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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Note

Hello! I've read your soap and price fics and you are amazing!!!

I had an idea for a fic for Ghost. The reader would be Soaps slightly older sister who isnt like Johnny at all. Im thinking she either picks up soap from base after an op or from the bar. I'll leave alot of this up to you but i just wanna see Soaps Sister meeting Ghost!!

Brother's Coworker

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Soap's Sister!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the dim illumination of the streetlights, Ghost lays eyes on a woman leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp.

WORDCOUNT: 4.2k

WARNINGS: Little bit of angst, but mostly fluff and pre-relationship pining, loads of sibling banter, conflicting emotions, etc.

A/N: Finally able to use my sibling experiences for a fic lmfao, enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The woman was leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp, the custom color a deep forest green along the sides and a cream white coating the upper third. Ghost stared at her as the rest of the men filed out of the bar one after the other—Johnny and Gaz being especially loud. He blinks slowly, hands inside his blackened pockets.

Across the way, your ears perk slowly at the sound of rapturous shouts, but you only continue to look down the sidewalk at the long illuminations of street lamps and the glints of broken bottles on the ground. Over your chest, your hands shift in their hold on your biceps, your thin jacket crinkling. Light dances in your irises.

“Oi, is that who I think it is?!” Familiar Scottish drawl brings a smirk to your face, and you turn slowly to huff, snapping out of your silent thoughts.

“Who else would it be, ya bloody git,” your voice carries, but it lacks the sheer volume of your brother’s; the great boom that reminds you of the bombs he’d used to make out of your mother’s hair spray bottles.

Never a dull day in your childhood home, really.

“‘Bout gave me a heart attack, not answerin’ my calls like that!” Johnny laughs loudly, obviously drunk, and stumbles over merrily. You’re taken into a chest-breaking hug in mere moments, leaving you squirming with a deep grunt. “Should have your head, MacTavish.” You manage to squeak out, “Put me the fuck down, you horror. And what in the hell have you done to your hair?!”

“Oh, my dear sister.” Your brother lets you go as the three other men slink over, amused with the scene but some momentarily confused by the sudden introduction. Gaz laughs, and the Captain huffs a chuckle before fixing the position of his beanie on his head.

Ghost, as always, chooses to watch like a looming shadow above the rest.

Johnny puts a hand to his chest, the other remaining on your shoulder, “You wound me. Such cruelty stuck in your black soul; I say now, mother was always right—”

You smack the side of his head and Johnny grunts.

“Ow!” He yells, glaring at you. “What the fuck?!”

“Open your mouth again and I’ll wring you out, you arse. You know I will.” Grumbling, the Scot rubs the side of his head as you raise a brow at him. The stare-off lasts for a decent bit, and before the rest of the group knows what’s going on, the two of you are embracing each other once more; laughing loudly.

Ghost’s eyebrows pull in slowly.

“Ah, it’s good to be back!” Johnny chuckles, holding you close as you pat his back.

“Of course, I’d find my kid brother at a damn pub on his first day home.” Taking a step away from the hulk of a boy, you brush down your shirt and jacket with a scoff. Looking up, you come to face the remaining men with an exasperated look. “He’s full of shite half the time, y’know, now. Can’t imagine what he puts you all through.”

“Bloody hell, Soap, you were holding out on us,” Gaz chuckles loudly, sticking out a hand for you to shake while he glances at the mohawked Scot who looks giddy despite being insulted by who’s very obviously his older sister. “Never knew you had siblings, Mate.” You take the man’s hand as he smiles brightly at you.

“Kyle.” He says, and you beam back, “But Gaz’ll do just fine.”

“A pleasure,” your voice carries to John who you raise a brow at teasingly. “Well, look who the Reaper’s yet to drag down…Good to see you again, Captain.”

Price shakes his head, a smirk peeling his lips as Gaz steps back.

“Still on that land of yours, then, Love?” The brunette asks gruffly, leaning back on his heels for a moment while you sag your side into Johnny’s arm. Your brother scoffs and loops his limb over the bridge of your shoulders as you nod.

“You know it. Proper quiet when the neighbors aren’t up to a ruckus racin’ down the streets. Christ, those kids are devils—worse than Johnny and I when we were young.”

“Now that’s hard to believe, eh?” The man beside you laughs through his slurred words and you roll your eyes.

Chuckling in return, you blink, spying on the intent black figure behind everyone else. Piercing brown eyes dig past flesh like a scalpel while you tilt your head to the side, interest alighting behind your skull. He doesn’t move or even greet you, just looks over you and then turns his attention to the street like a roaming bear would; hell, he certainly could be a bear with how big he was. Bigger than Johnny, even.

This stranger wears a large brown leather jacket, the hood of his underclothes pulled up to cover most of the pale skin that would otherwise be visible. The long swish of light lashes captures you as you study the way he blinks slowly across the road. On his chin and on the top of his forehead, the fabric of a skeletal-painted balaclava shrouds him. Cargo pants and large black combat boots sit on his feet.

He stands like a statue.

“Who’s this then?” You call easily, and those eyes travel back to you even as the head doesn’t. It’s strange the way you seem to brush aside the blatant intimidation he exudes simply by standing.

“Ah,” John grunts, chuckling, before stepping to the side. “Simon, introduce yourself.”

A low voice lowly wafts after a moment to silence, Manchester accent spearing you in the ears with its rough make-up, “Ghost.”

You blink over at the Captain, but he just shakes his head and you move on. Johnny chuckles and whispers to you, “Don’t mind ‘em, Lt’s a bit rough around the edges.”

Plastering on a polite smile, your chin moves in a nod, “Pleasure to meet you, Ghost. Good to know the other two who look after Johnny out there.” The man beside you feels his face burn, free hand going to itch at his neck.

Ghost grunts and shrugs off the veiled praise, large muscles stiff.

“You’re actin’ like I’m not the one savin’ their skins half the time,” Gaz interjects on the Scot’s point.

“Is that what you call it?” You share an amused glance at John.

Though, your eyes always sway back to Ghost, or Simon, depending on who you ask. He listens to the chatter, obviously, but he seems much more content to only stay with his hands inside of his pockets and study the street for...what exactly? The beast wasn’t shy, no, just…silent. If you didn’t know better you’d call him aggressively casual with the way his shoulders sit.

Stance relaxed but the underlying threat was palpable on the wind. Like a wolf rubbing his cheeks on the ancient trees of his territory. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ - it seems his very DNA states that.

Brown eyes suddenly lock with your own as if snapping into place and before you can release a squeak of alarm, you swiftly dart your gaze away back to the arguing Sergeants; face burning.

Christ, how long had you been staring at him?

“Alright, you two, ease off it!” Trying to distract yourself, you wave a hand. “You’re both too drunk to be gettin’ into street fights at this hour. Johnny, into the car ya fool.”

Your brother slashes you with a grin.

“Fuckin’ finally, a decent bed!” It was tradition to give Johnny the spare room when he was back home—proper meals.

“You’re callin’ mother, y’know.” You unlock your car and motion to the passenger seat with a frown. “I dinnae care if you’re trapped for hours—give the woman a rest of all her worrying.”

“You heard the woman, Sergeant,” John forces the gravel out of his throat, rubbing at his beard. Something hits your chest as your brother opens his door as you stand in the cold. You glance at each man in turn; eyebrows pulling in with thought.

“Ah, what the hell,” your voice huffs out. Ghost watches you closely, blinking as he lifts a hand to itch at his neck from under his hood. The leather jacket crumples with tiny shifts of worn-out material.

“Don’t suppose you boys need any good beds to rest your heads on for the night?” Wiggling your keys, you pat the top of your Hillman as you slide to the driver's side. Johnny slinks inside his own and chuckles as he closes the barrier with a careful thunk.

“Hospitality finally leakin’ in?”

“Next time I hit ya,” you send him a bland look, “I’ll aim for the neck.” Fake flinching towards him, the man squeaks and snaps quickly back into the car door as you snicker lively.

“Beast!” Johnny exclaims. You roll your eyes and shimmy down the window behind him, calling out as the rest share glances.

“Get in if you’re comin’ over! If not all the food I made yesterday’ll go to waste!” That seemed to get Gaz into the back, with only Price and Simon left behind.

Brown meets blue and John’s beard pulls back with a smirk. He clears his throat, “Well, I’m not one to spit in her face.” The Captain walks over and grunts as he bends down.

Ghost sighs under his breath and follows, impartial as to where this night is going. He wouldn’t sleep tonight, no doubt. The hard and unforgiving beds on base were the only things he could rest on now save the ground. And food? He could go without food for days.

Though, being Johnny’s sister bought you some favor, trust wasn’t something that Simon gave around freely. But the car you drove was nice, and the company of his Task Force was easy to basque in until they shipped out again.

Simon sits down on the refurbished seat and softly closes the door behind him. Dead-eyed, he stares at Johnny’s headrest as you glance at him from the rearview mirror—seeing his shoulder dig into the glass of the window.

You shove down a joke and hum. “Good, then, it’ll free my fridge at the very least.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Gaz offers as you start up the engine, “it’s awfully nice of you to do this for us.”

“Ah,” Simon hears you dismiss as he turns to stare out of the window; so often feeling his gaze drawn back to you as a leaf attached to a tree might act. “Don’t worry your head about it. I like the company.”

“Aye, just how she is,” Johnny says earnestly. “Was always the one to let me over with my pals when the football games were over—’cept we were usually covered in mud.”

“I’m still finding grass in my rugs, Johnny Boy,” you mumble, focusing on the road as a slight squeaking emanates from the front of the car. Simon picks up on it easily, not preoccupied with speaking. He glances at you but mentions nothing beyond a shuffling of his thighs.

Outside the land slides past in shades of verdant green and gray as the town falls away.

He was confused, rightly. You’d seen his standoffish nature but had chosen to extend hospitality as the old Greeks did just off a growl of his name. But maybe it was just because he was your brother’s coworker.

Simon grunts to himself and rubs at his wrist. Throughout the ride, the two of you would glance at each other and try to forget that you had; when the long driveway of a large secluded home expands out above the car, Gaz whistles lowly.

“Bloody hell, Ma’am,” he states and John chuckles. You easily smile and roll your eyes.

“Trust me, it was more work than it was worth.” Ghost’s attention is slightly peaked.

“You worked on it?” His tone implies he doesn’t care, but his eyes gore into the mirror to lock with your own. Blinking in surprise, even the others seem to be taken aback by the man's lack of venom in his speech.

Ghost wasn’t afraid to speak his mind when he needed to, but he didn’t do mindless chatter. Your eyes cycle between the driveway and the masked Brit before you clear your throat. Johnny glances at you with a raised brow, slight confusion in his brows.

“Mostly—left the nasty bits to people more knowledgeable than I am, but I did most of the grunt work, eh?” Simon hums as the car pulls to a stop inside the garage, eyes not leaving the back of your head.

Your neck bristles at the sensation of unrelenting contact, but the burning that joins it is telltale. Licking your lips you twist the keys out and quickly shuffle out of the door to dispel the electricity in the air.

“Alright,” you say, “out. All of ya…Johnny, you’ll be helping me with the bedding.”

A groan is cut by an unimpressed glare. “...Yes, Ma’am.”

You huff and smirk.

“Trainin’ him well I see,” teasing John as they all file out of the car, he shakes his head at the two of you as Simon scoffs. Gaz openly laughs as Soap’s offended look grows.

You all enter the house as you direct them to the kitchen after they’ve taken off their boots and hung their jackets. “It’s all in the fridge, heat what you want, and don’t bother fightin’ Johnny if he takes too much. Tell me and I’ll make him sleep in the back near the chickens.” Your voice tells them as you pat your brother on the shoulder.

Johnny grumbles and kisses the top of your head. “You’re horrible to me,” He jokes but his eyes shimmer with affection. As you leave to get a head start on the rooms, you smile and call out to him.

“That’s my job!”

Backing out into the hallway, you leave with a deep well of happiness in you. You don’t even realize that the party had only contained three men instead of four until you’re in the linen closet and a shadow suddenly blacks out the light from the bulbs. Jumping slightly, your head swivels as you carry very many sheets and pillowcases in your grip.

“Oh,” you mumble through cotton, smile growing as the flip in your stomach does, “Ghost! Done eating already?”

The man is still and silent as he glances from your face to the sheets. Without a word, he halves the load and steals them as your jaw loosens in shock.

“Johnny’s outside callin’ your mum.” Ghost turns and walks out, but waits for you in the hallway to be directed.

You push down the tightness to your throat and see the man’s feet shift on the hardwood. He looks funny, such a big man carrying bed sheets. His actions make your heart speed up. Brown eyes blink at you like a cat.

“Well,” you chuckle, “always was one to get out of housework.” Trying a smidge more, you shift past him and turn off the light. “His barracks room dirty?”

“Pigsty.” Simon blandly states, walking slightly behind you. Your pace slows so you can stay beside him. He side-eyes you but says nothing.

Leaning in slightly, you quip as Ghost tenses, “Can’t say I’m surprised. The man’s used to me bailin’ him out.” Chuckling, you go into the first bedroom and put everything on the bed.

Simon grabs the pillows and starts to dress them quickly and efficiently.

“But thank you,” you say, and the Brit pauses to look up at you, something swirling in his murky gaze. Earnestly, you tilt your head with a smile. “Ya can go back and eat more if you want. No need to help—you’re a guest.”

“Not hungry,” is all he answers, and gets back to work. You watch for a moment, perplexed, but not at all about to deny the assistance. A genuine grin twitches your lips.

“Johnny writes about you, y’know,” your fingers pull at the fabric and you chuckle as Ghost’s incredulous look turns to you—face hidden but confusion is obviously seen. “Says he looks up to you quite a bit; something about Mexico.”

Your face dips slightly, and Simon’s body stills. Along the pillow, his grip carefully tightens. He can’t find it in himself to walk out of the door and stand outside even if he knows he should.

“I really can’t imagine what it’s like,” you mutter, shaking your head. Gazing at him, you study his wound muscles and secret flesh like a tapestry—wondering if he hides himself because of the safe anonymity or a sense of numb fear.

He wouldn’t admit to either, you know. But something about Simon had captured your attention and now you had a face, or just a body really, to put to the written name like a puzzle piece.

You take a long breath, “But you’ll never know how grateful I am.”

By the way his chest stops moving and his body goes frozen, you think you hit something inside of him; the minute widening of his eyelids like pedals opening in the light. Simon peers at your expression, his eyes sliding from one point to another.

Like he can’t really pinpoint what you want.

Ironic really, because you didn’t want anything.

“Don’t thank me,” is what he settles on, moving back to the pillow as if your words hadn’t stabbed him. “Johnny knows what he’s doing.”

Your small snort enters the air above the sliding sheets. “There’s no argument there.” A sigh echoes as you finish up, putting your hands on your hips. Across the bed, you two stare as Simon tosses down the pillows. The remainder of the sheets sit on the end of the bed.

The man’s eyes narrow on you, and he clenches his jaw under his balaclava.

“The only thing that I do know is that every time my brother comes back he smiles less than he did before.” You side-eye him seriously as you move. “I can only guess what all of it does to the others who don’t have anyone else to go back to.”

Simon’s breath halts in his chest before he finds the means to take down a slow inhale. Brown eyes glare intently, jaw tight, but it’s not the fire that gets to you…it’s the lack thereof.

Ghost doesn’t like this feeling, and your candidness was something he hadn’t expected.

“So,” you drawl, “I’m thanking you for giving him someone to joke around with—a distraction,” a teasing smirk, “no matter how blunt.”

“I just told you—”

“Well, I don’t bloody care, do I?” Huffing, you smirk and tip your head back before snatching the rest of the sheets. “C’mon, we have three more rooms.”

Simon watches you leave and tries to fight the rampage in his chest; the merciless slam of his heart to his ribcage. What had you done to him? A hand comes up and rubs into the bridge of his nose, fingers heavy and tight.

What in the hell was going on?

Growling under his breath, Ghost stalks out of the room only to see your back disappear into the next. In the hallway, he takes a long inhale and closes his eyes to steady himself.

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man grunts. The tension in his shoulders was plainly visible.

For the remainder of the room, Ghost would send you tight glances as he worked but didn’t utter another peep. You had taken his voice, or what little left of it there was.

In many ways, you were like your loudmouth brother—your snark and your stubbornness. But you were different too.

He feels his eyes trail down your form slowly from time to time. Capable; hardy. Simon blinked away and grunted under his breath aggressively.

When everyone was done with their food and Johnny had come back in from his call to his mother, with a soft smile on his face, you knew it was time for bed.

“Alright,” you strut into the kitchen with Ghost on your heels—his large arms crossed over his chest as he caught Soap's intense stare. The Lieutenant's brow raises, but Johnny only frowns in conspiracy before he looks over to you and itches at his chin. “Beds are made. You can all thank Simon for that, seein’ as Johnny used our mother as an excuse yet again.”

“And she was very pleased to hear from me!” Your brother points to you.

“She’s our mother,” you deadpan, “It’s her job to be, ya arse-face.”

The boys all follow you down the halls as you point to the rooms. Gaz shakes your hand again and gives you a tiny hug in thanks while John pats your shoulder and calls a soft, “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

Both close their doors and you hear the large sighs through the wood. You have to wonder when they’d had a good bed to sleep on and a good meal. Last was your brother and Ghost, the latter of which kisses your head and hugs you tightly.

“It’s good to see you, truly. Been missing you, little Hen. Thanks for lettin’ me over all the time when I’m home.” You melt and grip his shirt.

“You’ll always have a place here, you know that. One call away…Now go to sleep. You smell like a pub.” He lightly chuckles against you. With a bond this tight, the two of you never had to say that you loved each other—it was just known.

Johnny squeezes you one last time before pulling away and slinking into his room, giving an unrecognizable glance to Ghost on his way in before the barrier slips into place with a quiet thunk of wood. The two of you look at and stare for a moment.

“Lucky you,” your voice is quiet but easy to hear, “you get the room with a view of the field.”

“Color me surprised,” he mutters, not looking enthusiastic. Against the tone, the look makes your mouth jerk in a laugh, and you cover your lips after a moment.

Simon’s eyes unconsciously soften.

You wave a hand, chest light, “Let’s go then, you brute.”

“Brute?” Simon grumbles, “Gettin’ familiar?”

“Please,” you shake your head and walk to the last door in this section of the house. “You all became familiar the second we met.”

The man rolls his eyes but has his smirk hidden as you open the door for him. He tilts his head in thanks and strolls inside.

You hum, crossing your arms ahead of you and leaning on the doorframe as he looks around, “Don’t think too much over it… The baseline is, you’ll always have a bed here if you need it.”

Ghost slips out, “What are you? Bloody boarding house?” The swelling in his chest made his words harsher than intended, but you just smile cheekily at him as eyes lock.

“Hell’s bells, if you want ta’ get me a business card just go ahead and print ‘em off already. I’ve no problem with it.” He stares and you laugh, shrugging. “Makes me feel good.”

Splaying your hands, you back out.

“I know you probably won’t sleep,” Simon pauses, feeling caught but not showing it. “Libraries down the hall—if you smoke, use the back door. Kitchen is free game.”

“Why?” He asks and you blink, confused.

“Well, why not?” Simon glares.

“You shouldn’t trust people like that.” A loud laugh echoes and makes the man annoyed with you.

“Simon,” you say, and he finds himself hanging on every word that falls from your lips in the moonlight. “Not everyone is out to get you. If you’re friends of Johnny’s, then you’re friends of mine. That boy can sniff a cheat faster than a hound can find a hare.” Perhaps it was the way his shoulders went back at that, or how his brows loosened, but you finish off with a soft explanation. “You’re safe under this roof.”

You wondered, not for that last time that night, if he’d ever been told that. From how his balaclava moved with a sharp jerk of his jaw, you assumed never. It made your lungs hurt.

With a few more seconds of quiet gazing you nod and move back.

“Goodnight, Simon.” You leave him staring at the door as you close it—eyes boring into the grain so harshly they might catch fire.

Ghost doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but his ears twitch at the echo of running water and soundless footsteps. He should leave, he tells himself; this is dangerous, a voice hisses. It’s not safe here, how could it be? There were no guards—no weapons. If someone were to sneak in there wouldn’t be an alarm.

A secluded home. Nothing around.

Then why had your words seeped into him?

“You’re safe under this roof.” Simon closes his eyes harshly.

—

In the morning once everyone’s gone back to the base, you admit you don’t know if you’ll see Simon again; you probably won’t. But you find that you can live with that. The memory of his loosening tension is all you need to feel special in your own right. Those brown eyes that, if but for a moment, had bled so effortlessly feelings of something other than blood and death.

As you sigh a dreamy chuckle to yourself, you get ready for the day before heading to your Hillman. The silent drive to work joins with the strange mix of weight and levitation to your chest. But halfway into town, it hits you.

Silent.

There is an obvious lack of squeaking from under the hood of your car as you slide along the countryside.

The smile doesn’t leave your face for weeks.

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kneelingshadowsalome · 7 months

Text

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 1/4

(König x F!Reader)

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Word count: 5.3 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Lol what now? König dual wields 2 swords, goes Mike Tyson on his enemies, teaches his captive girl constellations in German, cuddles her and feeds her grapes, buuut mainly just tries to get into her pants (which historically did not exist at the time) A bit of a slow burn, but don't worry, they'll bang eventually ^^

AD 90, somewhere in the untamed frontiers of the Roman Empire…

The end of the world is here.

Not only have the crops failed for two years in a row, making chieftains beggars and beggars food for the fish, but now there are rumours that the god of war has arrived to destroy the land. The accursed Romans had turned their eagle gaze back to your land after years of sending their troops elsewhere, making it seem like they were not interested in your distant land after all. Untamed, they called it, harsh and barren and therefore inferior – your lush, abundant, beautiful land. No doubt they spat on it in their war councils because your roads were not paved, because your crops and villages were modest, and the women sometimes fought alongside men. Their storytellers immortalized false tales about you, calling you barbarians, but the only barbarians you could think of were the Romans themselves – crude, filthy and boorish creatures, drowning in wine and shit in their cities.

Rumours started to get fat and distressed when the troops approached your village. They said there was a giant at the head of the army, that the Romans followed a Titan's son who loved to eat men, torture women and impale children. They said he didn't accept proper food but preferred to eat his fallen enemies, washed his weapons with the blood of children, and split captured women apart with his cock, as long and sharp as his sword. They told that the Titan ordered his soldiers to poison the wells and destroy the growing crops with salt and vinegar. The rumours said that his tent was bigger than any chieftain's house and that he still struggled to stand at full height inside it.

Even the land itself seemed to bow before him. Good weather followed his conquest wherever he went; ambushes failed, scouts got caught and tortured, exposing more villages to pillage and ruin. Your brother told you to flee the village, but how could you survive without your clansmen? You didn't know how to hunt; you barely knew how to fish. Your task in the village was to gather clams from the shore, dye wool and help the old Seer. How long could you survive on sorrels and clams alone?

. . .

The old woman calls you to see her on the brink of war, and tells you to prepare for a ceremonial offering. Two horses, black as night if possible, brown at the very least, to appease the Great Mother of the Earth and quench her thirst for blood. If the Mother is satisfied with your offering, She will perhaps stop the approaching army or convince the Titan to leave your village alone.

She does a small rite before you, and you need to stay with her through her visions. You hate the smell of the leaves she burns, and try to cover your nose with your tunic to prevent breathing in the bitter fumes. The seer looks like she’s just lying herself down to sleep, but it’s always a burden when the spirits arrive and she starts to talk. You turn your back on her to coax them to rise: a mortal stare annoys the chthonic ones. You nearly fall asleep too as you wait, wanting nothing more than to go back to your own hut and have a good night’s sleep. Perhaps because you’re lousy tonight, and less vigilant as you should be, the spirits arrive sooner than either of you thought.

“He’s strong,” the seer croaks from the earthen bed, and you fight the urge to turn around and peek at the old woman, currently in the clutches of spirits.

“Invincible… Hungry... The horses…won’t suffice…”

She drifts someplace else, and you try to memorize every word, every intonation, as cryptic or as simple as they are, for later interpretation.

“I see you,” she says in a slightly more cheerful tone, which is odd because the old woman is never happy or satisfied, no matter how bright the sun shines or how much food there is in the storages and pits.

“Me?” You dare to speak even though you’re not allowed to disturb the spirits. You could slap yourself for blurting out a single word, but luckily, the hungry ones don’t attack you for your insolence.

“You.. will be his downfall,” she speaks as if you are having a conversation here. “Be there. When he arrives.”

“...Be there? Why?” You dare to utter again, more concerned about what the Mother implies than the potential fury of some lowly earthen spirits. You haven’t got the faintest clue about what She might be suggesting. Why do you have to participate in the battle? How can you be there without getting killed? You’re not a warrior… The Mother has it all wrong.

Suddenly, you curse the night, you curse the whole day, knowing your brother’s late proposal was perhaps a warning, a hint from the gods to leave, and leave quickly.

The old woman laughs dryly on the ground - the throaty, outright sick cackle makes you flinch.

You don’t like this... You don’t like this at all.

“Mother. What must I do?” You demand to know, thinking about how all the gods, spirits, old women, and Titans should go to hell.

“Become a tree,” the old woman offers as if it’s the easiest thing to do. “A flower. Me...”

. . .

You become a marten first, then a bird. Then perhaps a tree.

You climb a spruce and wait there. You wait until the sunrise; you wait until noon. You wait until you see the glint of the Roman spearheads and hear the sound of their march.

You’ve dreamed of the Titan ever since you left the seer’s hut. You’ve dreamed of him slaying everyone in the village; you’ve dreamed of him driving a thick spear into the ground and grabbing you with an intent to raise you into the air and impale you on it. You’ve dreamed of him behind you, above you, inside you. You wake up one morning only to see that half of the people have left. You don’t know where they have gone, and you can’t follow them even if you did because the old woman waits for you in front of her hut and gives you a nod the instant you walk into another beautiful, sunny day.

That’s why you’ve turned into a branch in a tree, but for what purpose, you have no idea. You can’t understand why you must be here to witness the world’s end.

Your men scream and shout and roar as they crash into the thick forest of spears. The enemy is silent: it’s eerie, how the world burns and falls into ruin around you, people are screaming; everyone who has a soul and a heart is screaming for Mother as they die, but the men behind the Roman shields refuse to emit a sound. They don’t curse or shout or summon their gods; they simply stand their ground and pant mist into the air as wave after wave of men break on their shields and die before their feet. Somebody loses his spear because it gets stuck between your clansman’s ribs, but the Roman simply draws his sword in its stead: it’s the only sound among the pitched wails that cut through the forest – the cold, clear ring of a gladius being pulled from its sheath.

That is why you flinch at the sound of the first shout, a brutish command that sends all the shields to the side, only to present more shields: the Romans switch positions in their formation as if they’re not even human beings like the rest of you, just a single enormous creature made of iron and leather and bone, operating it's flat forest of weapons.

And then you see him: the giant of your dreams, the hungry titan everyone has told you about. He rises from the tide of helmets like a summoned god, concealed as one of the soldiers and only now revealing his true nature. He stands at least two heads taller than the rest, pushes his own soldiers to the side and breaks out of the formation these vicious Romans love so much. You knew he would be strong and big, but you didn't know he refused to show his face… You wonder what kind of a monster hides behind the black cloth with nothing but two eye holes ripped on it. As if this man needed the additional effort to stand out from other soldiers...

He's like a God of War, just like the survivors said: his armour is of Roman design, but the amount of metal that had to be scraped together to cover this man's shoulders and chest must've demanded a fortune in gold. He doesn't seem to care about the Roman ways, however: he throws his shield away as soon as he's out of the cumbersome formation as if he has carried it only as a decoration up until this point. He draws another sword in its stead – if any other man did such a stupid thing, traded his shield for a weapon, you would snort. But not now.

Standing between the Romans and your clansmen like a challenge, a threat, a deity, even the men possessed by the seer's blood spells hesitate to approach him. But when they do, the god unleashes carnage: the first warrior gets his stomach slashed open, and the two thick swords look like toothpicks when wielded by this man. A stomach wound is a gruesome, slow way to die - but just before the warrior's entrails spill to dangle between his feet, the brute grants him mercy by sweeping his head off with a single blow of his gladius.

A roar finally rises from your enemy: they cheer Death on as the head of your neighbour meets the mud next. The soil is already soaked in blood, but the Mother is hungry still. The forest booms with Her bloodlust as the god moves around like a slow tempest of muscle, metal and darkness: he breaks every Roman rule by fighting as his own man instead of demeaning himself as one of them, a lowly part of this odd metal beast before you. He sends a limb flying in the air with a swing of a sword; he uses the same weapon as a bludgeon to bash in someone's skull. He crushes a man's chest simply by sinking down onto one knee, breaking bone, tendon and flesh to splinters as a whole ribcage gets crushed under his massive weight.

Warriors flee before him, they fall under the combined wrath of the Mother and the Titan's sword. The dead seem to fall eternally, along with your heart, before meeting the ground with a hollow thud.

Your chieftain is among the last men standing, meeting this unstoppable foe with admirable courage. Not having succumbed to the spells of bloodlust in years, he meets his death as a seasoned but old warrior. With his fighting years behind him, your chief doesn't have a chance against this man, but you have to grant the beast a feather's worth of honour, because he recognizes your chieftain as the veteran he is and salutes him with his sword. Then he proceeds with the bloodbath: flinging your leader's sword and axe easily to the side, he walks straight into his arms like he would into a hug, grabs him by the waist, and raises him into the air like he's nothing but a child.

Your scream never leaves your lungs as you watch how the Titan raises the draping cloth from his face, just enough to sink his teeth into your beloved chieftain’s neck. The noise that erupts from your elder is not that of a man but a tortured animal. It’s not from this world, what you witness next: the giant tears a hunk of flesh from your chief like he’s a piece of roasted meat. Blood streams forth, his screams fade away all too slowly, and you hear your own weak wail in the air as the Titan lets go of the heap that used to be a strong male and a wise leader.

Your chieftain is dead; his essence spills to the earth in spurts to appease the God of War, who spits blood and flesh to the ground, making you gag into the cold spring air.

Then he raises his swords towards the sun, and the forest erupts into a roar with him: the thundering, ear-splitting cheer from his warriors makes the very earth quake beneath your tree. It seems to shake the branches of the forest, and before you know it, the giant’s howl of triumph breaks the one you’re curled around, and you fall, fall, fall into the mud beneath you.

You're not a tree anymore. No: you’re very much a human woman there in the dirt as the sound of shouting ceases like a distant dream.

And he turns.

Death turns.

Mother always said you were a curious creature, which is perhaps why you search for his eyes, even though you should be running. She also said you were a smart one, which is why you know that running is futile. Your limbs wouldn’t carry you far anyway. It is a cruel joke from the gods to have what little strength you have left pour out of you into the ground and up to the feet of the enemy who is already strong, both in body and in will.

The Titan looks at you with genuine wonder, a curiosity that surpasses your own. To your odd thrill, you find that his eyes are blue: the same blue of the sea which you used to collect delicious clams from.

The soldiers behind him shift with lust – their gear clinks as they devour you with unbridled hunger. The Titan is the only one who looks at you like you’re simply a cute little squirrel who happened to fall from a tree right there at his feet. Then his eyes drop to your breasts, and the familiar hunger that lives in men gives the ocean of his eyes a clouded look. When his stare finds yours again, he's a different man: the treacherous beast of your dreams.

You had hoped for a swift death… Violent but quick. But it’s clear that it’s not death he has in store for you as he takes a step towards you. It’s not a quick nor a slow death; it’s not death at all, because–

No.

You’d rather have your arms torn off and fed to the Romans rather than have him thrust the sword between his legs, his third weapon, inside you. If you’re going to die screaming, it will not happen on your back; you will not amuse this beast with your womanhood and tears.

You scramble forward to pick up something, anything: a bronze dirk from a fallen warrior. The giant’s eyes fall on the sad excuse of a weapon, then on the sorry excuse of you. He thinks you’re planning to fight him with that thing, and the corners of his eyes crease a little from the prospect of having to subdue you. You’re proving to be quite the entertainment, and you curse those eyes, looking so kind and lively when just moments ago, the same eyes were inhuman and possessed. His are the eyes of a wayfarer, a wanderer, not a soldier: you catch a hint of sadness in them and curse again.

He’s not human, you remind yourself and show him what actual humans are made of. What women are made of. You give him another name, Giant, because you’ve always feared giants and hated the stories about them. Dumb and reckless creatures they are, stupid destroyers who always place their trust in their size. You never meant to fight him, and he only catches up on it as you turn the dagger towards yourself and guide it to point straight at your heart.

You will be his downfall, just like the seer said.

“Nein–Warte,” the Giant speaks his first words, surprisingly soft to belong to a man like him.

The sorrow in his stare consumes you in full now. It gushes forth like a tide, causing your breath and hands to shake when they need to be stern. You straighten your spine, jut your chin forward, and call for Mother: you don’t even know if you’re yelling for your bearer, or the Great Mother, or the earth that gives life to all. Perhaps you call them all to gather around and witness your sacrifice, higher in price than any of the Titan’s offerings combined. The blood you’re about to spill onto the soil will surely appease the land and raise it to arms to finally fight against this beast.

He says something else just before you pull the blade back to strike it into your chest, and you curse for the third time in your mind: giants aren’t supposed to move that fast; they aren’t supposed to interfere in your last ritual.

But the worst of it is that even when he finally subdues you, even as he wrestles the blade away from you, he ends up drawing a large gash on his forearm… As if he is trying his best to protect you from accidentally cutting yourself.

. . .

You are brought to his tent, screaming.

It’s not as big as a chieftain’s house; it’s barely the size of yours. But it is larger than the tents you saw when you got carried there: as a spitting, screeching, hissing package of what these brutes would no doubt consider a true barbarian woman with uncivilized manners and a fuckable cunt. They will talk about you around their campfires tonight: about you getting broken in by their true commander. It’s enough to satisfy them for now: to imagine their champion to fuck you bloody and sore. And who knows: perhaps they’ll receive the scraps if the Titan gets tired of you.

The precious dagger is somewhere in the mud, probably trampled there like it’s nothing but a piece of worthless metal. Your own trampling is only about to begin as the Giant marches into his abode and sends the men away, giving you uneasy looks in the process, perhaps checking if any of them had enough time to have a go at you. Luckily for him, you’re in the same condition as he left you: legs together, safe and pretty, because he bound them with a rope along with your hands. You are nothing but a delivery, thrown on the floor of dirt and a few animal skins. He just nods at you, happy to acknowledge that you are untouched by the others, as if it would somehow be worse for you to be raped by ten of those petite men than be raped by him: a cruel, bloodthirsty Giant with a giant cock.

Your ankles and wrists get sore as you watch him doff his armour. He takes off the helmet, the belted straps, the segmented plates of his shoulder guards and the heavy Roman cuirass. The gods have truly favoured this man, not only gifting him tremendous height but insurmountable strength too. His muscles are large and lean and quiver with latent power as he moves; his back is so broad it almost competes with the wide mouth of the tent. He doesn’t seem to suffer from the cold either, but he keeps his mask on for whatever ghastly reason. Even if there is a monster under that mask, his body speaks of virility: he’s a man in his prime, a giant at his strongest, making you feel like an elf, a tiny little creature in the feet of this man who must be descended from titans indeed.

You continue to watch as he washes his hands in a small basin, cleans his mouth and neck, too. You reckon the water in that bowl is blood red and dark when he finally dries himself with a white cloth. He stands before you in nothing but his mask and the dark red tunic he had under the armour. He ties it from the waist with a simple leather belt, and it only now makes sense to you why Roman soldiers dye their clothes red: you’re pretty sure you can still see the darker spots on the hem of that tunic, the ones that used to be the lifeblood of your clansmen and kin.

He has the audacity to ask you - wordlessly - to clean his wound, the one you caused him. He sets you free from your bounds, and you are given fresh water and another cloth. He even opens a smallish wooden box of salve that has a familiar smell to it: pine tar and honey, used by your people to treat minor wounds and prevent bad spirits from getting into the wound. You wonder how he even knows about such a balm: is this warrior a Roman at all, or is he some odd creature hauled from the edges of the world to fight for them? You wonder if he has made the salve himself, extracted the tar from the pine and foraged the wax and honey himself, then cursed with his coarse language when he got stung by multiple bees…

You drive away the thoughts that threaten to make this brute human by snorting at his injury. The damage he gave to himself when he tried to guide the blade away from you at the price of his own blood.

It still troubles you that he did it. Even a tiny wound like this can bring any man down if it starts to fester. The cold winds and rains of spring can easily get into the gash and make it rot.

The idea of this giant being forced to his knees because of some filthy dagger wielded by a squirrel of a woman makes you smile inside. It would be a fitting fate for this man. But the vision also makes your heart sting. The thought of him dying of a simple flesh wound, alone and far away from his home, makes your heart grow kinder than it should.

You decide there is nothing you can do but treat his arm, strong and scarred from previous battles. He sits down while you get to stay on the ground, and you try to ignore it that your face is now level with his groin. He sits with a wide spread in those powerful thighs, and you wonder if it's because the rumours about his cock are true. You keep your eyes everywhere else except the hem of that tunic and what's going on under there. He purrs at your touch, making it clear that it doesn't need much more than your soft fingertips to get him hard after a triumphant day on the field of battle.

The wound is not deep, but you clean it carefully, trying to ignore the way his eyes seem to bore into you as you take care of him. Your hand is somewhat steady as you treat the damage with the nice-smelling salve, but you flinch as his hand suddenly meets your cheek. You look up at him, heart plummeting, thighs instinctively pressing together from the gentle way with which he cups your face.

“Schön,” he says, again with a tender voice and an adoring, almost worshipful stare. You don’t have a clue what he’s saying, but you know now for sure that it's not the tongue of the Romans he speaks. The scent of pines and bees lingers between you as he brushes a thumb over your lower lip. You are weak enough to give him a breath, a helpless, hot little exhale that meets his hand like a gift.

“Schön wie eine Fee,” he rumbles, sounding intoxicated or like he's under a spell of sleep.

“What the hell are you saying,” you whisper in your own tongue: just a meek little sputter, a tiny, horrified breath, but the giant’s eyes narrow with a smile.

“Sie redet,” he says happily, and your shoulders sink – you are on the verge of screaming from frustration alone. Whatever you do seems to only amuse this man, and you snap your mouth shut. Your cheeks heat up with recurring waves of odd fever. The ground beneath your shins is all but warm, and yet you feel warm all over: a dangerous sign, you know, and oddly tied to the peculiar bodings you have seen all week.

Because there have been many omens in the air lately.

It’s just that none of them were portents of war.

The cranes started to mate early this year, and you have found a lot of clams from the shore every day. Even your brother encountered a boar with nine piglets; everyone celebrated him as some holy man who had seen the Great Mother when he returned to the village that day. The wind started to blow from south soon after, and the moon has grown along with your womb: this morning, on the brink of war, you woke up wet and restless.

All the omens speak of fertility, of growth, of a new cycle and of birth: of spring and life. There’s nothing about death and decay, nothing except what the people have told you about… him. The death himself. The war god.

“König,” he says as if he can hear your thoughts and wishes to correct them. You look up and see he’s pointing to himself, or rather, holding his hand over his heart. You fight the urge to scoff at the gesture. As if this beast had a heart…

“König,” he repeats the word and pats his chest, and you realize he’s trying to tell you his name. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, and he smiles. It’s easy to tell when he does, even with the cloth that covers his face: you can see the joy clearly from his eyes, the boyish grin that must be occurring under that mask.

“Du?” He points at you next, inquisitive. He has an odd way of pointing: with two fingers, slightly crooked, and you understand very well what he’s asking of you. You refuse to tell him your name, however, settling for pouting a lip at him next. The smile in his eyes only deepens.

“Fee,” he pokes you gently on the shoulder and leans back in his odd Roman chair, seemingly content with having now named you.

And Mother was right: you are curious, so incredibly curious to know what this beast has chosen to call you and why. Are you a rat to him…? Some bird? Perhaps simply a girl?

He is so pleased with your conversation that he pours himself some wine and drinks the whole cup with one gulp. Great, you sigh inside your head, a beast and a drunkard. He pours another cup and tries to offer it to you, and when you don’t make a move to grab the clay mug, he brings it to your lips. You entertain him with a tiny sip: you’ve heard of wine and know that Romans are fond of it, but you have never tasted it yourself.

The tart, bitter flavour almost makes you cough. You thought wine was supposed to be sweet: everyone always describes it as something like milk or honey or juice from an overripe apple. It very much is not, and you almost choke on it and then make a wry face at your captor. He - König - only laughs. It’s another thing that catches you off guard: first those boyish, sad eyes and now this hearty, grown man’s laugh. You have proved to be such an amusement to him that he doesn’t force you to drink any more wine and enjoys the rest of it himself.

Then he rises and makes you shrink from him again, towers above you for a moment, and looks at you with that warm curiosity that makes your heart race.

“Müde?”

He tilts his head, the bag of darkness shifts, the blue eyes behold you fondly, and for some reason, you whimper an answer to yet another question you can’t even understand. He takes your little squeak as a yes and falls to crouch before you, then raises a massive hand to the leather strings that keep your demure little dress up.

To your horror, he pulls the knotted tangle open before you can stop him. Your dress falls from your shoulders and drops to pool around you, and you simply and verily stop breathing.

His eyes wash over you, he examines every little part of exposed skin like an entire treasure chest has suddenly opened before him. You pray to all the gods that he would find it in his heart to be gentle tonight. Your nipples perk up – from the cold or from his stare, you don’t know.

The rough callous of his palm meets your breast and encloses it in warm support. He cups you, weighs you like he would a fruit, and then he squeezes you, rather hard, too: a deliberate attempt to make you squeal again. He replies to your pathetic mewl with an approving rumble, and you look up at him with all the helpless tenderness of the Mother, hoping that Her gentle pleas might persuade this man not to hurt you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, and his eyes dart to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your lips again. He immediately softens his touch. Then he lifts you from inside your poor dress, picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, and carries you to his broad bed, the sturdiest you have ever seen.

This man feels like the strangest of fates, like a hopeless destiny, as he sets you on the skins and straw mattress, right next to your fluttering heart. Your insides ache as he undresses before you, entirely without shame. He’s hard under the tunic he rips off and tosses on the cold ground. Your eyes are glued to the legendary cock you’ve heard so much about, the cock that splits women apart: and it’s true that it's huge. It resembles the ones you’ve seen on horses, not on men, and your thighs are glued together as he comes next to you while that pale, monstrous cock sways long and heavy between his thighs. He moves you around a little, and you squeal from how weak you feel: weak as a mouse as he covers you with one of those rich furs he has in plenty on the bed. Then crawls under it too, right next to you.

Your heart almost wrenches itself out of your chest as a strong arm pulls you against him: the swell of your ass meets his thighs, solid and broad like treetrunks, and your lower back meets the hot, almost too hot horse cock. It starts to leak and throb against your skin the instant your flesh is pressed against his. You try not to whimper and moan as the Giant, König, curls around you like you two have always done this.

He takes a long, earnest inhale from your neck and hair, rumbles deeply and contently, and tightens his grip. Apparently, you smell and feel good…

You wait and wait to be plundered and raped, but König only settles for holding you tightly, like you’re a children’s toy made of the softest straw and purest undyed wool. You relax slowly, and he purrs against your back, starts to fondle your breasts, ardently, until your body betrays you and you find yourself wet again; he squeezes and squishes your teats slowly, approvingly, then pinches your nipple once before finally falling into a heavy, deep sleep.

…

Please forgive your author for any historical inaccuracies and other silly things you find facepalmable <3 During this time König would've probably spoken some form of Old Saxon but since I'm not a TOLKIEN we have to settle for modern-day German here. I don't have a taglist for this fic so please check my pinned masterlist for future updates.

Translations

Nein, warte - No, wait

Schön - Beautiful

Schön wie eine Fee - Beautiful as a fairy

Sie redet - She talks

Du? - You?

Müde? - Tired?

#könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x you #könig #könig cod #konig x reader #könig smut #könig fluff #historical au #Roman soldier!König #könig x female reader

3K notes · View notes

tzuberry · 9 months

Text

(cute) things zerobaseone maknae line do as your boyfriend ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა

pairing shen quanrui (ricky), kim gyuvin, park gunwook, han yujin + gn reader⠀⠀⠀details fluff, established relationship, bulletpoint

cw none ⠀⠀⠀wc 410, 418, 505, 462 (1,795 overall)⠀⠀⠀reading time 12 minutes

note HELLOOOO i havent posted a fic since july 15th and that was my first fic ever on this account omg... thank u for all the notes on my other post LIKE i didnt expect so much + thank you for 90 followers!! also i might start writing for tiot and evnne if i have time 🫡 likes are reblogs are appreciated if u can 💟

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ricky 리키

lets you play with his hair

i think ricky is honestly extremely particular with his hair, and especially who gets to touch it

his hair isn’t very visibly damaged despite getting it dyed frequently / basically not having black hair since he was probably fifteen years old (and he’s nineteen now, so that says something) so he has to take good care of it not to have it fried off

there were stories about him during bopeul where they said they always saw him fully ready with perfectly styled hair whenever he left his room, too

like i’m not even kidding he has to care for his hair a whole lot or by now he could’ve been bald i’m sorry

when his friends—mainly gyuvin—try to play with his hair or comb their fingers through it, ricky allows it but is not that pleased because he put effort into styling his hair and doesn’t want it to get messed up

gyuvin jokingly whines a little, but is over it after a few seconds

when ricky started dating you, although he thoroughly knew you and almost all of your habits and mannerisms, he didn’t think you would be into playing with his hair

you’re hanging out, watching a movie at your apartment while your head is rested on his shoulder when he feels your fingers suddenly brush through the strands of his hair

he turns to look at you, partly shocked but also just wondering what you’re planning on doing to his hair

you shrug your shoulders, keeping your eyes on the tv and not minding him one bit

“what are you doing?” he asks, a little amused

he expects you to reply playfully, to exchange banter or something like that

but instead, you say, “your hair is really soft, you know,” as you proceed to curl a portion with your finger acting as the curling iron

ricky quite literally folded that day... now he lets you do whatever you want with his hair

you can braid it, curl it, whatever

he doesn’t mind as long as it’s you, even if he spent nearly an hour fixing it this morning

you’re in a cafe talking to gyuvin and gunwook, sitting at the other side of the table when you lift your arm to twirl ricky’s hair, him not remotely flinching at the contact

gyuvin is pleasantly surprised to witness this sight

“you don’t let me do that,” he sulks, aimed at ricky

your boyfriend scoffs. “you’re not [name].”

gyuvin 규빈

always texts you + makes sure you’ve eaten

okay i think i’ve seen a lot of people say this already idk but i think it’s soooo true

gyuvin texts you excessively

like. about anything

there was one instance when his little brother had a crush on a girl, and gyuvin literally went to you for help and his brother didn’t even have an inkling of what was happening

gyuvin (DO NOT REPLY): [NAME] MY LITTLE BROTHER... is... growing up :(

gyuvin (DO NOT REPLY): he used to be so small i could put him in my pocket and now

yn: what happened???

gyuvin (DO NOT REPLY): he LIKES A GIRL. who told him it was okay to get a girlfriend? at his toddler age??

yn: gyuvin i love you but we started dating when We were his age

and then he continued to ask you for advice on how to help his brother get the girl he liked

there’s more instances of him oversharing his brother’s life with you, but that ends there

he also buys you snacks all the time

even if you don’t want it. even if you verbally, very clearly, straightforwardly tell him you’re not the tiniest bit hungry

he’s basically your mother oml

he makes those little snack baggies for you to take

before you both graduated, gyuvin would bring you lunch. it didn’t just stop at snacks

he would ask his mom to help him cook for you

and he’d make it all cute and stuff like shaping the rice to be your favorite character

he’d pack it to school and give it to you in the morning. omg

mixing those two things together, you get “have you eaten yet” texts all the time

it’s two pm, and you were so stuck while helping a friend that you regrettably forgot to eat lunch. ‘it’s okay,’ you assure yourself, ‘i had a late breakfast’

gyuvin texts you, asking the usual “have you eaten lunch????” and you lie and say yes

and then your phone rings and you know you can’t avoid it anymore because he can see through your voice when you lie

from the speaker of your phone, gyuvin’s voice is unbelievably attractive—but you choose to ignore that fact for now

“[name],” he deadpans. “be honest. have you eaten?”

choosing to accept defeat, you exhale deeply. “no.”

gyuvin suddenly hangs up and only a text is left on your screen

gyuvin (DO NOT REPLY): i’m coming over in. like 30 minutes i have to ask my mom to help me cook

gunwook 건욱

teaches you how to dance

gunwook is SO good at dancing it’s so crazy

i love watching him on stage because he’s the best performer ever. like he seems to genuinely enjoy it and i hope he never loses that love for dancing / singing / rapping

you on the other hand..... you could be good at dancing too, just definitely not as good as gunwook

so whenever your scheduled dates are interrupted by his extracurriculars at school, you decide to tag along with him, if the members of his clubs don’t mind (which they usually don’t)

one of his extracurriculars is the dance team

and most of the time, when your preplanned dates are cancelled because of an extracurricular he has lined up for him, it is almost always dance

so you end up following him to the practice room, silently watching him in the corner so as to not obstruct their view of the mirror by sitting directly in front of them

his eyes light up with the flame of passion you adore so much, and you’re so content that even if your date is cancelled because of this, you’re not annoyed and you still get to indirectly spend some time with him by spectating him as he does what he likes

in the short breaks that he gets, he takes the opportunity to sit beside you on the floor and ask about your day

when the practice session ends, he asks if it’s okay with you if he stays to polish up the routine, to which you say yes and offer to stay with him because everyone else has started to leave

after a while, he grows tired and plops down next to you

gunwook chuckles. “i’m sorry for cancelling our date and making you stay with me.”

“it’s alright, i like watching you dance.” you smile

he abruptly stiffens up, irises reflecting the light, making his eyes glow excitedly. “do i dance well? what do you think?”

you giggle. “you dance very well. a lot better than i can, for sure.”

“mhm, yeah?” he grins widely, and you know what he’s going to do

gunwook jumps up on his feet, extending his hand out to you to help you get up

“you just need a little help.” he nods proudly. “you’re lucky i’m your boyfriend.”

you take his hand, and he leads you to the center of the room and he starts to dance with you ballroom style (???) like the waltz and stuff

he guides your arms over his shoulder to circle his neck, and his hands rest on your waist and then he starts counting, “4... 3... 2... 1... like this,” as he takes a singular step in different directions, encouraging you to mirror his movements

you almost trip, but you tightly cling on to his shoulders before you can fall

gunwook laughs. “enough dancing for today?”

“yes, please,” you agree, letting your body fall forwards into a hug with him

“alright. if you’re not that tired, are you still up for that date?”

yujin 유진

(tries to) initiate / enjoys physical touch

yujin doesn’t seem like his love language is physical touch.... i know gyuvin does it a lot to him and he kinda pretends to not like it but it’s so endearing and i sooo believe he deep down loves it

it’s the same with you, but he’s the one intiating it

he never thought he liked skinship all that much, because he would even jokingly say it pestered him a little at times when gyuvin would dote on him

but when it came to you, and when you first started dating, he was itching to hold your hand

it was so new to him because he never craved for anyone’s physical affection before

all his older friends like gyuvin and gunwook would always just.... initiate skinship for him and he thought he didn’t like it but

suddenly you come along, and you don’t even try to hold his hand

he thought couples were supposed to hold hands?? and hug??

but you’re not budging and it’s so frustrating

while walking you home from school like usual, as you tell him about your day, he tries to gather the courage to intertwine your hands

it doesn’t work, and he’s left with cold hands as he stares at you enter your front door

“next time,” he whispers to no one but the wind

next time comes and still... he’s too nervous to hold your hand

the distance between your palms is less than four inches, and all he has to do is take the leap—besides, nothing could go that wrong. you like him and he likes you

he purposely bumps the back of his hand with yours, but doesn’t actually take your hand in his

he awkwardly rubs his nape, unsure of what to do now

your brows knit together, as you’re now aware of yujin’s weird behavior

“yujin?” you tug on his uniform sleeve. “is something wrong?”

“no! nothing’s wrong,” he quickly denies, “don’t worry about it.”

“okay... can i see your hand, though?” you request, and it successfully confuses him because why do you want to see his hand?

he obliges, giving it to you palm up when you lace your fingers with his

“i’ve noticed you trying to hold my hand since last week,” you say, giggling. “i was waiting for you to do it, but i guess you’re too shy.”

“i’m not that shy,” yujin defends, looking down at your interlocked hands... ‘this is a good feeling,’ he thinks

you nod passively. “it’s fine. it’s one of the reasons why i like you.” you swing both your hands back and forth in the space between you

yujin doesn’t try to retort, only relishing the feeling of your hand in his

skinship isn’t so bad... maybe he could get used to this.

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heartsandhischier · 27 days

Text

Rink Bonds

luke hughes x female!reader

summary - 1.1k words. Figure skating reader and Michigan wolverine Luke = loveeeee

author's note - i can really see luke being like this, and i love it

warnings - none

You pushed open the heavy doors of Yost Arena, the familiar chill of the ice rink greeting you as you stepped inside. With a gap in your class schedule, you decided to make the most of it by hitting the ice for some practice. Another USFS intercollegiate competition approaching, you were determined to come out on top.

You headed to the locker room changing into your figure skating gear – black tights, a black jacket, and leg warmers – before lacing up your skates. After stowing your belongings in a locker, you grabbed your water bottle and headed to the rink. As you approached, the familiar sound of skates scraping against the ice and the clinking of hockey sticks filled your ears, indicating that you wouldn’t have the ice to yourself as you’d hoped.

Your annoyance faded, however, when you spotted the stowaway on the ice – Luke Hughes. Swiftly moving around the ice, navigating the puck as he let it fly into the net. The youngest of the famous Hughes brothers and a New Jersey Devils prospect, Luke was a familias name around the Michigan University campus, of course you knew who he was.

You had crossed paths with him a handful of times at various parties, and during your late-night practices at the rink, you’d often find him lingering after his hockey practice. Despite these encounters, you’d never engaged in more than a few awkward hellos and goodbyes. Each time he exited the rink, you’d enter, and vice versa, exchanging fleeting glances and polite nods as you passed by each other.

As you watched Luke’s graceful movements on the ice, it was as if he belonged there, the rink his natural habitat. Removing your skate guards and placing your water bottle on the bench, you elegantly glided onto the ice. The sound of skates slicing through the ice echoed in the rink as Luke paused his movements, turning his attention towards you. His warm smile greeted you as you approached. “Practice?” he offered, leaning casually on his stick.

A smile played on your lips as you nodded in agreement. “Yeah, change in my class schedule. So figured I’d put the newfound free time to good use,” you replied. “Same,” Luke chuckled. With a nod, you both resumed your routines, the sound of skates carving the ice filling the air.

For the next hour, you and Luke practiced on opposite sides of the rink, occasionally exchanging glances and playful banter. “You’re pretty good, Hughes,” you remarked, admiring his skill as he effortlessly sent the puck into the net.

“Likewise,” he laughed, skating around with ease.

As the weeks passed, you found yourself meeting again and again at the empty rink. It almost became an unspoken agreement between you and Luke, meeting at the same time between classes or during those late evenings when the campus was quiet.

With each meeting, your bond grew stronger, fueled by shared practices and playful banter. As you glided across the ice, Luke would often join you, his skates slicing through the surface so effortlessly. Despite the differences in your respective sports, you found common ground in your shared love for the rink.

You couldn’t help but laugh as Luke patiently tried to explain the nuances of hockey to you, his passion evident in every gesture. In return, you attempted to teach him the graceful movements of figure skating, guiding him through simple maneuvers with a patient hand.

“Okay, so imagine you’re gliding on air,” you explain, demonstrating a graceful spin on your skates. “Now, give it a try.”

Luke nodded eagerly, his determination shining through as he attempted to mimic your movements. Though his first attempts were a bit clumsy, you couldn’t help but admire his determination.

“Almost there,” you encouraged, stifling a laugh as he stumbled and fell onto the ice, landing on his butt with a thud.

As you focused on perfecting your flip jump, you felt a presence approaching on the ice. Turning around, you saw Luke skating towards you flashing you a charming smile. “Hey there,” he greeted, his voice carrying over the sound of skates slicing through the ice. “I was wondering if you’d like to come to my hockey game this weekend. It’s going to be a good one.”

You paused your practice, meeting his gaze with a playful smirk. “Hmm, tempting offer,” you replied, tilting your head to the side. “But only if you promise to come to my competition next week.”

Luke chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Deal,” he agreed without hesitation, extending his hand in a mock handshake.

With a wink, Luke skated backward, resuming his practice. “Can’t wait to see you there,” he called out before speeding off across the ice.

On the day of the hockey game, you found yourself seated in the stands, eagerly watching as the Michigan Wolverines took to the ice. During warmups, Luke skated to where you were seated in the stands, approaching with a smirk.

“I have a bet,” he declared, you smirked at him letting out a soft chuckle before urging him to go on. “If I score, you have to go on a date with me,” he continued, his confidence evident in his tone. Chuckling at his boldness, you accepted, “What if you don’t?” you asked. “We both know that won’t happen,” he winked before resuming his warm up.

As the game progressed, you watched in amazement as Luke displayed his skill on the ice, scoring goal after goal with precision and finesse. The puck went flying into the net, sending the crowd into a frenzy of cheers and applause. The arena echoed with the sound of the buzzer, a hat trick – this idiot scored a hat trick.

After the final buzzer sounded and the Michigan Wolverines secured a clear victory, Luke skated over to you with a triumphant grin on his face. “Well, what did you think?” he asked eagerly.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, nodding in approval. “Impressive,” you admitted. “I mean, a hat trick? Way to show off,” you playfully remarked.

Luke let out a chuckle, his confidence soaring. “Thanks,” he replied, running a hand through his dark curls. “But I couldn’t have done it without a little motivation.” You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on your lips. "Oh, so it was all about our little bet, huh?" you teased. Luke chuckled, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "Partly," he admitted, his tone turning more sincere. "But mostly because I wanted to impress you." The admission caught you off guard, a warmth spreading through your chest. "Well, consider me impressed," you said, unable to hide the smile that tugged at your lips. As the crowd began to disperse, Luke turned to you with a hopeful expression. "So, about that date..." he trailed off, leaving the invitation hanging in the air. You pretended to mull it over for a moment, though the answer was already clear in your mind.

"I suppose I owe you one.”

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eternalguk · 2 months

Text

Losers || jjk. (M)

I get lonely when you're not here, and this darkness appears, leaving me stranded.

↠ Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader

↠ Summary : Jeon Jeongguk. Your brother's best friend, your mom's favourite human, and the man who is saved as, the certified asshole, on your phone. With black hair and piercings, tattoos and skinny jeans… Jeongguk has been your worst nightmare since you were 18. Six years later, getting along with him is still impossible. The only difference? His pastime then was to steal your diary and read it aloud. Now? Well… let’s just say, it’s most definitely not the same.

↠ Genre : pwp, brothers best friend au, age gap au, fuck buddies au (angst, fluff & smut)

↠ Warnings : explicit sexual content, swearing, bickering but they’re actually flirting, teasing (a lot of it), making out, grinding, dirty talk, degradation, breast play, unprotected sex (be safe), kinda dom!jungkook, power bottom!jungkook, riding, begging, creampie, mentions of oral sex, mentions of one-sided feelings and i think that’s all.

↠ Word count : 1.6k

↠ A/n : hello <3 here’s a little something that i put together when I was bored! I hope you enjoy brothers best friend!Jungkook as much as I did whilst writing. Your feedback will be appreciated 🤍. Happy reading 🦢

↠ Song : meddle about - Chase Atlantic.

You’re full. So damn full.

Jungkook’s thick and imposing cock is nestled inside you, the delicious stretch causing both of you to unleash the most desperate sounds.

“Ride me,” Jungkook’s voice is husky, and very evidently quivering with lust and need.

You gulp, licking your swollen lips before lifting yourself up and lowering yourself inch by inch, until he’s all the way inside again. The pressure between your legs is unbearable, body craving relief.

“Fuck,” Jungkook grunts, his fingers boring into your hips. “So greedy for my dick.”

And the taunting is back…

You roll your eyes, lifting yourself up again and slamming down so hard that you both groan. “And who was begging me to ride their dick?”

Jungkook whispers a string of curses, before thrusting himself upwards. “A-and who… who was begging me to have sex with them in the first place?”

You.

The answer was you, and you couldn’t even try to defend yourself.

Your brother had finally left the house, and in other words, you and Jungkook were finally able to fuck.

So here you were, in the living room, relentlessly riding your brother’s best friend.

Now, you weren’t that bad. Yes, you had made the first move, but Jungkook was no innocent bystander. Your thoughts linger back to where the shenanigans began.

“Hey princess,” Jungkook smirks as he saunters into the living room, interrupting your peaceful evening. “Missed me?”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at the sight of him. “Not even a little bit, asshole.”

“Stop lying,” he sings as he reaches over to take a chocolate covered strawberry from your plate. “I know you did.”

You remain silent, hoping he gets the cue and leaves. You don’t forget to mentally curse your brother for leaving you with this man-child.

Jungkook chuckles and you already sense a foolish comment about to leave his lips. “I know you love me, Y/N.”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “In your dreams, Jungkook. Your dick? Maybe. You? Never.”

He moves to take a seat on the couch adjacent to you, his gaze lingering a little too long. “You look cute when you're angry.”

You flush, hating how easily he gets under your skin. “Shut up, let me read.”

But instead of retorting, Jungkook leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Make me.”

You swallow hard, feeling a rush of heat between your thighs. "You wish."

His lips quirk into a smirk as he leans back, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe I do.”

You grit your teeth, resisting the urge to kiss him. Why did he have to be so damn infuriatingly attractive?

As the evening wears on, your banter escalated into a full-blown war of words, each insult laced with underlying tension. But beneath the surface, there's something else brewing—a desire that neither of you wants to acknowledge.

The three previous altercations between you and Jungkook had led to sex… there’s no way you were going to let that happen again.

“I’ll just go keep myself busy with Areum. You know your really pretty friend? She’s been begging me to come over.” Jungkook grins mischievously, knowing he's finally pushed you to your limit.

But instead of storming off in a huff like usual, you surprise him by closing the distance between you, lips crashing against his in a heated kiss.

He responds eagerly, his hands tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, your bodies pressed together in a frenzy of need.

“Fuck, you drive me crazy,” Jungkook murmurs against your lips, his voice husky with desire.

You smirk, trailing my fingers down his chest. “You love it.”

He groans, his grip tightening on you as he whispers, “I’d be a liar if I said no.”

And that was what had brought you to your current state. You begin to ride Jungkook in a fast, unrestrained pace, leaning forward so your clit can brush against his pubic bone, deepening your own pleasure.

“So big, Jungkook.. So deep,” you moan gratifyingly, throwing your head back as you relish in this complete heaven.

Jungkook smirks whilst watching you fuck yourself on his cock, pleasure vividly overtaking you as you roll your eyes with each bounce. “Good girl, ride my cock just like that.”

“J-Jungkook,” you whine faintly, his hands forcing you down completely and making you go faster. His low grunts and growls of your name make you warm up more, adoring the pleasurable sounds he makes. Your eyes meet his and you heat up as he gazes at you with lust stained eyes.

“Feels good?” Jungkook asks, helping you bounce on his dick. He looks extremely sexy right now with swollen lips, tanned skin and messy, tousled hair.

The sound of heavy breathing and the way his cock easily slides in and out of you reminds you just how blissful it is to be intimate with Jungkook. It was a shame you couldn’t call him yours.

“Mhm,” you inform him, slowly riding his dick up and down, your cunt swallowing his thick girth with ease and allowing yourself to be distracted from mellow thoughts. Jungkook thrusts up and you gasp at the sudden action, whining his name louder.

Jungkook scoffs at your reaction, smirking as his hands come to rest at your hips. You notice his lust filled eyes and it urges you to ride him faster.

“Going to miss this pussy when I leave,” Jungkook grunts, his deep, throaty voice making your heart race faster.

You ignore the ache that settles in your heart at the thought of him leaving.

“Mhm.” You respond, too overwhelmed by the feeling of Jungkook’s cock deep inside.

Jungkook’s lips brush over your clavicles whilst his hands slide up and down your back, eventually stopping on your ass, grabbing it to help you ride him. Your hips rock back and forth at a steady speed, relishing in the current moment.

“Ohh fuckk,” you cry out, savouring each drag of his monstrous cock. Your hips continue to rock back and forth and Jungkook simply wishes you both were on a mattress right now so he could pound into you hard and fast. You feel the way he contains himself from thrusting upwards, knowing very well that he’ll lose control.

The mere sight of you in the throes of pleasure, throwing your head back and lustily moaning has Jungkook weak. Your partly lidded eyes, flaming skin and heaving chest tells Jungkook all that he needs to know. You look alluringly beautiful, using Jungkook’s body to catch your release.

“Always ride me so fucking well, baby.” Jungkook rasps, lips moving to wrap around your nipples and sucking on them vigorously. He fondles with the other, neglected breast, pinching at your nipple and your whines only heighten.

“You look so sexy and you’re all mine,” he growls, his hips moving to thrust up against yours. His throaty voice impels you to shiver, dominance and possessiveness lacing it. “No one else can have this.”

“All y-yours, baby,” you croon, your walls tightening and clenching as his low grunts and moans turn you on. “There’s no one who’ll make me feel like this.”

And that’s true. You have no clue if you’ll ever stop craving Jungkook. The idea of him fucking someone else, paired with the idea of someone else fucking you, leave a distaste in your mouth.

“I’m close, Kook,” you whine whilst reaching for his veiny hands to rub against your palpitating clit. Jungkook understands the message, instantly moving his hand to thumb against it. He circles his finger around the bud and you helplessly mewl, aching to come.

You pull on Jungkook’s tresses as your hips begin to stutter in their grinding. “Such a good girl for me, always so good.” He encourages you and that simple sentence is all you need as your pussy clenches and slick cum squirts out of you.

“Just like that, baby girl. Just like that,” Jungkook harshly breathes, painting your insides with his seed. He lifts his hips, fucking into you through your orgasms. You moan loudly before falling against his chest, pressing firm kisses against his sweaty neck.

“I love it when you come inside me,” you purr, sucking deep, purple marks into his skin. Another thing that should not be happening. Looking after a baby, Jungkook’s baby to specify, was not something you imagine yourself doing anytime soon.

A husky moan escapes from Jungkook as he pulls your face towards his, pressing a searing kiss onto your rosy lips. He kisses you with love, purpose and sincerity. The third thing that should not be happening right now.

You shiver at the feeling of his cock being nestled inside your wet, warm walls. Jungkook’s hands move to your ass, gently grinding you against him. You pull back and are met with a sly grin on your temptations face.

Temptation was the word your mind had settled with. Is that what he was?

“Again?” He cockily mutters, moving forward to rub his nose against yours.

“Well, why not?,” is all you whisper back before pressing your lips against his, swallowing his giggles as you push him to lean against his seat, ready to be destroyed all over again.

Jungkook’s fingers are lost in your hair, and his other hand rests against your waist, gently caressing your exposed skin.

You think back to days upon days with him, starting with a simple kiss to now fucking at every chance you get.

You dwell on your feelings for the man in front of you. Who would’ve thought that the Jungkook you passionately hated would be the one who’s on your mind constantly? The one who’s name comes to mind first thing in the morning. The one who’s worth every risk and battle.

Maybe you could tell him, whisper your fondness for him in his ear, but you don’t.

Instead, you snuggle into his warmth, hoping it’ll satiate your aching heart for now.

And there we go. I hope you enjoyed! Feedback and comments are always appreciated ; it really makes me feel better about what I write so please do tell me what you think of this if it is not too much of a hassle <3

Until next time,

🤍

#jungkook smut #bts fics #bts smut #jungkook fics #jungkook #bts x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #bts x fem!reader #bts x y/n #bts angst #jungkook x y/n #kpop smut #bts fluff #fic: losers

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your-brightest-star · 3 months

Text

@rabbit-1961 I ate all the fruit pastilles

#marauders rp #black brothers banter #wales adventure

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sanjisblackasswife · 1 year

Text

Little Things You Do That OP Men Love (SFW)

Black Fem Reader in Mind

Ft. Katakuri, Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Ace

Katakuri

He loves watching you eat with him, whether it’s donuts or just some other snack he likes how your cheeks get almost as big as his when you relax and stuff your face

He enjoys watching you try to fight him. You tend to throw hands with him a lot in a playful way, he’s a big mf so he really doesn’t feel much when you climb, slap, punch or kick him. He views it very cute when you do it when you get jealous or pouty.

To add on to that he loves how you were never afraid of him. Of course it took him sometimes to get used to the affection you gave him, and honestly he thought you’d leave after he showed you his teeth, but you fell more in love with him and he will always cherish you for that

Luffy

He loves how easy it is to make you laugh. He loves your laugh so much. When he first heard it he did such a wide smile, Robin swears up and down the first time he made you laugh that’s when he fell for you, but Luffy never understood why she said that. He tried everyday to hear you laugh at least once regardless if you hate it or not. You look best when you smile.

The way you always share your food with him. I mean yeah there are many things you do for him and sharing your food is one. He loves eating with you and bonding over food. He secretly likes when you feed the food to him too.

The way you take and wear his hat. He has only allowed very few people to wear/hold his hat but he only gives you the privilege of taking it when you want. You look better in it anyways.

The way you run and hug him when you see him. He is a touchy person naturally so when you first hugged him he literally could have melted in your touch. He thinks you’re so soft and smell SOOOO good. Many times after hugging Luffy he keeps his body wrapped around you.

Ace

He loves the way you talk. Whether you have an accent or not your voice gives him a peace of mind. You never yell at him or belittle him with your words. If you both aren’t bantering with each other Everything you speak towards him is all love and affirmation and he wouldn’t change it for the world

He loves how you admire small things about him. You always compliment his freckles, his hair, the way he dresses (even if he barely wears clothes) you’re just so positive around him. He does a small crooked smile when you do it.

The way you say “I love you.” To him. You’re one of the first few people next to his brothers and WB to show him what love really was and when Ace first heard you say that to him he cried.

How carefree you are around him. He notices the way you are more reserved with other around, but when you’re alone with him you are the complete opposite. Ace appreciate you have that kind of trust to be that vulnerable around him.

Sanji

Yes he loves everything about you BUT the one thing he loves the most is how your eyes light up every SINGLE time he walks into the room. Being played by so many women and not desired by many of them the fact that you’re probably the first to have a genuine happiness to have him around makes him feel so honored and loved.

The way you look at him has him on his knees. It’s similar to the first one, but sometimes you have this small low lidded gaze he can’t look away from. You make his cheeks on FIRE with that look! It’s not even intentional and he doesn’t even think you know but when your chin is rested on your hand and you watch him in admiration he gets so shy.

The way you touch him. He’s a touchy guy too, but how you sometimes fix his hair, adjust his tie, or even tie his shoes gets him going—-not ALWAYS in a sexual way but in a way where he will drown you in “I love you’s” for the gesture

He loves watching you talk about things you love to him. There were so many unknown and interesting facts about you he has learned while talking to you, you’re so expressive and fun to speak to. Some days when he isn’t having a love fit he just enjoys having a long and deep conversation.

How patient and gentle you are with him. You never have hit Sanji, pushed him away, cursed at him, or anything. You’ve always welcomed his lover boy antics and him as a whole. You’re so understanding when he screws up somehow that he believes one day you may leave him if he don’t get his act together, but you reassured him nothing could make you love him any less.

Zoro

How you motivate him, he doesn’t tell you of course but seeing you focused on getting stronger gives him the courage to keep going

The way you snap back at him. We all know this mf loves to make smart remarks but when you first clapped back he was so attracted to you . You don’t back down from talking crap to him and he loves that so much

The way you hold him., whether he admits it or not after a love making session or just when you both are sleeping he loves when you pull him into your chest and hold him tightly. Your touch is one of the few things that helps him have a sound mind and make him smile

When you fight, he does get a liiittllleee turned on seeing you work yourself up because you get so cocky and angry while fighting enemies, but he likes how quick you are on your feet (remember that scene where Zoro asks if Chopper is ganna be okay and he says yes and Zoro says “That’s my man” Akbshssskj he says “That’s my girl” to you when you fight )

How you trust him always made his heart flutter. You’re more than capable of fighting on your own, but it’s those moments where you don’t bat an eye to when an enemy is about to attack and you don’t worry because you know Zoro will come to your rescue. He’s asked you why tf do you act so careless when he is around but you smiled and told him, “Because I know a swordsman that will protect me.”

Ego boost.

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rabbit-1961 · 4 months

Note

What if we made the biggest fucking croissant that ever breaded?

@your-brightest-star

We could easily make it double the size of the one in the picture, EASILY.

#mauraders rp #rab answers #black brothers banter

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sc0tters · 7 months

Text

In The Water | Luke Hughes

summary: Luke has had a wandering eye for you all week so when he gets you in the pool one night it’s finally his turn to have some fun.

request: yes/no

warnings: sexual themes, p in v, swearing.

word count: 1.69k

authors note: I’ve been waiting to write this for weeks! It was fun writing the Luke x Quinn bsf pairing cause it means all I need to do is a Quinn x Luke bsf pairing then I’ve done all of the brother and friend pairings! Part of me is also starting to think that I’ve forgotten how to write smuts because I really don’t know how I feel about this one…

Luke thought the world was being cruel to him.

Originally he was fine when he heard that Quinn was bringing a girl to the lake house. But the moment he met you that idea quickly changed when he realised it was you.

The youngest Hughes boy didn’t know you from a bar of soap but watching you walk around in shorts and your little bikini top with Quinn’s tigers hat on your head made him feel some kind of way.

His speculations that something was going on between you and Quinn weren’t so wrong either, being neighbours in Vancouver you two learnt how to lean on each other during the pandemic and that sometimes resulted in sexual interactions between you two. But your little fuck buddy time together was a mere moment in your relationship and the last time you had gotten on your knees for the Hughes boy was well over a year ago.

But the level of banter that you two seemed to gain from having gone that far.

Quinn was fast asleep as you slipped out of the bed next to him letting your feet take you downstairs as you realised the light outside was still on.

Curiosity got the best of you and you were glad that it did as you walked out to see Luke in the pool.

His back muscles were defined as he would extend his arms with each stroke before he brought them back to his sides “I can feel you staring at me.” Luke mumble stretching his arms as he let his fingers press on the wall in front of him never taking this eyes off of the water.

You took this as a moment to walk up to him letting your legs down into the water as you sat on the side a couple of feet away from him “got a lot to stare at.” You shrugged sending him a smile as you weren’t going to hide that you were indeed looking at him “would have thought you’d want a closer look.” His smirk was clear as he finally looked up to see your eyes staring at him.

Taking in how his curls were wet as water droplets fell against his skin felt like a sight for sore eyes “where is the fun in just giving it to you Rusty?” You raised your eyebrows mentally letting out a silent cheer as Luke listened to you.

His fingers let go of the wall before he slowly swam over to you settling between your legs as he pushed your knees wider apart “think it’s unfair having you on a higher level than me.” Luke frowned as he let his hands run up your legs “can’t be getting Quinn’s shirt wet.” You shot back irritatingly reminding the younger boy about his thoughts of what Quinn must have done to you.

The hockey player ran his tongue over his lower lip “could just get you out of it.” It was the obvious option but the way it nervously came out of his mouth made you smirk “never thought of that one before.” You brought your hands to the hem of the shirt before you pulled it over your head revealing the skimpy little lingerie set that you decided to wear underneath it.

His swim shorts grew tight around his cock as his eyes trailed over your breasts with nipples barely covered by the black lacy fabric of the bra “fucking hell.” Luke mumbled under his breath taking in the sight as his eyes stared at the left nipple as he realised that you had pierced it.

The shiny titanium bar clearly stuck out as you pushed yourself off of the bricks that lined the pool slotting yourself between Luke and the wall as you smiled “you like what you see Hughesy?” You asked letting your fingers run down his abs as you innocently batted your eyelashes at him.

Luke swore that he was a deadman walking as he watched you look at him like he was the only man in the world “it’s all perfect.” His hands ran over your jaw as he tilted it up letting you look at him “like a fucking goddess.” The boy added bringing his lips down to yours.

You wanted to push onto your toes as his lips against yours and the boy smiled at your desperation “what do you want princess?” Luke smirked as you brought your hands up to hold his.

The hockey player watched as you let your lips form a pout “just fucking kiss me already Luke.” Your complaint was short lived when he captured your lips in a kiss.

It was hot as his tongue ran over your lower lip wanting to slide it into your mouth “please,” you whined feeling his bulge against your core “you sure?” Luke pulled away with big eyes full of concern “I don’t have a condom-” he added as he didn’t even have one upstairs and going into either of his brothers rooms to get one was just asking for a disaster to strike.

You pecked the boys lips wanting him to shut up “I’m on the pill and clean,” your tone was suggestive as he smiled “I am too.” Luke nodded as his heart practically pounded out of his chest “come and get me baby.” You mumbled into his ear before you pushed him away trying to swim away as you wanted to tease him.

Luke took a mere few seconds to reach out and grab your foot as he pulled you towards him “I don’t like chasing.” The hockey player muttered as his hands moved to your bra unhooking the back of it.

He wrapped his hands around your legs as he picked you up “have your way with me Lukey.” You smiled as he dropped his head to your pierced nipple.

His mouth wrapped around the sensitive peak “fuck Lu,” you cried as his tongue swirled around your piercing “you’re so good,” you cooed totally unaware of how each cry that left your lips went straight to his cock.

Your fingers locked into his curls as Luke brought his hand up to your other nipple making sure that it wouldn’t feel left out “I want you cock Luke.” You blurted out making him smile as he pulled away from your breasts “let’s get you out of these then.” Before you both knew it there was a wet mound of clothing that sat next to the pool as Luke ran his fingers over your stomach.

It was almost sweet as he backed you up against the wall “you sure you want this?” Luke asked you as his hands went to either side of you “yes Luke.” You nodded softly kissing his lips as he brought his cock up between your legs teasing your clit “shit!” You groaned as his cock slid down your slit before he trusted into your cunt.

Luke’s hands gripped at your sides as you adjusted to his size “move, please.” You gritted out making him nod “can’t believe how good you feel.” Luke blurted out as your picks moved up to wrap around his waist “been thinking about this all week.” He added making you smile through hooded eyes.

His breath fanned against your skin as you brought your hands up to lock in his hair again “should have made a move sooner.” You gritted your words out as your pussy clenched around his cock.

The hockey player nipped at your neck “can’t have hickies.” You shook your head “like my bikini.” The reminder of the tiny pieces that you wore made Luke smirk “want the boys to know you had a good time.” Trevor had been trying to flirt with you since the moment he arrived so this all was doing absolute wonders for Luke’s ego.

Water was pushed around you both as mini waves formed with each thrust of the boys cock “Luke-” your complaint was cut off as his hand slipped in between you both reaching down to your clit “oh my god!” You slapped your hand over your mouth as his cock began to throb between your legs.

Luke shook his head pulling your hand away “it’s just me baby.” He smiled pecking your lips “boys so asleep they won’t hear you.” The boy added knowing that each of the boys in the house were not going to be coming outside regardless of if they heard your moans or not.

Your legs tightened around his waist “I’m not gonna last.” You confessed letting your hands pinch at your breasts.

It made Luke smirk at how he knew he was making you feel “let it go baby.” The hockey player nodded pecking your lips as he wasn’t far behind “let anyone out here hear how good I make you feel.” He added sucking at your earlobe as you cried out.

It was hot watching you come around his cock as you body shook showing him just how good he made you feel as you brought your hips to grind against his bringing Luke’s orgasm on in the process “don’t stop.” You moaned letting your head fall back as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

As you both came back down your breaths were heavy “that was hot.” You blurted out smiling as you pecked his lips when he slid his cock out of you “you think you can survive for another one?” Luke asked as he watched you make your way over to the other side of the pool “it’s getting late.” You sighed motioning to the sun that was starting to rise over the water as you pushed out of the water letting droplets run down your naked body.

Luke smirked as he watched you pull Quinn’s top over you “both need a shower before we go to bed.” The boy loved how the grey fabric clung to your wet breasts “grab those clothes and meet me up there.” You smiled as he sent you a salute pushing off of the wall to the other side of the pool before he followed your wet footprints into the house.

#luke Hughes smut #luke hughes imagines #luke hughes x y/n #imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #oneshots #hockey smut #nhl smut #amber writes fics

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Note

hello !! if it’s not too much of a bother can you write another piece featuring Lion 🫶 maybe another angsty piece, maybe a lil lion + farah combo or something else like lion and gaz getting separated from the 141 during a mission and having to fight their way back to the extraction point (?). totally up to you !!! also thank u for keeping us well fed 🙇‍♀️

Lions and Ibexes

PAIRING: John Price x Wife!Reader 'Codename Lion'

SYNOPSIS: Impulsive was what John always called you - affectionately, of course. But he sure does worry when you disappear without him.

WORDCOUNT: 4.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, death, canon typical violence, a tiny bit of angst, fluff, banter, no connection to 'I'll Take the Night Shift' except codenames, protective!Price, suggestive jokes, etc.

A/N: I wanna give Farah a big smooch on her forehead.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“So this is the woman that the Captain won’t keep quiet about,” you smirk and place your hand into Farah Karim’s, eyes shimmering as you both share a tight grip.

“Commander,” greeting the black-haired woman, your light gear hangs off of you easily and efficiently; clean and well-taken care of.

“Lion,” she nods, smirking back. “A pleasure.”

“Please,” you huff a laugh, “I wish it could be.” Expressions dim as you instantly get to work, the hot sun and dry air sticking to your flesh like a second skin of humidity. Releasing Farah’s hand you sigh and look around the old town, skimming over the forms of other Urzikstan Liberation Force soldiers.

Farah does the same, breathing lowly.

“On that, I believe you’d be right.” Brown eyes flick to yours, looking you over before the woman nods. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

“Lead the way,” your feet push you onward, following behind the Commander as your wedding band clinks against your chest. Held on that long chain, a hand comes up to brush it carefully, letting the man who wears the mirrored piece bring you comfort even from so far away.

John was set to ship out in two days—there were some other important operations that had taken precedence. While you could have stayed behind with him, as you had wanted to do, a plea from one of the far-distant operators of One-Four-One had caught your ear. The name Farah Karim was known.

If you didn’t offer assistance, you’d never feel right with yourself. One call to Laswell and it was all set up.

“I’ll be there in two days,” John had muttered into your scalp as you both lay in bed, tight to one another; lashes fluttering. “Wait for me, yeah? No running off.”

Your smirk had made him sigh a chuckle. “No stunts of heroics, my Love? Please, do you know who you’re speaking to?”

“You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know?”

“Well,” the words are uttered into his neck and John pulls you tighter into him. “I think that’s just about the most romantic thing to happen to someone.”

Smiling to yourself, you bring the ring to your lips and kiss it lightly before letting it drop. In your head, John is still in your shared flat in London, and you’ll be back by the hour. If only.

“You contacted Laswell and said you had encountered more of Barkov's remaining cells?” Your voice carries easy authority; ingrained confidence.

Farah looks back and nods firmly.

“They’ve taken over a town in the mountains, my forces can’t break the line.” She sighs aggressively and you stare with a sliding frown. “Even dead, Barkov cannot leave my people alone.”

In the back of your throat, you hum, “Well, parasites tend to be resilient.” Farah leads you into a home with maps on the tables and low talking of strategies from others. They pause when you enter and you nod politely. Many here knew your husband as the Commander did—all those years back when he was still only a Lieutenant and had broken Farah and her brother Hadir out from the Russian’s jail; labeled as prisoners of war.

John had told you about it during one of the many late nights in your joint offices. Eyes tired and his hands playing with your hair.

“What do you need me to do?” You ask genially, standing near the table and placing your hands down on it—standard M4A1 resting over your chest and your secondary weapon strapped to your thigh. Unlike most, you’d opted for lighter gear to allow you to move faster.

Fewer packs sit on your vest, and the gleam of the knife on your shoulder was a testament to your preference to close, silent, encounters. Though you liked to use your silver tongue to get out of situations, unfortunately, that wouldn’t work in this instance.

“Captain Price told me you’re one of the best undercover agents he’s seen.” You perk at this, looking over with raised brows.

“Hell,” your chuckle echoes, “when you said he couldn’t keep quiet I thought you were exaggerating.”

Farah smiles cheekily at you before pointing to the map of a mountain town surrounded by red Xs.

“My soldiers have marked off choke points all around the area. They’re the only pathways to the town, but heavily guarded.” She glances around the room and you hear her sigh heavily. “I wouldn’t have asked for assistance unless I knew I needed it. I’d prefer to leave foreign fighters out of this conflict, unlike my enemy.”

“I understand,” your head shakes. “It’s your home—I’ll go where you need me to. John should be here in two days to assist.”

Farah’s face flashes with surprise, her full brows rising on her head. “Price is coming?”

You shrug and laugh, “he’s stubborn.”

The woman chuffs before moving to fold her arms over her chest. “I think perhaps he’s more of a smitten husband, hm?” At the sheepish expression on your face and dipping eyes, Farah barks a laugh.

The band around your neck clinks into the stock of your gun as you stand to your full height.

“Is it that obvious,” you tease, tilting your head to her. You knew it was.

“I believe the simple action of asking is proof enough, Lion.” The commander looks at her work on the table, smiling easily but focusing still on her plan of attack. “But, regardless, I give my thanks for flying out on such short notice.”

“We help our own.” Resting your hands on the body of your weapon, you smile fondly. “Now, who do I need to kill?”

—

As it turns out, killing was the very baseline of what you needed to do.

Shuffling into the dark armor of the dead Russian soldier at your feet, you grunt at the slick spread of blood on the ground as you strap arm braces to your limbs.

“Heavy as all hell,” you grumble under your breath, picking up the large helmet and shoving it over your head with a puff of air.

Farah was going to lead a distraction on the far side of the western choke point while you slipped into the ranks, placing packs of C4 in some of the large-stocked weapons buildings. Easy enough for you, you admitted. You’d done things like this a million times over.

When all was said and done, slipping your knife into the new belt at your waist, you gaze down at the dead man with a huff of air; seeing the blood still pooling from the very obvious signs of a slit up the left armpit. You blink and stuff your wedding band down your shirt.

“Bad day, buddy,” grabbing his legs, you bare your heels and drag the body behind a large outcropping of rocks—long streaks of crimson left behind. “I’d hate to be you right now.”

Grunting, you drop the limp flesh with a thump like a paper-towel roll meeting the counter.

Shuffling back into the open, your feet make tracks to get you closer toward your targets. You hike the small pouch Farah gave you farther up your back without a word more.

John had always said you were quick-witted, but when he got here he’d lose that hat of his in disbelief. The truth was that you had forgotten what little of the Russian language you’d initially known, and the situation you found yourself in now was frankly not ideal.

C’mon Lion, you think to yourself, just pick up social cues and you’ll be good.

Oh, your husband was going to lose his shit.

—

“Come again?” The Captain barks. “What do you fuckin’ mean she’s in the base?!”

“I just explained it,” Farah levels, raising a brow. Blue eyes narrow with a growl until the Commander's lips flicker in a smirk. “We just had word three minutes ago. She’s fine, Captain.” Fingers find John’s nose bridge, digging deep into the flesh in large exasperation and worry.

He had caught a C17 and came here a day early after he’d gotten a bad feeling—internal wife radar going off as it usually did when you placed yourself in danger without him. Which was more often than not.

I told her not to be impulsive.

John sighs long and low, shaking his head. “Farah…you sent her in alone?”

“She is quite capable, Price.”

“I fucking…” He stops himself and puts his hands on the table in the center of the building. Men and women were snickering from the corners, sending amused glances. “I know.”

Farah sends a glance to her soldiers and they turn away to cover their smiling mouths. Enjoyment was in her tone as she grabs the walkie-talkie from the table top and clips it to her vest.

“There were more men than we anticipated—she had to be more careful when placing the charges. Captain,” John glares up at her when his eyes leave the maps. The Commander teases, “She is fine.”

As if on cue, the radio fizzles with your voice. Farah looks down with surprise and the Brit's eyes snap to it immediately; body tense.

There’s a moment of garbled static where the Captain feels his heart beating out of his chest. The panic that had snapped through him when you hadn’t come out to greet him when he’d landed was primal; genuine fear stuck in his bones like spiky grass. The bond the two of you had was closer than anything on this plane of existence. It was rare to not see one without the other.

Your voice cuts through and John’s shoulders sag under a non-existent weight.

“You should tell your men to move unless they want to be scorched, Farah!” The woman in the room smiles ferally and raises a smug brow as she looks at John.

“Copy, Lion. You have my thanks.”

“I didn’t know you could improvise Russian—it’s like the Slavic blood just entered my body!” The Brit covers his eyes with his hand and groans at the base of his throat.

“Tell her to get her arse back here before she gets bloody shot.” John takes off his bucket hat and tosses it to the table with a gloved hand, punching his hair back from his forehead. “Giving me gray hairs,” he grunts.

Farah laughs and says eagerly into the walkie, “Someone’s here to say hello.”

“...Oh, fuck.” Your panting breath clears and after a long glare at the device, John hears you say in a slow and awkward tone, “Hello, my Love!”

Farah tilts the radio closer to him and looks highly pleased.

“Get back here. Now.” John grunts out, fingers digging into his arms as he crosses them. “I told you to wait for me.”

You laugh nervously, deflecting, “...did you, Dear? I guess I misheard you.” The Brit’s jaw clenches but Farah can speak before he can.

“Lion, are all the charges set, then?” You seem thankful for the distraction, sighing over the line.

“All good over here! I just need the O.K from your men and then it’s about to get a whole lot brighter.”

“I’ll relay the news—get away, as far as you can.”

“Already on it,” your breathy chuckle exits and you pause before saying. “See you soon, Love!”

Tiny blue eyes bug, “Wait–!” The line clicks off and Farah is already tapping into the frequency for her soldiers, turning slightly away to converse in quick Arabic.

—

Evening rolls around and you jog back into the Liberation Force’s base, greeting the guards stationed with a breathless sigh; utterly sweaty but happy you’d gotten half a ride back from some locals. You’re back in your original gear, sear marks on your cheeks and hair slightly burned, but nonetheless unharmed.

Everyone welcomes you back with handshakes and pats on your shoulders—brushes to your arm as people pass. You guide yourself back to the main building with chuckles and deep smiles of achievement.

“Someone’s happy.” John’s voice freezes you halfway into the home and you cringe like a leaf. After a moment your eyebrows slide up with a cheeky smile.

“John,” you draw out his name and turn, seeing him leaning against the house with his arms crossed and legs stiff. He looks unimpressed in all of his handsome glory. “Well, don’t you look nice—did you trim your beard before coming out?”

Walking slowly towards him, you loop your hands around his waist and press kisses into his neck sweetly. The man sighs long and you feel his large palms rest on your hips heavily. You blink innocently into his orbs.

“Your silver tongue won’t work on me, Love.” The glint in his expression eggs you on as his nose tints down to touch yours. You smile brightly, seeing the wrinkles on his forehead dim as he melts into you easily.

Whispering, you utter to the air, “I’d say you like my tongue, you brute. Tell me often enough.” Not a beat is missed, but you feel his cheeks go slightly red.

“Keep it on a leash and maybe I’d like it more, yeah?” You snort loudly, head dipping only to feel his lips press into your scalp; his smile is teasing as his beard drags against you.

John breathes you in along with the scent of sand. One of his hands travels up to lock into the back of your neck, playing with the chain of your necklace. The one that mirrors his own down to the very dents and scratches.

“You alright?” The words are a murmur into your flesh. You let him play with your wedding band as your smile softens to the same sensation of warm pelts on a wooden floor.

There was no use telling you to stop your crusades, the Brit knew that. You did what you wanted and damn the consequences; John was stuck with damage control but knew you had the skills and know-how to break all odds. You still held that same fire that the woman he married wore like a crown of fangs without fail.

“Always,” you reassure him, hugging his waist tighter and staring into his eyes.

The both of you lapse into a delicate hold. John’s arms cage you in and you’d have it no other way as fingers drag over warm flesh, never mind the brutal dig of gear or the stain of blood. Neither could keep you away from the other.

“When will you stop making my heart rip out of my chest, Sweetheart?” John asks, smirking down at you. “Trying to give me a heart attack before forty, eh?”

“Oh, please,” you whisper against his lips, eyes alight with mischief as he watches you closely—pulse pounding against yours. He could never be angry at you. “We both know that if you have one, I’ll be having one too. We’ll end up being brain-dead at the same damn time, no doubt.”

He laughs against you lowly, having to pull back to shake his head at your bland confession. “You’re fuckin’ mental, Love.” He breathes in soft puffs of breath. You gaze up at him, laced with affection and care, as he rests his forehead on yours. “Ah, but that’s alright, isn’t it? We’re all a bit crazy.”

“You might be a little bit higher on the metaphorical scale,” you tease, face serious but eyes betraying you. They always would when it came to John; the only person to break through that ‘cunning nuisance’ that everyone always mentioned in your file.

“Really, now?” He blinks, smirking and rubbing at your hip absentmindedly and leaning closer—pushing your neck to the side.

“Just a bit,” you huff, not even realizing.

Before you can utter another word, firm lips capture you like a beast in iron bars, bulky forearms stuck at the curve of your spine. You chirp into John’s mouth in surprise but melt into him as his large purr resonates into your bloodstream. Singing, you bring your hands to his cheeks, digging through those bristles to feel the burn on your hands.

Humming, your husband nuzzles his nose into your cheek like a dog would, letting him take in your scent as you feel your legs go weak. You enjoy the worship he gives you; always would. Your body is tightly held against his own and you gladly would have shown him how much you enjoyed him being here if only for the small fact you needed to talk to Farah.

With one last pass of his reddened lips, you slip back and kiss his bristly cheek with a chuckle.

“Later.”

He groans into you. “Tease.”

“I didn’t even do anything!” You laugh loudly, moving out of his hold to walk into the house as he follows at your heels. John’s hands go to the top of his vest collar to rest.

He leans down and whispers, “Don’t need to, Love.”

Your face burns for him and only him as he grumbles out chuckles at your blown pupils. Huffing, you turn and roll your eyes, trying to dispel your flaming blood. Farah waits for you and with a happy glance up she comes from around the table and claps you on both shoulders. You grunt in surprise but grip her elbows with a laugh.

“Barkov’s remaining cell was wiped out—my soldiers are hunting down the remnants as we speak.” She squeezes your gear and you sigh in relief. “Thank you, Lion, for coming out when you did. The Captain was not wrong in his assessment.”

You turn your head to the side and glance back at John. “Hear that my Love, I’ve heard you talk about me. That’s so precious.”

His face goes red under his beard, and his feet shuffle as you and Farah share a joking glance. John releases under-the-breath grumbles before the Commander addresses him. The woman releases you but speaks past your person.

“Some of my younger soldiers wanted you to mentor them with the use of their weapons, do you plan on staying the night?” You and John share a look, a seeming telepathic communication going on.

He nods at you and you smile. “Only tonight, we ship out at first light. I’ll do what I’m able.”

“Then you also have my thanks. They’ll learn much, I’m sure. Lion,” John comes and gives you a kiss on the cheek before leaving. You watch him go for a moment before rubbing at your dirty neck while you listen to Farah. “Come with me, there’s fresh water on the roof.”

“Oh,” you perk, suddenly realizing the fatigue in your bones and the dryness of your throat. “Thank you, that’d be great.”

As you both ascend the stairs to the roof, there’s a still silence that falls, a calm nothingness. When you finally stand on the flat roof, you look over the vast land as Farah hands you a chilled water bottle from a mini-fridge. You take it with a small nod in thanks.

“Nice view,” you motion with the bottle before taking a long sip—downing half of it in one go.

Farah smiles and hums. “Urzikatan is a beautiful place,” you listen and wipe at your mouth; seeing people walk the streets below as the red sun grows even lower. In the wind, your nose twitches to sand and dust, with some hint of floral notes and arid cleanliness. Farah’s face seeps with a low sadness when she looks out to the land and you pause your drinking. Brows pulling in, you watch her.

“Farah?” You ask, carefully. It’s a moment before she responds.

“I…” She crosses her arms and sets her feet. “I wonder if this place will ever see its freedom. We’ve been fighting for so long already. My family has known war more than anything else.” Brown eyes drift to you from the side of her eye.

There’s a tightness in your chest. You can’t imagine what Farah feels right now, what she has felt. Years of this…and still her home is under foreign subjugation. A frown grows on your face and you put the half-full bottle to the small wooden table near the roof’s corner.

“You’ll get your sovereignty, Farah.” You try your best to speak your mind to the woman but remain truthful to your belief. Farah stares out as you sigh lowly. “Maybe not now—maybe not in this generation—but someday the sun is going to set on a free Urzikatan. You’re plenty strong enough to assure that and you’ve done a proper job so far. The frames are already set.”

The Commander hums and gazes at her soldiers below as they mull about, laughing with each other and enjoying the company of their fellow countrymen.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like?” Farah asks you, and you study her genuine interest in her own thoughts. “Who we would be if nothing ever happened to us.”

You stare for a moment, skull tilting down to gaze at the top of the roof. It’s not an easy question to answer.

“Sometimes,” your lips admit. Farch eagerly pivots to your form like you hold the greatest answer imaginable. She’s been through so much—losing her family, and her home. Humming, your eyes shift to the setting sun; blinking at it. Against all of this, your lips flinch up into a smile. “But not often.”

Farah’s eager gaze turns confused, her brows furrowing deeply with a scrunched face.

“Because right here, right now,” John walks down the street below, and your eyes fall to him as easily as a leaf dances to the ground. The expression on your face eases. “It couldn’t have happened if there were never bad days.” Your husband looks up, and you see him pause among the ranks of other fighters. You chuckle softly, head tilting to the side.

John stares at you as if you’re the only person to exist, moving one hand from his vest to jerk two fingers in a subtle greeting. Farsh watches the interaction closely, tension loosening from her body. Your head nods slowly to your husband and you say to the woman, absent-minded, “I’m right where I need to be…And the sun has never looked brighter.”

Farah huffs a laugh, eyes running back and forth between the two of you.

“He loves you,” she says, “deeply.”

“God,” your laugh echoes, “I sure hope so.” The both of you laugh.

It felt easy to speak to the Commander, truthfully. Being surrounded by four men all of the time can get catty even with such a strong bond as you had with One-Four-One.

You dare to share more.

"In my mind, John and I are still in Hertfordshire for our wedding,” The words come out of you slowly, unwrapping emotions one layer at a time as if swaddled in a dark veil of internal nostalgia. You watch John as he walks along, oddly sad but filled with something that makes you want to take him up into your arms with a wet laugh. “Sitting back on the grassy hills outside of town in my gown and him in his tux. The wind is cold…but neither of us can find it in ourselves to shiver. The sun's setting on our heads and making everything glow gold. His fingers are running through my hair…” You pause and hear Farah’s soft breath in the air, but you don’t look at her. Your eyes stay stuck on one person only. “When I die,” your words continue, “I can't ask for anything more than just a glimpse of that again. Just a flicker of that hill. Of those blue eyes looking into mine. I don't think it would be all that bad if I could live in that moment for senseless eternity. If I could live in it for only one second."

John looks back at you from over his shoulder, your form shrouded in the setting sun as he slowly walks away from you. You gaze with melted eyes, the ring around your neck shining all the brighter.

“I’m right where I need to be,” finishing, you turn your glossy eyes to Farah, who stares with a wide pull to her lids. “And you need to believe that even if you never get to see that freedom—that hill—you’ll make sure someone else can climb it just an inch farther.”

It’s a long moment before Farah answers.

“The both of you will do this until one of you dies, hm?” You blink before you shrug.

“Not one.” Your tone is easy, and John’s shadow turns a corner; out of sight. “I’d never let him go without me.”

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