks. Men’s voices sound out in the darkness.

“It was probably a fox screaming.”

“Check all around, just in case.”

You think you’re going to throw up, your heart is in your throat as Ghost presses himself harder onto you, trying to fold the two of you into the ground so that you’re not spotted. 

Ghost hisses in your ear, close enough to make you shiver. 

“That’s the body snatchers you’re so worried about.” He shives, his elbow digging into your side painfully, your surely broken rib seeming to crack harder beneath the weight of him, “Ought to let them catch you for this.”

The threat is enough to make your heartbeat quicken; you wonder if Ghost can feel it in his chest as it’s pressed against yours. The sound of chains and Biters moaning rolls through the cold night air, Ghost’s breath is warm on the shell of your ear. The men talk, quietly enough that you can’t make out their distinct conversations. It’s hard to breathe with Ghost’s hand wrapped over your head, keeping it held closely to the ground.

You want to look up and see if their flashlight is hovering over the two of you; you may have laid there all night and into the next night for all you know. But when Ghost lifts himself off of you, you shiver violently from the loss of his warmth. Pink tinges the horizon even though daylight is still hours off. 

The mud coats almost every part of you, Ghost grabs your shoulder roughly and flips you over, brown eyes boring into yours, and his fingers digging painfully into the bones of your shoulder.

“You try to run away again, and I will let them catch you. Do you understand me?”

You don’t answer; you don’t think you can make your jaw work, but Ghost shakes you, loosening your tongue. The sterling silver moon is being pushed out of the sky above him, his brown eyes hard.

“I understand.”

[allzelemonz]

Sweet Blood: Bill Williamson X Male Reader

Fictober Prompt: Day 21, Blood/Murder Pronouns: None Mentioned Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut, violence Warnings: Appreciation of Bill’s size, kissing, gunfight, blood, murder, oral sex, blow job, hint of anal fingering, mentions of bathing together, goofy fluff, Bill is clumsy Summary: After a shootout Bill gets a little show that he enjoys more than he might expect.

If there is one thing Bill finds himself hating about Lemoyne, it’s the stupid confederate bastards that think they own the place. He was more than happy to go out riding with you, just spending time together. You’d been riding along, partly racing and generally messing around like fools until the bastards appeared out of the trees. Your horse slid to a stop, Brown Jack halting just behind. Before anything else, the raiders recognized the two of you from the gang and started shooting. Given how many of the bastards there were, Bill planned to run as much as he hated to, but your horse got scared and bucked you. And now he doesn’t even know where you are in the firefight.

He saw you get behind a rock and hasn’t seen you since, too busy getting Brown Jack out of danger and bolting for cover himself. His rifle needs cleaning and he wasn’t even planning on needing it today. Your shots help even if he has no idea where they come from. Halfway through, getting frustrated with his dirty rifle, he pulls his revolver. It’d feel a lot better if he could see you and know you’re not hurt. The last shot he lands lets his ears clear and the sounds of a struggle fill where the gunshots used to be.

Bill rushes, following the sounds of crunching leaves and labored grunts. He arrives just in time to watch you plunge your knife into the man above you, the man grasps at it but you drag it along his torso and his blood seeps out like a burst dam and he collapses. Bill, his head a little foggy, pulls the now dead man off of you. Your clothes are soaked in blood, splatters around your skin and hair, effectively covering you in red.

Bill stares for a moment before getting the sense to offer his hand. “Ya alright?”

“Yeah.” You groan as Bill helps you to your feet. “He came out of nowhere.”

That image of you essentially gutting the man flashes through Bill’s mind. “Bastard…” He mutters.

Bill watches you put your knife away, shifting on his feet in a bit of discomfort but he has no idea why. He knows you can handle yourself, if anything he sometimes likes watching you kill the fellers that deserve it. He writes it off as being worried about the horses and-

“Bill?” You say, making him look at you. “Did you just get hard from a gun fight?”

Bill feels heat rush to his face as he looks down and suddenly feels the ache. He’s about half hard, enough to strain against his pants for you to see. It wasn’t just the gunfight and he knows it. Sure, he might’ve rubbed one out after trading shots before, but this time he knows that seeing you stab a feller and get coated in blood had a hell of a lot to do with it. And he feels embarrassed because it’s weird to get off on shooting and stabbing… but you’re smiling at him and it makes his brow crease in confusion. He looks down, but can’t quite tell if you’ve gotten hard too.

“You want help, sweetheart?” You ask, your fingers digging under his gunbelt and pulling him closer.

Bill nods, grinning at the prospect of fucking in the aftermath of all this. He kisses you, his hands holding your face as your hand moves up to rid both of you of the hats that knock together. He feels hot all over, more than usual in the humidity, and he grips your hands to bring them to his shirt. You take the hint, unbuttoning it for him. He shivers as you hands run over his chest, sliding down to his stomach and lovingly squeezing at the extra fat there. He might fully collapse and melt under your touch one day, like snow in the summer, but for now he can keep his legs with the help of a large rock to lean against.

“D-Darlin’” He breathes heavily against your lips. “I want ya ta… can ya suck me off?”

You smile at him. Bill hates asking for things, much prefers to just let you do whatever you want with him, but he needs this. He needs to see you all bloodsoaked on your knees.

“We’re gonna have to get a bath or something after.” You say, looking down at the blood that now stains both of you. “Grimshaw and Dutch’d lose it if we walked around like this.”

Bill nods, giggling to himself. “Ya wanna share a bath?”

“Or a lake, I’m not picky.”

Bill kisses you sweetly before you kneel down in front of him. He scrambles to get his suspenders over his shoulders as you tug his pants down. Your hands leave blood in their wake, red stains settling in all the places you’ve touched and it makes Bill’s chest tight. His dick freed and his leg bare, he feels that tremble again and leans back more against the rock to keep himself up while you grip his thighs. You trail kisses over his skin, paying attention to his thickness with a care that makes Bill want to tell you how much he loves you but his mouth can’t quite form words, only lewd little noises that he tries to silence with his hand.

When you first lick at his head he nearly yelps, every sensation heightened by the fact that you’re in the aftermath of a shootout, out in the open, covered in blood, and Bill is half naked for anyone to see. He looks down and finds his hairy chest flushed pink, the only thing covered is his arms as his shirt hangs open. He’s been foregoing union suits since moving down into the humid south, and he’s a little glad for it when your hand wanders up to his hip to keep him still. The feeling of your fingers on his skin, damp blood smearing slightly, makes him groan into his hand. And when your mouth wraps around him, his legs finally give out and he falls on his ass.

“Shit!” He exclaims, looking up at you. “Sorry, shit that hurt.”

You cup his cheek, kissing him as if he hasn’t made a fool of himself. “I can see why we’ve only ever done this sitting down.”

Bill knows his face must be red by now, ears and all. “Y-Ya just… I can’t handle it, ya make me feel so damn good.”

“Just relax, Bill.” You say with a smile. “This just means I get to have those perfect thighs of yours around my head.”

“Ain’t nothin’-“

You shush him, stopping the self-deprecating comment and making Bill swallow the spit in this mouth. He settles his back against the rock, spreading his legs as you dip between them. He hesitates, but carefully puts his legs over your shoulders. He’s done it before but he’s always worried he’ll smother you or something, all you give him is encouragement. It feels amazing, allowing you to sink down so far onto his dick with only your own limitations in the way. You engulf him with the familiar angle, your nose pressed flush with Bill’s messy patch of pubic hair as he shivers and clenches his legs. Despite the weight on your back, you bob your head and use your tongue perfectly, Bill not able to think of anything else. You’re always perfect.

He can’t warn you, despite his effort too, all that comes out is a gasp as your finger traces around his rim, exposed from the slant of his hips. He releases down your throat and his legs clench around you, holding you in place as you swallow his cum and suck him through the pleasure. Bill goes limp when it’s done, his mind a fog and only faintly aware of your kisses on his thighs as you put his legs back on the ground.

“You really need a bath now.” He hears you mutter, the faint feeling of your hands buttoning his shirt accompanying. “Got dirt all over you now.”

Bill chuckles lightly, his senses coming back as he catches his breath. You help him stand on wobbly legs so he can pull his pants up. You catch him when he stumbles, keeping your arm around him like he’s drunk.

And when you put his hat back on his head he smiles bashfully. “Love you.”

“Love you too, lightweight.” You smile, pecking his lips.

“Ain’t like I’m drunk.”

“Might as well be with all this wobbling.”

Bill looks down at his feet. “Sorry.”

“I’m the one that did it.” You say, picking his head up to kiss again. “Now let’s get cleaned up.”

[corazondebeskar-reads]

live to rise - chapter seven

live to rise series

seven: not worth my soul

series masterlist | prev chapter | final chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: An escape attempt is made.

chapter warnings: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE WARNINGS. This chapter contains many very dark themes. I have omitted them as they are all spoilers. Please see end notes for chapter-specific warnings and/or feel free to DM me.

Sorry this is late; life found a way to get in the way. This is the penultimate chapter and thank you all so much for coming along on this journey. I hope you bear with me through this.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You’re not cut out for this. This isn’t a surprise. You’ve never had the stomach for danger. 

Having to stand still and calm and like nothing at all is making your heart race, nothing is brewing a storm in your stomach, nothing is wrong? Like you aren’t facing near-certain death in a matter of hours? 

Your feet are stuck on the metal floor of the sponsor box and it’s not from the sun melting them there. You can’t even bring yourself to face Shand, stuck solidly in place staring out over the arena like you’ll fall apart if you move. 

And there are still two hours until he fights, let alone what comes later tonight. 

You’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, thankful again for the light linen blouse and skirts. The circulators billow them with cold air for the sponsor’s comfort but you can’t seem to keep your brow dry. 

You’re the weak link and Shand knows it. Luckily, Gideon didn’t seem to register that at your report this morning. 

Probably because you had thrown up on his floor before you could say anything and he sent you away, thank the stars. 

When it comes time for Din to fight, the dizziness is creeping in. The normal nerves of a battle are incompatible with this newer, stronger terror. You’re practically shaking. 

No one notices, though. Not when all eyes are on the Mandalorian as his opponent’s ax settles in the meat of his shoulder. 

You think maybe your body betrayed you, that maybe you made a sound. The dryness of your throat was the only saving grace. 

Despite the way that everything in you has gone cold, hot tears burn in the corners of your eyes. You squeeze them shut. After all, you had promised. He had pushed and pushed until you promised not to watch. 

If there’s any mercy in the universe, you think, this won’t be the end. It can’t be.

It isn’t. 

Shand’s hand smacks against your arm and you realize she’s been speaking. You’re hurt that she hit you for only a moment.

“It’s over. He won. Go,” she snaps once she has your attention. 

You run. 

He doesn’t come back for a long time. You pace the cell, wringing your hands. He doesn’t usually stay in medical, shouldn’t need to, so this was… bad. You can’t hear with the way your heart is beating overtime, the blood rushing in your ears, the tunnel closing in until most of the room is just static. 

Until the doors open. 

The guards are gone as soon as it closes behind him, not caring for how pallid he seems or the way his eyes aren’t focusing. They’ve healed him, mostly, though you know the damage must be far worse than their bacta shots can fix. You’re at his side in a second, though your strength isn’t enough to hold him up. 

Between the both of you, he stumbles to the bed and you ease him down to sit. He tries to pull you down beside him with his good arm but you’re faster, right now, dodging his grip to move, forcing a canteen in his hand instead of your body. 

You’re out of the room before he can take a drink, though you know you shouldn’t. It’s almost too risky but far riskier  not  to. 

So you sneak into the kitchens. You’ve only ever used the passcode before to take the little containers of oil and fat left for you by Jyoti. She trusted you immensely and you were going to break that, now. Going to use her code to enter and take real, actual food. 

The guilt only lasts for a moment.

The stars align in your favor—or rather, you think, in Din’s, and you make it back to the cell with your contraband unnoticed. He’s dozing off, slumped against the wall, and your heart stops for just a moment before you see the rise and fall of his chest. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he scolds predictably when you rouse him.

“You lost too much blood,” you snap. Doesn’t he understand? Doesn’t he get it yet? Everything is on the line and he’s worried about theft? The list of your crimes is already insurmountable. A handful of Bantha meat and bread and cheese were hardly going to register. 

“I’m fine,” he says, slow and placating. 

“Don’t start,” you say with a huff. 

He puts down the sandwich and pulls you to him by the back of your neck, cupping gently until your foreheads meet. 

“I’m okay, kar’talyc. I’ll be okay.” 

“You better,” you try to say, but you choke on it. Here, in his arms, both free from immediate danger, you fall into the breakdown that’s been building all day. 

“We’re okay,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. “Nothing’s wrong that can’t be fixed.” 

And you have to believe him. 

When it happens, it happens so fast. 

It has to. 

You’re in the lounge. There’s a private room reserved, but for now, the three of you are in the crowd. Shand keeps the both of you close, making sickening conversation with other sponsors and encouraging them to ask Din questions about his armor.

It’s, of course, still mounted on display in the center of the room. There’s no barrier, no shield between it and the true scum of the galaxy that populates the room.

Thank the stars for Gideon’s ego. 

He’s not in the lounge tonight. Not yet, anyway. It’s a small mercy. 

There’s no signal when it begins. No precise timing, no secret comms. Those were not luxuries afforded tonight.

It just happens.

Shand looks at Din and he moves at once, twisting fluidly to shield you with his body. His chest pressed to your back. His to the explosion. 

There’s no chance for the dust to settle. Smoke and ash fill the room in hazy orange. 

Din’s hand is on your arm until it isn’t. 

Shand is by his side until she isn’t. 

You’re frozen on the spot until you aren’t. 

You finally move, the invisibility granted by your status letting you slip through the screaming socialites. 

Blaster fire pings behind you. 

In front, a green Mandalorian reaches Din. He doesn’t reach his armor, so you lunge for it. For the helmet. 

It flies from your grasp when the trooper grabs you. 

Shand snaps it from the air with a grappling cable, whipping it to Din. There’s another Mando, you think, moving through the smoke. A blue one, going for the armor.

Whoever’s in the green kit is strong enough to wrangle Din, yelling something unintelligible as they make for the new exit carved by detonators. There’ll be speeders there, at the former windows of the private room, and they’ll get him to the ship. 

You have to believe that’s true. 

It’s too late for you, though. 

You don’t even fight it when they drag you away. 

There’s no chance against two of Gideon’s dark armored troopers. 

You think you hear Din yelling and fighting to get to you, and you pray they have the sense to get him out. 

The troopers are not any gentler when you go limp in their arms, the ache of their grasp promising to bruise. You hang there, feet dragging, and find yourself blessedly numb. 

What awaits you will be worse than death, you expect. They’re going to extract every bit of information from you before they let you die. But it’s okay. 

He’s free. He has his helmet and his people. 

His son is alive. 

You’ve always been willing to martyr yourself for your residents. At least this last time will make a difference. A man walks free; a child gets to keep his father. 

Maybe in another life, you could have loved one another wholly. 

Dying for him will have to be enough.

When they lock you in the tiny cell, they toss your body to the ground, and your head cracks against the metal bench. The last thing you remember before you lose consciousness is that maybe you understand Vrar’s choice a little better. 

Death is the only freedom you’ll get. 

When they come for you again, you’re still unconscious. They remedy that with an acrid-smelling capsule cracked under your nose that yanks you back to the real world. 

Once you’re in binders, they drag you through the halls back to the sponsor lounge. 

Gideon always did have a knack for the dramatics. 

In the wreckage, there’s a slanted platform facing what still remains of Din’s armor. You’re dismayed that they only seem to have retrieved the chest plate and helmet, but even that is better than nothing. 

The troopers strap you in and leave you there. You suppose they’re hoping you’ll get upset at the sight. 

When Gideon swoops in, cape fluttering, he’s accompanied by an interrogation droid. You’d expected that, at least. Not that you aren’t terrified by the sight. 

You don’t intend to fight, though. You know next to nothing—he was always careful not to tell you anything he didn’t want tortured out of you. 

They won’t believe you, and they’ll torture you anyway. You know this. 

Gideon looks you over silently and then turns sideways so he can see both you and the armor. 

“Do you know what this is?” He gestures to a pauldron. 

“Beskar armor.” You keep your voice as flat as possible. 

“Technically correct, I suppose. I meant this specifically.” He taps two fingers against the mudhorn. 

“It’s a shoulder pauldron.”

He backhands you. A gasp escapes you, and tears spring to your eyes. 

“The symbol, you stupid girl.”

“Yes,” you give in. “It’s a mudhorn.”

“Do you know what it means?”

“It’s the symbol of his clan.”

“Did he tell you why the symbol of his clan is a mudhorn?”

“No.”

He searches your face but finds no lie. “I’ll tell you a little story, then, about this man you think is so high and mighty.

Once upon a time, he stole something very precious from me. A baby, you see, that was under my protection.”

You almost scoff, and he seems to be waiting for it. When you keep control, he carries on. 

“But when he tried to escape with the baby, he couldn’t get past a single measly mudhorn. All that bravado, and he had to rely on a little magic baby for help to defeat a single creature.”

When you fail to react again, he steps closer. Too close, really. 

“Some champion. You know he was only the Mand’alor by chance? The saber is mine by rights.”

“He won it from you.” He’s goading you, and you know it, but it works all the same. 

His palm connects with your face, and you cry out. 

“It’s such a shame. You were so well-behaved, so close to freedom. Yet you risked it all for… for what? For him to leave you behind to pay the price?”

“Wasn’t about me.”

“No? He didn’t, say, kiss you and make sweet promises for a future together? Did you really fall for the oldest trick in the book? A weak-willed, heartsick little girl sacrificing herself for a man incapable of love?”

Wretchedly, his words do tug on something deep in your gut. But it’s okay, you remind yourself. It doesn’t matter. 

You don’t, either. 

You just wish you had been able to send one more comm to your parents. Oh, stars. You can’t think about your parents. Nausea bubbles up in your throat. 

“You know, I admired them once, too. Of course, I was just a foolish little boy, jealous of the armor and the power. Until I learned of their savagery, brute nature, and primitive way of life. And then we had the trooper’s suits, but without the beskar…” His eyes are bright and wild. “Well, I solved that little issue, didn’t I? As the leader of Mandalore, I can do whatever I like with the beskar.” 

You still don't respond. You’re trying to tune him out. He thinks this will… what, convince you to share information you don’t have? Endure you to him? No, he just likes the sound of his own voice. Wants to boast and brag since his peers are tired of the same stories. 

You’re a captive audience. 

Unfortunately, this little performance requires your participation. But when he gets to that portion, his sudden question throws you entirely off.

“Who is the rebel spy?” he asks calmly. 

“The rebellion was eliminated,” you say automatically. This was the line coached into your brains, the truth the Empire wanted plastering the beaten down remains of hope. 

He scoffs. “Don’t play stupid with me, girl. Who was your contact? Who led this little ‘operation’?” His smooth voice was dripping with condensation. 

“I don’t know. I was only here as his attendant,” you recite. 

“I’m a busy man. I don’t have time to stay here all day. Luckily, I don’t have to.” His grin is practiced power, a crafted cruelty. “That’s the nice thing about IT-Os, you know? They’ll just keep going, even when you break.” 

He steps closer. “Or, you can report to me as is your duty. It can tell me if you’re telling the truth.” 

“I don’t know anything.”

“So be it.”

And with a swirl of his cape, he leaves. He actually leaves. Your breath picks up, hitching a little. 

The droid whirs as it nears you, the buzz reinforcing the mistake you’ve made. 

It shows no mercy. 

The IT-O may not have let you faint, but the troopers don’t care. Everything goes dark almost as soon as they have you in arms and you wake up in your cell.

The first thing you notice is that you’re about to vomit. 

Unfortunately, you do. 

The second thing you notice is the full body agony. As if your muscles have all been stretched beyond limits and you’re left to drown in the ache. 

The third thing you notice is the ash. 

It covers the ground, some soaking into a pool of your sick, some scattered. Whatever it was is curled into dark fragments, thin and brittle with blackened edges. 

You lay limp on the bench, arm dangling over the side. You try not to look at it, at how some of your fingers don’t sit quite right. Looking at them makes your head pound and your vision blur. 

Instead, you force your eyes to focus on the charred flimsy. It’s familiar. Too familiar. 

The colors don’t make a recognizable shape, too torn and burnt, but the way the colors flow over the paper is…

No. 

No. 

You can’t move. You can’t see anything else. The thick layer of ash and scraps tells you everything you need to know. 

The cell is blanketed in what little is left of all of the fighters’ portraits. 

Gideon isn’t there when the troopers bring you back. Just the droid. You can’t even control it, you start struggling, pathetic as it must seem, as they strap you onto the table. You’re hyperventilating as your chest feels like it caves in. You can’t take another day of this.

You can’t.

But you do.

Gideon wanders in around dusk, the setting suns visible through the wreckage. The IT-O stands down from its tortures but stays at your side, monitoring vitals and keeping you awake. The drone of its motor is enough to have you shaking. 

“So how many souls did you betray for one man?” Gideon says, brows furrowed as if he actually cares.

You don’t say anything, can’t really. 

“I know that’s what your little books were for. I am a man of culture, after all. When I visit planets, I like to learn a little about its people.” 

So he had gone. Personally. 

He answers your thoughts before you think them. “Don’t worry, your parents are fine. You still have a chance to spare them.”

The IT-O whirs and it’s over. You can’t. You know it. Gideon knows it. 

He smiles. “Who was your contact?”

“The sponsor. Shand.”

“Is that all you’re going to tell me?”

“That’s all I know.”

“Confirmed,” says the IT-O. 

You nearly faint when it talks. You didn’t know it could. It has a horrible, horrible voice and you know if you live past this day, you’ll hear it in your sleep for the rest of your life.

By now, you’re hoping it won’t be for long. 

“By the way,” Gideon says casually. “Those little pictures? One might consider those treason. Those are enemies of the Empire. You really should be thanking me for destroying the evidence. If you give me the name of the Rebel spy, I might even be convinced to forget about them.”

“I don’t know anything about a spy,” you say, voice cracking.

“False,” says the droid and you scream. 

“I don’t, I don’t,” you cry, but it’s useless. You knew that Gideon and Din suspected there was a spy. It was enough to condemn you.

“So be it,” is all he says before the troopers take you away. 

When they come for you again, it’s not the lounge they bring you to. 

It’s the arena. 

When you realize where you’re headed, having walked these halls enough that it’s ingrained in your core, you almost cry. It’ll be quick this way, you’re sure of it. Whoever you face will be desperate to win, and you, well. 

You won’t be. 

If only you could have been so lucky. You should have known Gideon wasn’t going to grant you the mercy.

It’s an all-hands assembly. Every Imperial, every servant, every prisoner. The troopers drag you up the steps and secure you facedown on the slanted platform. The restraints are excessive, rendering you essentially immobile. 

It doesn’t bode well for a quick death. You had still been clutching the fluttery hope that he’d just decapitate you. 

“Last chance to tell me who the spy is,” Gideon murmurs. 

“It’s me,” you say.

He laughs. “Oh, stupid girl. If it were, you’d be dead already. You see, even the filthy Rebels don’t leave their own to suffer torture. But you didn’t get even a lullaby, did you?”

You close your eyes. Your crooked fingers twitch of their own accord, a staccato beat on repeat. You hope he’s not watching, but just in case. 

Ni ceta. I’m sorry. 

“You’re certainly going to wish you did,” he promises. 

You don’t listen to his little speech. You try very hard to be anywhere but here, even as your body trembles beyond your control. 

When he ignites the darksaber, that tiny hope flutters back to life. 

It, and everything else inside you, turns to ash the moment the tip of the blade touches your skin. 

He takes his time. You’re sure you scream, but you can’t hear it. Can’t hear anything but the ringing in your ears. Death lingers on the edges of your vision but won’t take your hand, won’t save you. 

When he stops abruptly, you don’t register it right away. The pain remains, though the blade is swinging in an arc somewhere behind you. 

Someone else screams. 

“Don’t let him bite it,” Gideon is saying to a trooper. The words don’t make sense. You think maybe you faint. When you come to, Gideon has his gloved fist around your neck, and you can see the blurry form of someone behind, restrained by troopers.

“I was right,” Gideon sneers. “You knew the whole time.”

“She didn’t know!” Eli says. “She didn’t know. We didn’t tell her.” 

“Shut up, or I’ll take the other one,” Gideon snaps.

Your vision clears enough to figure out what he means. Eli’s right leg has been sliced diagonally above the knee, the limb somewhere out of your field of vision. His saving grace, for better or worse, was that the wound was cauterized instantly. 

Much like your back.

When Gideon reignites the saber, Eli struggles. You wish you had the strength to tell him not to. 

You’re beginning to suspect neither of you will be dying any time soon.

When he finishes, Gideon is almost gleeful when he grabs a holopad to show you what the cameras are showing everyone. The Imperial Crest burned into your back, almost exactly where Din’s Mythosaur is. 

When you black out this time, he doesn’t bother to wake you. 

You wake in the cage. It’s dark and the arena is empty, but you’re not alone.

Eli has dragged himself to lean against the back wall, looking a sickly pale blue. You aren’t sure how he’s still conscious. Or how you are. 

He’s coaching himself through breathing and your own pain begins to fade in, your brain no longer able to ignore the new wounds any more than it can ignore the work of the droid.

“Why did you draw attention to yourself?” you ask him with a hoarse, shattered voice. “ I feel like that should be spy 101 or something.” You crawl closer, desperate not to die alone. 

He gives you a wry smile. “You know, I didn’t come here to make friends. Allies, sure. But not friends.”

“Oh, you absolute fool,” you sigh. Your head rests on his good thigh, allowing you to more easily lay on your side and keep dirt off your back. “I wasn’t worth it.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But maybe the Rebels left me here for six years, and I wasn’t allowed to save a single person. And then you came and cared so much.”

You sigh.

"You saved someone. Not for the cause, but just because you could. And you would have done the same for me," he says. “I don’t blame you."

But you wish he would. 

Silence settles with the stars. For the first time since you’ve been on the surface, you’re able to enjoy them.

“What?” Eli says as you stare upward.

“The sky is so pretty,” you say, huffing a breath. “The sky is so pretty, and we’re going to die.” 

“Technically, those things are always true,” Eli says.

His truth is, at least, a comfort.

next chapter

writing this made me physically ill even though it was planned from the start so if you want to cry/yell with me please do :(

title from "Towards the Sun" by Rihanna.

WARNINGS/SPOILERS BELOW -- -- -- -- -- --

Chapter Specific Warnings: graphic injuries, graphic descriptions of injuries, torture, graphic description of torture, mutilation, dismemberment, suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideations, hopelessness, trauma, mental torture, anguish, angst, hurt NO comfort