#why do i always want to scrub the fucking walls

[witchofsparkles]

Soap groaned in front of the mirror while scrubbing his bloody face with a dampaned rag because washing it with handful of water would make his bathroom look like a murder scene. Which he just came from. And he wasn’t in the mood for more of it.

This time the mission was especially bloodier. Merchaneries popping out of everywhere and bullets flying, only the glint of a very fast knife seen and gurgling voices mixed with screams. They successfully obtained the data they went for, but the cost of it was more nightmares and horror – like always.

After freeing his face from dirt and blood, Soap showered before treating the small cuts on his face and the bullet graze on his left bicep which the meds told him to care for. Soap was already out of the infirmary when he didn’t hear anything about his life being in danger and run for the comfort of his room instead. He could care for it in solitude of the four walls of his bathroom.

He left the shower with a sour mood, nothing he would do now were to solve his post-duty problem. Not before sleeping like a dead man in a coffin for at least 8 hours. With that in mind, he mindlessly stepped towards to the mirror again, to see his face. But he had to bit down on his lips to stop himself from screaming his head off and probably gather every soldier on the base with guns ready in his room. Between the foggy surface of his mirror and the reflection of his face, he could’ve sweared he saw someone else. It was a faint shadow of a white skull, with very alive and brown eyes. When Soap blinked, it was gone.

“I’m losing it this time, ain’t I?” Soap took a step back from the mirror but his hands were gripping the sink like it was the reason why his life was a miserable mess and his brain was going out of it. “What the fuck?”

After the jump scare of his life, Soap intented to act as if nothing happened and he cleaned his injuries before going to bed. But everytime he closed his eyes, a pair of brown eyes were looking at him througha skull -a skull probably belonged to a very, very dead man. Soap shook his head and sighed into his pillow. If he were not to sleep in twenty minutes maximum, everybody in the base were gonna be in need of a psych eval because Soap was about to start making his own problems everybody’s bussiness.

At the morning, Soap run into Gaz. Gaz eyed him like he saw a ghost. “Man, what the hell? You gonna carry groceries in those bags under your eyes?”

Soap, who couldn’t sleep because of a mind so fucked up that kept showing him skulls and eyes and blood and everything bad, felt his eyebrow twitching. “No, it’s for your dead body if you don’t shut up and let me eat in peace and silence.”

Gaz made him a face while sitting across the table and put his tray on it. “I mean, we all had hell of a fight yesterday but it’s nothing new after 5 years in it and I sure hell am not looking like a mad scientist. And this is probably the first time you wanted peace and silence. Did something happen?”

Soap sighed into his breakfast. He didn’t know why a simple illusion threw him off like that. It was just for a millisecond and his mind was most llikely playing him games after a long day of fighting for his life. But something in that millisecond was keeping his mind busy and his heart heavy. After the first shock of a seeing… ‘someone’ in his mirror, that fear changed into discomfort. Like he had to do something but he couldn’t and it kept him awake at night. He was feeling very dumb for it. Also saying shit like ‘I saw someone in my mirror last night’ in army was a sure way of kicked out.

“Nothing happened. Just tired. Couldn’t sleep.” Gaz didn’t buy it, Soap could see but he couldn’t care less. Before any of them even breathed, they heard Price’s call for them. “Soap, Gaz. Follow me.”

Soap’s mind was occupied but he finally finished what Price wanted –paperwork. And more paperwork. He was actually glad for it, he finally let his thoughts scatter around and picked them up back when he was done. Soap gathered the papers and head for the door but something on the window stopped him. He faced the window, the sun was setting and the orange sky was reflecting on the glass. But it was not the scenery that caused him to stop and look. It was something on the glass -someone. That same face he saw the night before on his mirror was there again and this time he actually stared at it. Then the image disappeared like it came, in no more than a second he was looking at an ordinary window again. Soap’s fists was clenched around the papers. This time the face was there longer than before and he actually stared at the skull. Hell, they locked eyes. In his brain, there was a war going on now: He was seeing things because he was going mad or he was seeing things… because. And he didn’t know which one was worse.

Soap went straight for the bed after that, didn’t even waved back to his friends. His mind was somewhere else and his eyes were unfocused, he only realized he was back at his room when he reached to the door. He muttered to himself. “What is my problem?”

“Me?”

[dyrewrites]

Actively participating in three different writing chats/shares, talking to a few different people, revising Weald and Wen, keep jumping into V Rising just to build more castle, forgot to eat, can't keep legs still, brain is in ten different places, jittering like I am made of electrified jelly...

Hmm.

I may have slid into a manic episode.

What fun.

I might be extra for a bit. Not any specific extra, just extra.

And I apologize in advance because it will be annoying.

[darylbae]

would you write smth for daryl x reader where reader had to fight her way out of one of the outposts and can’t stop scrubbing her hands. to the point where the skin is really sore. maybe he kisses the tops of her hands. washing them one more time at her ask. but gently with warm soapy water. maybe he puts cream on them and wraps them in a bandage.

what if it gets worse — daryl dixon🩰

in which you can't seem to get the blood off your hands, but daryl is there to help

note: i hope this is what you meant anon

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

This felt too far. Even for you. You had killed too many walkers to count, you weren't the sweetest like Beth once was, you could drive straight past a helpless man. But the plan you were currently driving to execute, was too far for you. You sat with your hands in your lap, trying to stop them from trembling. You were tough, everyone knew it, you knew it. But this felt like you were driving to your death. There was no coming back from this. The RV you were driving in was dark, the air was unsettling, nobody would talk above a whisper. Turn back, Abe. Please. Realize this is a mistake. You were pulled out of your thoughts by Daryl, who laced his fingers around yours. The two of you had always been on the same frequency, it's why you bonded as close as you were. You were the same person in different fonts, but you differed where it mattered. Daryl could feel you were in your own head. He wanted this matter dealt with, he wanted to go back to pretending to hate Alexandria. He wanted his only problem to be fitting in. Not this. You felt a war looming, a deep, dark black hole about to suck you in. Something bad was going to happen. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow. "Hey," his voice was small, only for you to hear, "you're okay." He brought your hand up to his mouth, peppering small kisses to your knuckles, which were turning white with your grip on his hand. Anything to steady your own nerves. Your hand was small in his, his fingers twice the width of yours. You enjoyed observing his hands, his arms, his smile. Studying Daryl had been your favorite pastime. "Remember when we almost crashed on my bike once because you wouldn't stop tickling me?" He questioned, seeing the sides of your mouth rise into a sweet smile. "There's that smile." The RV had come to a stop and your quick-lived happiness had died. You took hold of the knife in your lap, letting everyone pile off before you did. Daryl took the moment of silence to touch your cheek and bring you into a small kiss. "You can do this." You weren't so sure. Rick had been through the plan, each of you with a role to do. Hide in the van, wait until they're alone, go in for the kill, storm the building.

And you did just that. You escaped having to kill the first two, all you did was storm the building with them. You'd all split into two, you'd gone alongside Daryl, and you were instructed to kill these people in their sleep. People, bad people, who had no idea tonight was their last night. You knew they were terrible people, the pictures on their walls were only a fraction of evidence, but weren't you also just as bad? Killing walkers was one thing, this was an entirely new level of fucked up. The squelch as you'd sunk the knife into their temple made you cringe, and blood had come pooling out. Your first instinct was to reach for it and cover it up, and in doing so, blood had covered your fingers and palms in thick, red blood. You felt nauseous, the knife in your hand feeling close to slipping, you made made a mess of this. The rest of the outpost was the same, knife through the temple, the occasional sounds of bullets thwipping past you to enter the bodies of some unfortunate Saviors. The shakes had spread, your knees almost buckling from the insecurity of your feet. Daryl was quick to notice and wrap an arm around you, securing you against him. "I got ya, sweetheart. Come on." His voice was the only thing you could hear, his arms were the only thing you could feel, and you'd walked with him out onto the open field surrounding the outpost. Daylight was starting to show, you'd heard a radio going off... Something about Maggie and Carol... You'd fallen to your knees to recollect yourself, everyone's heads turning to locate where this mysterious radio caller was. Your brain was off, your body was on. The group on the radio had taken Maggie and Carol to a slaughterhouse, and managed to fight their way out, to your relief. You couldn't take another death on your hands. The blood on your hands had dried, stained between the grooves of your fingerprints. You couldn't look at your hands without feeling sick, but Daryl could happily take your hands in his and distract you. It's something he'd grown to be good at. He shuffled closer into you, pulling your legs over his, and gesturing to his shoulder. "Come 'ere, girl." But you couldn't stop staring at your hands. The blood cracking and flaking on your hands, the feeling of sliding the knife into their brain haunted you. Even as you'd arrived back in Alexandria, you hadn't stopped to tell the tale to others, you'd broken off from the group the moment you left the RV. It wasn't until you were in the home you shared with Daryl, that the tears had started to fall. They were terrible people, you kept reminding yourself. But it wasn't enough.

You'd pushed yourself into the bathroom, rinsing your hands under the taps and scrubbing at your skin. You'd used a scourer, and rag, all of which needed to be binned afterwards. The blood kept flowing through your hands, out of the taps, covering you in guilt. The blood wouldn't wash off. Daryl had finally got himself back, a worried heartbeat echoing in his chest as to your disappearance. In the distance, he heard the tap running and assumed you were getting yourself ready for bed. But the worry hadn't settled. Even before breaching the outpost, you had that look in your eye. Daryl knew you. In and out. He could find you in the dark. He could tell when things weren't right. So when he'd seen you in the midst of a full Lady Macbeth breakdown, he'd dropped everything. All of his own worries and anxieties. Nothing mattered more to him than you. He took your hands in his, seeing pale red water from the residue on your hands, and it all clicked. "Please, Dar," you cried softly, "help me get it off." Daryl's eyebrows wobbled at the sight of you, emotion threatening to expose itself. He'd grabbed a towel, wrapping your hands in it tightly and sitting you down on his lap on the bathroom floor. You sobbed against his chest, the warmth of his skin would usually comfort you, but you couldn't settle. Not even in the safety of your home, or the walls surrounding your community. Daryl couldn't say it's okay, it wasn't. Nothing about this was okay, but the most he could do was hold you. Give you his company.

And you did, the pair of you sat quietly together until your sobs had reduced to little sniffles. Daryl's hands held you tightly to his body, and that alone had been enough to keep you from descending further into this breakdown. "Dar," you spoke, voice cracking and sadness still stuck in your throat. He looked up, his sorrowful eyes upon yours and you knew he'd do anything for you. No matter the time of day or the complexity of what you wanted, you knew he'd do it for you. "Please wash my hands for me. I need it to be gone." He nodded, helping you and himself up to lean over the sink once more. He'd plugged the sink and filled it with warm, soapy water, submerging the both of your hands. His fingers slid over your hands, massaging the soap into all the crevices, and under your nails. He made sure to be thorough, and used a new towel to pat your hands dry. They looked sore, red raw from the scrubbing. "Come on," Daryl whispered, leading you into your shared room, reaching for the selection of creams you kept on the nightstand. He'd taken care of you, silently and efficiently making sure you were okay, not a word to be exchanged between the two of you. You'd climbed back into his lap, head on his shoulder and you felt a little more eased. Not entirely okay, but safer with Daryl. "What if this gets worse?" You asked, glancing up at his eyes which were already fixed on yours. "Then you got me to protect ya," he replied, "I won' let a thing hurt ya, not a hair on ya head. Okay?"

[iclarye]

Nothing Serious

pairing: roronoa zoro x fem!reader

summary: you had no idea why you were so concerned about whether or not your relationship with zoro was serious. you both were certainly merely supporting each other, especially in the midst of the ocean, where people crave tenderness.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: 18+ content, a lot of talking, eventual smut, oral sex (f receiving), face-fucking, face-sitting.

ao3 link: nothing serious

authors note: english is not my first language. enjoy!

“You'll see him tonight.”

You inhaled the cigarette smoke till your lungs burned. It wasn't the first, second, or third time Sanji had brought up the matter; you were tired. Leaning against the rail of the ship, smoke encircled the two of you.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” You took another inhalation before giving the blonde's cigarette back. “Anyway, it's nothing serious, whatever you're thinking, I assure you.”

He snorted, and you could see he wasn't buying what you were saying. After years of working together at Baratie, Sanji was able to read you like a book. “Oh, please, darling, I believe that at this point only Luffy is unaware of what is happening between you two.”

“Again, it's nothing serious. He's only a friend.”

“No, darling, I'm your friend; Nami is your friend; he's…” He dropped the rest of his cigarette in the sea and began to head to the kitchen to prepare dinner, yet not before lingering at the door to give you a sidelong glance. “Zoro is a very complicated person, I'm just saying. I think he has something going on in his moss head. If you happen to want to keep doing this, be careful.”

You continue to wander the deck of the ship while mulling over the conversation until the sun eventually sets and darkness falls. It was nothing serious. Zoro was really easy to be around; there were no challenges when you were around him. He was additionally very hot. Nothing that had been going on between you two had anything to do with the fact that whenever you felt that your pirate life was getting to be too much, you would always flee to his embrace in the dead of night. Especially in the midst of the ocean, people crave tenderness. Zoro was simply there to help you.

However, once the two of you have had enough sex, he embraces you and plays with your hair until you nod off. Or how he always tries his hardest to make sure you enjoy yourself as much as he does, despite his issues with feeling vulnerable when you're topping. Or how he took a mattress so sex wouldn't be uncomfortable on the hard ground or leaning against a wall.

"Fucking Sanji, what does he have to do with what I do?" You murmured to yourself as you walked into the dimly lit kitchen, which was already packed with the crew dining at the table and savoring the food the blonde had prepared.

Dinner went quickly, and you just engaged in the conversations surrounding the upcoming supply gathering. Zoro's gaze tracked your movements, and you couldn't help but blush when you caught his attention in you. It was foolish, and even he looked puzzled by your behavior.

“If you'll excuse me, I need to wash the dishes to avoid a buildup.” You swiftly rose out of your chair as you began to pick up the dirty plates from the table. “Sanji, come with me.”

You were furiously scrubbing the plates when Sanji caught up with you at the sink and lit a cigarette “What's going on?”

You didn't know exactly what was going on. Outside of the nocturnal meetings, your relationship with Zoro was always easygoing; neither of you ever brought up your activities nor anything odd that might have addressed it. “It’s nothing serious, right? We're pirates, after all, so it makes sense that we would sleep with each other. He may have another female on a random island.”

If not for the fact that he had no random girls lying around, he had casually revealed to you that you were the only person he had slept with in the past few months. Why had he told you this?

“I don’t know what exactly you want me to say, love.”

“This is all your fault; I would have been perfectly normal if you hadn't started off with the idea of being serious or not.”

Sanji gave you a bored face, as he didn't seem stunned by anything. He snorted as he peered over your shoulder at the crew's still-occupied table. “Talk to him.”

You mumbled something indecipherable, hoping to put an end to the conversation. You didn't want to tell Zoro your thoughts because it might make everything too genuine, too real. Also, you couldn't help thinking that he may taunt you and assure you that what you two are doing is simply a casual fuck.

Even if you begged the gods for time to move more slowly, or even if you stood by in the kitchen a little longer to help the blonde clean the counters, you knew that eventually you would have to face Zoro.

As you walked down the stairs to the storage room, you limited yourself to positive thoughts; perhaps he won't notice your odd behavior; maybe he won't even give you a chance to speak before he picks you up by the hips, tosses you onto the mattress, and then takes you in such a way that you'll have to stifle your moans.

“Hey.” He was undoubtedly waiting for you for some time, as he was sitting on the mattress without his shirt on. You wondered how much time you spent helping Sanji in the kitchen. “C’mon here.”

Without looking him in the eyes, you untied your bra, dropped your shirt while approaching him, and just kneeled low enough to straddle his thighs. “Guess someone had been waiting for me."

“You look... so... pretty.” You moaned as one of Zoro's hands reached and pinched one of your nipples. “So perfect, only for me.”

He begins kissing and pinching the skin on your neck and jaw while stroking your breasts, yet your attention doesn't turn to the sensations in your body. For the thousandth time since your previous talk, you ponder whether he viewed you as special, whether or not he did what he does with you with others, if he engaged them in conversation about their insecurities, if he also talked about his childhood, if he also...

“What are you thinking?”

You emerged from your thoughts and let out a sigh as you regretted having come to see him with those thoughts in your head. You should have gone directly to your room and trusted that he would get the message. In short, you shouldn't have shown up.

“Could you just fuck me, please? I'm not in the best mood, Zoro.”

“No, I won’t fuck you when you’re barely here.” He threw out a sigh of annoyance at the situation at hand. ”Just tell me what's going on; you've been acting oddly since dinner.”

“Are we serious?”

The green-haired one grew silent and turned to face the wall behind you. As the room fell quiet, you tensed in his lap and started getting ready to get up and leave when he grabbed your hips roughly.

“I told you that I wasn't seeing anyone.” You could see a hint of color on Zoro's cheeks, as he was reluctant to look into your eyes. “I thought that meant quite the deal.”

“Oh. Oh. Are you for real? I didn’t realize this meant that.”

The realization made you feel embarrassed. It was so simple, yet you had been thinking about this particular comment of his for days. Of course, the careless manner in which he talked affected your understanding, but it was so fucking obvious.

“Y/N, I like you. But I don’t do this bullshit of boyfriend and girlfriend,it’s too... childish.” When he turned to face you, the inside of your chest started getting warm. “So, I really enjoy you. If you want to go tell Nami or the waiter that we are more than crewmates, sure, no problem, whatever.”

There was nothing you could say to express your delight other than a soft kiss, so you gave him that. You knew it wasn't a declaration of love; it's very likely that you weren't at that point in the relationship, but it was something.

“Just don't expect me to brag, kiss you on the deck or do anything cliche. You know that I am not like that.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Your lips curled into a faint smile. “I kind of like the private thing we have right here.’’

“Well, then, can we continue what we were doing? I mean, no offense, but it's difficult to pay attention with your boobs that close.”

You had barely finished nodding when his lips crashed into yours. He began nipping and sucking your lower lip between his teeth before sliding his tongue inside your mouth. His hands went right to your breast, and you whimpered when he lightly pinched your left nipple.

“Oh, Y/N…” Zoro mumbled, his pupils expanded, and his eyes grew dimmer. “I want you to sit on my face.”

“W-what? Why?”

Several times throughout your six or seven months with Zoro, he found himself between your legs. Receiving orals has never been an issue for you; in fact, he might actually like giving you orals due to how you wriggle under him.

But no, not in the way that he was requesting. The green-haired man was always reluctant when you were keen on riding his dick or being in any other position where he was at the bottom and “vulnerable”. Even though he never said it verbally, you could tell by the way he always tensed.

“What do you mean why, I want to eat you puss-“

“No, I know that.” You cut him off; it seemed odd that he wanted to do the position right then; you didn't want him to perform the deed out of a moral duty or anything similar. “Just, you know, you don't enjoy it when I'm topping.”

“Y/N… It's not that I don't enjoy it'” He cocked his head to the side while offering you kisses and hickeys in your neck. “Normally, I don't feel at ease. You, though, are the exception, and I want to make you feel good.”

You stopped straddling him to get off the mattress and take off the rest of your clothes. You felt his eyes watch you until you heard a noise that was obviously his body lying down completely on the mattress. Nervousness rose in your body as you returned to your starting position on his lap.

“It's alright, babe, come on up.” You were taken aback by Zoro's unexpected pet name—he never used that kind of thing—as his hands got to your waist.

He helped you climb up his body to his head, where you found yourself sitting on top of the green-haired face. But fuck, you dismissed all your anxieties the moment you felt his hot breath travel down your center.

He helped you climb up his body to his head, where you found yourself sitting on top of the green-haired face. But fuck, you dismissed all your anxieties the moment you felt his hot breath travel down your center.

“So wet for me.” You feel a rush of pleasure as you hear his breathy voice. “C’mon let me taste you”

He pushes you down by placing his hands on the inner sides of your thighs. Your folds are immediately warmed by Zoro's exploratory mouth heat. You whimpered as he ran his tongue over the length of your pussy, up and down, just to get a fickle at your clit and amplify your screams.

Zoro toys with the bundle of nerves with his teeth as he slides his tongue into you slowly. He knows exactly how to get you immediately over the edge. At first, the sensation is odd, yet gradually it causes your eyes to roll back in ecstasy. He is skilled at fucking you in every way possible.

“Y/N, I-” He stopped moving his head and breathed heavily into your core, “Ride me.”

The waves of pleasure pulsing through you nearly caused you to ask him to repeat what he had just said. If it weren't for Zoro's hands reaching to your ass and guiding you to move against his face, the lack of expertise probably would paralyzed you.

So you did ride him. You initially felt a little ashamed of the newly acquired control you had until you reached the ideal angle where his tongue pierced you and their teeth scraped your clit as you rocked back and forth.

“Oh, fuck Zoro, fuck..”

The green-haired man's hands were groping you blindly, squeezing your thigh and ass so thougly that it would probably have marks in the morning. You were drawn closer to his face as a result of his claws piercing right through the flesh.

You flung back your head as pleasure overtook you. Grabbing Zoro's hair with both hands and moving his face to find more friction, already too out of it to care what he felt.

You feel a rush of vibrations go through you as he moans into your core, and you just know that you’re close. Your walls clenched around Zoro's tongue as you rocked faster against his face.

“I-I’m so close”

You cum with a muffled scream of the green-haired man's name, and he continues fucking you through your orgasm, your body already getting tired from the overstimulation.

You're not sure how you got out of the position, but when you open your eyes, you're lying next to him, still gasping for air. You feel something shifting towards you, and when you look, Zoro is looking directly at your state.

“Are you alright?”

“No, I should be the one asking you that. Fuck, that was good”

He licks his juicy lips with his eyes half-open, completely pussy drunk. You suppose you should have an odd expression because he laughs, and you think you could hear that sound for the rest of your life.

You look away and end up coming into line of sight with his crotch, completely marked by his hard cock, which must be hurting at the time. You bring your hands to the waistband of his pants, but he stops you.

“No. Today was for you, only for you.” His tone is solemn, and you lack the strength to disagree or try to persuade him.

So you lie there next to each other, your body aching from the circumstances, but your mind is completely clear. You did not want to leave; you wanted to remain there forever, but you know it's past midnight and you both need to go to your rooms.

He gets up first. He's awkward and trying to hide his erection, despite the fact that you are already aware of it. “I need to go; you know, this mattress is not that comfortable…”

“Yeah, me too. I’m going in one minute.”

He comes to a halt just before the door, peering into your eyes one last time. “You should ride my dick next time.”

You can't stop your chuckle, and he grins as he leaves and closes the door.

You don't know how long you stayed on that mattress staring at the ceiling, remembering the whole night over and over again. You just know that when you finally got back to your room and finally let the tiredness get to you, it didn't take long for Nami to wake you up for the day.

Your body was sore; there were purple marks on your neck, thighs, and butt but everything was fine. When you arrived in the kitchen to have breakfast, he was there, like every day, but this time there was a tiny bit of difference in the way he said good morning to you.

[gureumz]

are you mine? (are you? part 2)

rating: explicit

members: sunghoon, heeseung

notes/warnings: fem!reader, INFIDELITY, angst, bf!heeseung, reader cheats on heeseung (again), university setting, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampies, mentions of degrading words in a non-sexual manner, i reiterate again: THERE IS CHEATING IN THIS STORY

a/n: i didn't intend to write a part 2 for 'are you?' but a lot of people wanted to know how it would turn out so here it is! this is much shorter than the first part and is mostly just vibes but with the events of the first part, what else is there to say? 🧍🏻‍♀️

read part 1 here

"do you want to meet my parents?"

you tense under heeseung's touch, hand midway down his bare chest. he's laying on his side, facing you, your legs tangled underneath the blanket. the warmth of his body fades away when a silent chill runs down your spine.

"yeah," you let out uneasily, chuckling in an attempt to mask your nerves. "but, not anytime soon."

heeseung's face remains the same, eyes unreadable as he examines your features. he brushes your hair behind your shoulder, running his fingertips down the flesh of your arm.

"why not? it's been almost four months since we started going out," heeseung replies softly, drawing circles on your elbow.

you move your arm away.

"i just don't think i'm ready," you say with an air of finality, hoping that heeseung would drop the subject.

you don't think you'll ever be ready. not after...

heeseung watches you for a few moments. to your surprise, he nods, lips spreading into an understanding smile.

"okay," heeseung chirps. "that's fine."

your chest feels like it's been caved in, relief and dread filling in like heavy sand.

"thank you," you say, smiling up at your boyfriend's face.

heeseung moves closer and plants a chaste kiss on your lips. you respond, endeared by the gentle pass of his mouth on yours, a contrast to how rough he was with you merely minutes before.

"if anything's bothering you, you know you can always tell me right?" heeseung whispers, placing slow, loving kisses on your face.

your heart seems to stop, then picks up beating ten times faster. heeseung isn't very vocal, and this sudden display of affirmation has you reeling.

he knows. he must know.

you laugh, a nervous shake in your voice. a half-baked joke enters your mind.

"anything?" you attempt playfully. heeseung takes the bait and pulls back, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"what if i was secretly a serial killer?" you deadpan, narrowing your eyes at heeseung. a smile tugs at the edges of your lips.

heeseung chuckles, pulling you against his chest. he presses his lips one more time to your forehead.

"then i would gladly be your victim."

---

"i'm yours."

you whimper at these words, pulling him closer to you, face buried in his sturdy shoulder. he moves passionately against you and your whole body erupts in invisible flames.

"all yours," sunghoon reiterates, tongue running along the line of your jaw.

"you don't mean that," you argue weakly.

your cheeks burn up as you realize just how loud the two of you are being. his dorm bed creaking, headboard banging against the wall. you knew it was safer to meet him here, less of a chance that your boyfriend might find something that isn't his.

"i do," sunghoon replies gruffly. "a slave to you, to this—god—to this fucking pussy."

you sob at his words, a mix of arousal, elation, and remorse rising in you. with sunghoon, it just felt too good, too alluring to refuse. he was a lighthouse, standing out in a sea of darkness you didn't even know you were stranded on.

with him, you were, you are shameless.

sunghoon finishes inside you, but not before you reach the finish line first, sans condom this time, as he had so many times since that night in his car.

the thought makes you feel filthy all over, in desperate need of a shower, to scrub all sin from your skin.

"spend the night," sunghoon says once he hands you a towel for you to use. you hold it to your core, wincing when you feel the simultaneous ache and squelch of his release dribbling out of you. you catch it before it stains his sheets.

you've never spent the night here before. you check the digital clock on sunghoons desk and it reads 1:13 a.m.

"i can't. heeseung's coming over early to walk me to class," you inform, twisting the towel in your hands.

sunghoon watches you from where he sits on the edge of his bed. you meet his eyes and you know he can see right through you.

heeseung's not really coming over.

"fine," you finally concede. you pretend not to notice the brief twitch in sunghoon's mouth.

"i kinda want to shower though," you add, eyes flitting over to the bathroom door.

sunghoon grins, leaning close. you wrap your arms around your knees protectively. he stares at your face for a second before kissing you softly, so soft you barely feel it.

"whatever you want," sunghoon says.

---

sunghoon holds you close under the shower now. a million thoughts are racing through your mind. in this space, at this time, it seems like the world has stopped and only the two of you are living beings in existence.

"text me tomorrow," sunghoon reminds, deep voice echoing against the bathroom walls.

you sigh, lifting your head from where it rests on his chest.

"you know i can't do that."

and you can't.

all your exchanges have been through brief, curt phone calls. sunghoon was smart enough to punch in his number on your phone after you were done in the parking lot that night. since then, you've labored over deleting every call log your phone creates after each conversation.

heeseung was none the wiser.

"then call," sunghoon corrects himself. "i love hearing your voice."

ironically, you don't say anything more to that.

---

"i can't believe i've been assigned on a project with him!"

your ears perk up.

the restaurant you're in is empty at this hour, with the rush of lunch ending some time ago. you pick up a french fry from the bowl you and heeseung are sharing, popping the greasy treat into your mouth.

"who?" you question.

"sunghoon."

the initial reaction you have to your boyfriend mentioning the guy you've been fucking behind his back has grown weaker over the past few weeks, but with how often heeseung references sunghoon, it's a surprise you haven't thrown up all over yourself in sheer guilt.

"oh, him again?" you throw out nonchalantly. you busy yourself with your phone, ignoring the way heeseung looks at you quizzically.

"what do you mean 'again'?"

you look at heeseung, trying to portray the perfect mix of exasperation and cluelessness.

"it's always sunghoon this and sunghoon that," you explain. "if i didn't know better, i'd say you were in love with the guy."

ha ha. what a funny joke.

and much to your surprise, heeseung finds this absolutely hilarious. he lets out a genuine, hearty laugh, slamming the table with his palm.

"he wishes," heeseung responds with a snort. "he's always trying to one-up me, copying everything i do, following me around like a puppy. i'd say he was in love with me."

wrong.

you laugh along, finishing off another french fry.

---

"you're trying to steal my boyfriend's life, is that it?"

sunghoon stops typing on his laptop, turning to you from where he's seated at his desk. you're sprawled over his bed, wearing one of his shirts.

"excuse me?" sunghoon says, as if fighting off the urge to laugh.

you slide off the mattress, sauntering over to him. you throw a leg over his lap, sinking down until you're straddling sunghoon. his large hands hold you by your waist. looking down at him at this moment, you feel every fiber of your being light up with a sort of giddiness you've never felt before.

"heeseung told me about how you're always trying to one-up him and 'beat him at his own game', so to speak," you explain.

"and now you're banging me, his girlfriend, every chance you get," you add cheekily, kissing the corner of sunghoon's mouth.

sunghoon exhales, hands traveling up your back, cradling you, holding you close.

"i don't want to steal his life," sunghoon says, voice low.

"even if i came with it?" you question, tilting your head to the side. sunghoon grins, kissing you so suddenly, you fall back against his desk.

"such a clever, clever girl."

you're trembling now.

anticipation. want. need.

"my clever girl," he adds.

---

the first cracks start showing the day you ask sunghoon about his wanting heeseung's life.

you promised to meet heeseung for dinner later that day but not before you rid yourself of sunghoon's shirt, of course. he sent you off with a long, heady kiss against the door of his dorm.

you were distracted for the entirety of the meal. heeseung could tell. you know heeseung could tell. something was eating at you from inside.

it didn't help when heeseung made a mindless comment on the way back to your own dorm room.

"you smell different," he had said.

you surrendered to the idea that you were irrevocably fucked at that point. you made a sorry excuse about borrowing a friend's perfume, nonetheless.

the cracks are spreading, spiderwebs of destruction in the walls of your relationship.

sunghoon is a proud man, not unlike heeseung. he's greedy, selfish, controlled by his desires.

you aren't as careful as you used to be. first, a hair tie, a black one, like any other hair tie. you left it at sunghoon's dorm one day. to this day, he wears it like a badge of honor.

a shirt next. a considerable jump from a hair tie, but sunghoon lent you one, and delirious with sleep, neither of you noticed when you waltzed right out of his room still brandishing the white tee that was obviously too big for you.

you made it under your own covers on your own bed when you finally realized.

lastly, a hickey.

you've done it now. you've fucked up so bad you can already see heeseung razing both heaven and hell as he finds out.

"fuck," you mutter under your breath, staring daggers at your reflection, at the red-purple mark just above your collarbone.

"fuck!"

how could both of you reach this point? practically gallivanting your affair under heeseung's nose. it sickens you. you're disgusted with yourself.

but you know you're only this appalled because you're a hair away from being caught.

you jump when you hear the door to your room slam shut. of course. of course. heeseung has a copy of your dorm room key. you gave it to him a few weeks ago as a sort of milestone in your relationship.

you think to yourself with much irritability that you shouldn't have done that.

the ceiling is caving in. run. run now.

"_________?" heeseung calls out. you hear him approach the bathroom door. he knocks and you feel like screaming.

so polite. heeseung's always so polite.

"i don't feel good, hee," you manage. you definitely feel sick and you want to pass out.

"what's wrong? do you need to go to the hospital?" heeseung asks, voice growing loud with concern. he tries the doorknob.

"no!" you yell a little too loud. "it's just—i just need to be left alone, please."

silence.

you hold your breath, staring at your reflection in the mirror.

you don't even know who's looking back at you.

"okay," heeseung finally says after a few moments. "let me know if you need anything, please?"

you call out a reply, collapsing to the bathroom floor once you hear your door close once more.

---

you ignore him for a week.

he tries to come over but you shoo him away with one excuse or another. your conversations are contained in dry texts and obligated phone calls. he asks what's wrong. he pleads with you.

nothing's wrong, nothing's wrong, nothing's wrong!

heeseung seems like a far-off memory now. you haven't properly looked at his face in days. you haven't held him in much longer.

today, he's waiting for you outside your dorm. he looks like shit. dark circles under his eyes, hair disheveled, clothes unironed.

"baby, what's happening?" heeseung asks, not even sparing you any formalities. no 'hey', 'hi', or 'hello'.

he holds you by the arms, still gentle as ever and only now do you see the damage in his eyes. damage you've inflicted.

"i—," you begin. what are you going to say? sorry, i've been fucking sunghoon behind your back for the better part of four months, i let him call me his and i agree when he says he's mine?

"i can't do this anymore," you whisper, head hung low.

"do what? what can't you do?" heeseung demands, voice rising into a desperate whine.

"baby, please," he continues, sinking to his knees. he looks up at you and he's crying.

"what did i do?"

you watch heeseung sob at your feet and it's the most difficult thing you've had to watch thus far. you ball your hands into fists, confused, angry, regretful.

where's that ego now, heeseung? why aren't you mad? be mad! yell at me, blame me for something, tell me how much better off you'd be with someone else! make it easier for me to tell the world that you hurt me!

"you didn't do anything," you say, tears now falling from your own eyes.

heeseung just looks at you. looks at you for what seems like hours. his face, previously crumped up in despair, morphs into an expression of clarity.

he knows.

heeseung pulls himself up from the ground, letting go of you and stepping back, as if shocked by electricity.

"i hope you're happy."

you know what that means.

go fuck yourself. fuck you and whoever the guy is. you're a whore, a bitch, a waste of my time!

you look at heeseung one final time, shoulders shaking as your whole body is racked with sobs.

"i love you," heeseung declares.

he brushes past you, down the stairs, out the lobby, out the exit.

out of your life.

---

you truly are sick. you're vile. you're the worst.

sunghoon knows even before you can say anything. he pulls you into his room and into his arms, whispering nonsense to you as you cry into his chest.

and then you're kissing, hands pulling at clothes, tongues dragging against skin, blood rushing in your ears.

you know this makes sunghoon feel better about himself. you're not stupid. you carried out a secret affair for weeks. of course, you aren't.

you realize now that it's sunghoon who has an ego.

he relishes in the way you cling to him so desperately, basks in the sounds you make, mixed with his name.

"i've got you," sunghoon reassures, arms braced on either side of your head as he fucks you down on his bed.

"please," you whimper out, holding sunghoon's face in your hands. he's going so deep, abusing your hole and it feels so good.

sunghoon kisses you and it's forceful and needy and everything you need at this moment.

"you're mine," sunghoon grunts, your bottom lip caught between his.

you mewl as he lets go of your lip with a tug.

"i'm yours," you say.

sunghoon leaves kisses all over your chest, neck, and jaw. he's getting you closer to your release. you want it, you want it so bad.

"and i'm yours?" sunghoon questions, kissing behind your ear.

"all mine," you confirm.

---

you wake up the next day, limbs heavy and a colossal headache bursting through your head. you feel arms tighten around your midsection and it's a tidal wave of memories of the day before for the next few seconds.

you bury yourself further into the pillows and covers.

sunghoon kisses the nape of your neck and you drift back into sleep.

[jolapeno]

need to see you

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader summary: Things aren't as easy when you both get back to base. Especially trying to keep a professional distance, worsened when you get hurt. an: can be read as a standalone, but does follow had to see you really freaking well :) word count: 4.7k

simon ghost riley masterlist

Keep your distance. 

That’s what you keep telling yourself. Reminding yourself. More so because your eyes keep landing on him—Ghost.

But then, how could you not? How could you even be expected not to?

This secret. The one forged through sweat, sex and showers has to be guarded and protected—even in the moments when every fibre of your being desperately screams out for him. Each time he raises his hand to adjust his gloves, you’re sure you clench your thighs—the same way you do each time he gives you a look. A certain kind of look. One so reminiscent of a time when you’d said you couldn’t come again, and he told you that you could.

Good girl.

Keeping your distance was best.

Even if you want nothing more than to reenact the time when his fist was in your hair. Even if you craved getting new friction burns on your elbows and knees, with him making you come so hard you forget you’re even a soldier.

There’s also the times when your frustration has risen to new heights and you feel less than whole. When you need comfort and kindness and a moment away from orders, killing and fucking sand. 

You decide you should really keep your distance then.

Not because you don’t want him and not because you don’t care for him. But, because he’s your lieutenant. He has a job, a role—as do you.

It’s why you treasure the moments when he’s the one who surrenders. When he finds you. 

You have no idea what you fuckin’ do to me, Rain. 

You try not to think about it—the effect you have on him. But you see it in the moments when he pulls you into dark corners where the two of you steal milliseconds. His hands grasping, you able to steal a rushed kiss and he leaves bruising touches—as if needing to remind himself your real and very much alive.

“Be safe.”  “Always am.”  “No. You’re fuckin’ not." “I try, I promise.”

His words pressed into your shoulders, collarbone and sternum. Your smirk stolen when his hand slid between the two of you when, teasingly spreading you with two fingers as his body pins yours in place.

If your mind ever tried to scrub him from it—you know your body would never forget him.

It hums and fucking sings for him. It aches for his touch. Thankful he never makes you miss him too much, not letting your body forget how delicious it is when he fills you, stretching you when his hips meet yours.

“Lemme hear you. I need to hear you.”

And you hum, chant and fucking sing his name.

“That’s my girl. Fuck—that’s my girl.”

Ensuring his eyes stare into you as he brings you close, your orgasm pending, so close to pushing you over the edge—teasing you, breath dancing over your lips. 

Ghost enjoys making you wait. Torturing you. Ridiculously enjoying the fact that you want his mouth on yours, but won’t surrender, instead choosing to directly sear himself into your soul, as you whimper his name, until it paints itself on the walls of whatever room you two find yourself in.

Between these times—when he orders you to his room or turns up at your door—you could convince yourself it’s a dream. If not for the fact you have one of his t-shirts amongst your stuff, you could have been persuaded you’d made it all up.

But, it’s real. It’s real because of the soft moments between all the others. The innocent things, the soft looks, the nods.

He tries to be near you, making it impossibly difficult to touch him. His body shielding you from the others, unknowingly being protective—more so than he ever was.

If anything, he's closer, but more verbally distant. Only making jokes and normal retorts when you've worn him down, convincing him it's okay.

It's as though he's worried if he doesn't, everyone will know he spent his time off fucking you senseless. That he sought you out when danger knocked.

That he feels something for you. 

“You know, I held your hand after drinks in the mess—and Soap didn’t realise. I think we’re good.” “That’s because you tricked him into doing two shots to your every one. “Exactly. Not the smartest cookies we work with.”

Some days you take the distance better than others. You’ll stand, stiff spine and chin raised, fighting it reaching out. Knowing he needs it.

But, on harder days—like today—your fingers clench and pinch your skin through your trousers so you don’t speak, to afraid you’ll cry. Whispering his name under your breath when he’s pulling you to evac.

His hand lowering from his chest, as if he’s been grasping it, eyes on you as your form begins to crack.

“Can we just… stop for a second… it hurts….“

But, he won't. Even if you're pleading, just needing him. Not even to stroke your cheek or call you sweetheart, to just tell you it'll be okay.

Not speaking, not stopping, until he can lean you against the truck, Soap quickly wrapping an arm around you—stopping you from falling.

“You’re good, Rain. Alright?”

You’re not.

He knows it too.

Having frozen when he saw your arm in natural light, having ripped your t-shirt with his knife to see what he's dealing with. And since then, he's kept his distance like a complete fucking bastard.

“Johnny, put her arm back in.”

Soap’s head almost cracking with how quick he spins towards him, his arm already holding you up. “Lt, maybe we should wait—“

“Put her arm back in. Now.”

You blame your tears on your arm, not on his coldness. It’s not that you expected him to put it back in himself, but… something, anything.

“Please, Soap… please. Can we wait? It really feels like we should,” you whimper, leaning against the truck.

Pleading and pleading, hearing him whisper, “Sorry, Lass.”

Even if you want to wait, wanting to—

Your scream rips through you.

It burns. It pierces. Your eyes clenching shut, wanting him—needing him. Even something, a look, a touch.

But, when your eyes open, he’s not there. Not even close.

You should get checked out when you return.

Darting out of the truck before any of them can say anything to you.

Instead, you forego food and painting a smile on your face, needing to be alone. Needing to lick your figurative and physical wounds without forcing a front. 

Embarrassment having woven in amongst the anger; the cracks deep within you widening, all of your own demons flowing out.

So you find solace in the shower block. Letting the sound of the running shower drown your hiss and groans as you strip with difficulty, your hand gripping the counter as you pull your top over your head, staring at the various colours of the developing bruises and the swollen nature of your shoulder. 

It’s everything when you step into the burning hot water.

It’s scolding and numbing all at once, a welcomed feeling compared to the dull, constant, throbbing ache due to the dislocation. 

Each action you try to do worsens it, biting your lip until it bleeds as you try to wash your hair—wash the pain, sand and dirt from your skin. You try to wash his ignorance from you too, craving him, needing him.

Realising how wrong that was.

You knew who he was. Knew all he could give you.

It didn’t stop it all from hurting. All of it. Loving him. The missions. Missing him. The last few weeks of chasing phantoms. 

Fuck.

You love him.

It bubbles inside of you, strangling you. Reaching up from deep inside of you, knotting everything as you try to keep a handle on it all.

But it’s too much. And so you sob. 

Silently at first. Body shaking, hand clutching your mouth. And then it ripples through you.

You love him. You love him. You love him.

It makes your chest rise and fall quicker, and quicker. It vibrates through you, your grip on the body wash bottle slipping as it clatters and your spine crashes into the wall. 

As each tear spills, the shower does its best to hide them. Tries to bury them. Keep your secrets as if they’re its own. 

It’s not until the last sud slides down the drain do you begin to replay it.

Your positioned compromised, your feet rushing to the stairs, being thrown off your feet, hand clutching your gun as the dust blocks your vision. You can hear him scream into your radio; it almost sounding like care and panic.

Almost. I have no where to go. Find a way. Copy. Rain? You can do this.

Your body fighting it’s way through. Reading between the lines, Find a way back to me.

So you have to. You have to do something. Get out. To him. Whatever your motivation, you fought. Knife in hand. Gun poised. Clearing each level, glad for the explosion and the dust, working in your favour as you moved silently.

Each turn, you hoped you’d see one of you—needing it.

Almost there. So close. So fucking close until you see them. The one you’re after. His picture burnt into your mind from the amount of briefings you’ve had about it.

So you don’t think. Not as you slam your body into him, knife clattering away from you and him. Your gun swinging back around. Their body made of stone as you both land, their reaction quicker, flipping you, hands around your throat. Your nails scratching, pushing your leg up, something they preempt, before tightening and tightening as your shoulder screams, and your throat hisses for air—

Then, all of a sudden, he’s ripped from on top of you. Blinking, trying to breathe as you clutch your throat. Hearing someone shouting to someone—British, gruff.

Your eyes opening, finding him—Ghost. Simon. His eyes full of fury, wildfire and brimstone—scanning over you, checking you.

You’re not sure what you expect, but him being calm isn’t it.

“You hurt?” “Shoulder. Dislocated, I think.” His hand outstretched, pulling you up by your good one as you wheeze. “I found a way, like you said.” “Fuckin’ Jesus, Rain.”

You’d known it would be hard. The two of you.

But that tone. The way he hissed it at you, it made something knot inside of you.

Knowing deep down the only reason his indifference hurts is because you wanted to bury your head into his chest. You wanted a stolen moment. But you couldn’t, not without letting them all know. The secret festering inside of you, making things horrid and bitter—half-wondering if you can handle much more of this.

Missing him, while knowing why it has to be this way.

It’s why you stay in the shower. No one expects anything from you in here. You can enjoy the sound of nothingness. The emptiness. Fall apart in the complete fucking silence—no one doing anything about it.

Away from him, your brain can’t conjuring what ifs and what could have been. A moments peace from pain as the water scolds to the point it numbs, the silence soothing the rest of the anxious adrenaline.

And then, it’s ruined.

Jumping, heart lurching out your throat when the shower-block door flies open, the sound of two boots shattering it all before the discernable sound of a lock is turned.

You know that gait. Know those boots. 

The gruff voice calling out, “Rain,” confirming it. “Rain?”

Still, the way he says your call name almost makes you smile. It’s laced in worry, in care, hearing his boots stop outside where you are.

Seeing the shadow of him through the curtain. That burly, thick, tall god of a man. The one whose hand dwarfs yours and whose body can shield you from the sun. 

You should speak, almost willing yourself to as you swallow. Running the back of your hand against your face, before turning the water off—removing the background noise and replying without any words that your conscious.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbles, dark and gruff—if only to himself. 

You hear a shuffle before a gloved hand darts through the cream curtain with a towel balled in his grip, “Here.” 

You consider being difficult. 

Forcing him to say whatever he has to communicate through the curtain and not do it with your eyes on him. Because he likes that. He said as much in one of the many times he tried to snap you in half. 

Your eyes are fuckin’ everything, sweetheart. 

You take it from him all the same. Ensuring you don’t touch him as you do. Wrapping it around yourself, not bothering to run it over your hair, not bothering to really dry yourself. Protect, shield, hide. That’s your focus, your only focus—as you open the curtain, the sound of plastic and metal grating as you unveil yourself. 

You’re not sure what you expect, but his mask half-lifted, exposing his lips and lower cheeks, and leaning against the tiles wasn’t it. You expected stiff shoulders, a menacing glare, and a rigid body. 

“I’m not fucking you if that’s why you’ve locked the door,” you say quickly, ensuring your gaze is as sharp as his. 

“I’ve not—bloody hell, Rain. S’not why I’m here.” 

Stepping out, your wet toes against dry tiles make goosebumps dance up your legs. Your eyes focusing on the mirrors above the sink, feeling water dripping down your skin. It falls from your hair to your shoulders, raising your good arm to use your palm to wipe condensation from the mirror—not wanting to look at him directly. 

He’s not moved any of your clothes. Not even the ones you‘ve taken off, the ones covered in blood or the ones you need to put on. Except for your tags. 

Your eyes linger on the one with the clear thumb mark having been brushed over it. Too smooth to not be a gloved thumb, the condensation having been removed, leaving it almost dry and exposing your name to the world. 

Eyes connecting with his, watching him dip his as he sighs.

You’re betting he’d hoped you wouldn’t notice.

Forgetting who you are. How you always notice the smaller things—it’s why you’re good, why you’re needed. It’s also why you’re better on roofs than hand-to-hand—it’s why your shoulder dislocated when you rugby tackled the enemy to the ground. That and the man you took down being double your size. You barely make Ghost move during sparring.

“Rain, c’mon.”

The lump in your throat forms as he says your name again. Finding it quickly fills too much space—cutting off any reply, and almost hindering your breathing.

But, he’s shifted, leaning sideways now to watch you, your eyes lifting from the sink to the mirror and back again. 

I had to see you.

Sighing, you stare at him, softer, more forgiving than you’d have mustered earlier. 

“You’re a piece of shit.” He rolls his lips, looking at you, as if imploring you to continue. “I needed you—“

“—I know—“

“—and you… you passed me to Soap? Like you’re not… like we’re not. Why? I don’t even ask you for anything—but, I needed you, Simon. I tried to spear a man twice my size into the ground and you couldn’t even look at me!”

He stands, and you shake your head, hiding your eyes as you look down at your clothes, hands gripping the counter.

“Deserve better than me, sweetheart.”  “Better than what? You’ve not even asked me what I want.”  “What d’you want?”  “You.” “Dirty girl.” “Ha. Ha. I want all of you. Not just your cock. I want, when you’re ready, all of you. Nothing more. Nothing less. I don’t need a label. I don’t want special treatment. But, if you want me, and only me, then I’m yours. No games. No hiding and running away. It’s us. Until one of us decides it isn’t.” “Yeah?”  “Yes, Simon. Warts and all. Skeletons and masks.”

You understand, on some level. Aware it’s even a little selfish of you to call him out on something you know the reasoning behind.

Because if they find out, it changes things.

Your guard will go down. The two of you fumbling, risking it getting out of the base and onto enemies radars.

And he’s lost so much. Too much, truthfully.

It’s why you both made the stupid promises amongst bedsheets and sweat-slicked bodies that nothing would change when you were here—at work. 

And, he must be replaying the same conversation. His eyes glazed, ever so slightly before they land on you. They’re warmer and kinder.

As kind as Ghost’s eyes can ever be when behind his mask and surrounded by face paint. 

“I couldn’t, that’s why.”

“Because you’re afraid showing me a slither of kindness will tell them all you’re sleeping with me?” you snap.

His hand running over his jaw. “No—and we’re more than that. And y’know that.”

His voice tainted with hurt as you arch your brow.

And he sighs, rolling his jaw. “I couldn’t because I wanted to burn everyone in our path each time I looked at you. And then I couldn’t put your arm back in because I knew it would hurt, and I can’t fuckin’ hurt you, Rain.”

Your head turns, meeting him face on. Surprise falling across your features.

“I can put my finger in your wound, I can hold your head while you’re fuckin’ bleeding. But, sweetheart, your scream… fuck, I wanted to punch Johnny. I wanted to find Price and that fuckin’ man, and rip his head off. Fuck keepin’ him alive. And fuck, the fucking mission.”

It thunders, your pulse. Heart hammering so loud, you’re sure he must hear it.

“You have no idea what I wanted to do when I found you, when I saw where his hands had been,” he adds, his fist clenching at his side, eyes dropping to your neck.

Your ears buzzing from your quickened heart rate. It hammering, thick, heavy and pounding into your ribs and making the anger melt.

Turning back to the mirror, you let your shoulders relax, ever so slightly. Sliding a hand up, moving your hair as best as you can—trying to disguise your hiss and groan as you reach down to pick up your dog tags. 

And he hears it. Ghost hears your pained hiss.

He must have. His feet move, chest coming into contact with your towel-covered back in an instant. The mere knowledge he’s there makes you want to turn on the spot, and curl into him. Even if he stays rigid and doesn’t move.

Because it hurts. It hurts more than you thought it would. Knowing it’s all likely because you’re tired and drained of everything, of keeping a smile on your face, of fighting him and his apparent displeasure at you.

It’s only a dislocation. 

It’s not a bullet. It’s not a knife. You’ve literally survived worse. 

Still, you blink, tears begging to fall—fighting them with all you have. Only then feeling his fingers tap on your elbow, looking through the mirror to you for permission: can I touch you, can I help you?

You nod, tears falling as you whimper a “Please”. It coming out all strangled and strained, barely close to your normal voice. 

He’s gentle, oh so gentle.

Taking the chain from your hand, lifting it, letting the scent you’ve come to know as simply him mixing with the air. Smoke, sweat and wood. The metal chain teasing your skin and neck, gloved fingers tracing your skin.

Your throat thick, your body tense, having needed him close for the last hour—and yet you still hiss when the tags hit your breastbone, the click of it so loud in the built-up silence.

The same silence you expect to be interrupted again when he moves. Keeping your eyes closed, not wanting to watch him do so.

But, Ghost doesn’t move. 

One eye opening, finding him watching you.

Instead, his fingers slide from around the chain down the back of your neck. The fabric rough against your soft skin, watching them descend down, moving to your collarbones—to places he’s nipped and kissed. Your body almost flushes with warmth. Sheer will and determination are the only reason you haven’t let it. 

Something which is harder as his hands slide down the side of the towel, firm grip feeling the way you curve until they land at your waist. 

He’s stiff. Tense. It takes you a second, but you’re sure he’s hugging you. His version of it, anyway. 

Tight and rigid, until his shoulders defriend his ears, and his muscles realise you’re not going to pull away. Not realising you never would. That you’ve wanted this, needed it—and been too afraid to ask.

It’s all you’d wanted since he pulled you up off the ground, your other arm hanging limply. You’d just wanted to be pressed against him, whether it be like this where he kept your spine to his chest or where your chest was to his. 

And from the way he’s holding you, you’re not sure this is just for you. That maybe, like you, you’re sure he wants to be around you. Unprepared—same as you—to delve deeply into the churning emotions which have begun peppering his heart. All of it a confusing array of emotions too complex to be unpacked here, tomorrow or next week. 

Your lips almost whisper thank you, but he silences it with the way he looks at you.

Don’t fucking thank me, Rain. I know I shoulda done this earlier.

His chin comes to rest on the top of your head, affirming the thought you’re sure you can hear, his eyes pinning it in place in your mind. Not wanting you to forget there’s a part of him—the one which had been in your home, in your bed—that is softer and kinder than the man he has been earlier. 

Even if the steam is misting over the parts your fingers brushed away, his eyes prevail. Persevering through condensation and steam.

The look slowly pecking its way through you, the walls you’ve thrown up, the shield you’ve put in place whenever he has to do his job when he has to show no mercy and treat you like the subordinate you are.

“We good?” you ask, needing to.

The thought pecking and pecking.

He shifts his chin, allowing a twitch of his lips to show. “We’re good.”

You blink in relief, leaning back into him—letting him wrap his arms around you a little easier as you relax.

“Simon…”

You rarely say his name, and it forces his eyes up from wherever they’d fallen. Usually only letting yourself taste each letter of it when he tells you to when he’s buried so deep inside of you, and you’re not thinking. 

“It hurts… a lot.” 

He sighs, cool, against your wet hair as he wraps his arms around your front, holding you tighter on the one side of your body that isn’t screaming in agony. 

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

The parts of his face you can see, seem to be turning over something, eyes glancing over your shoulder, one hand lifting, almost ghosting over the developing bruises and inflamed skin. 

His lips part, as if to speak something else

And, then he turns you. Your feet move with ease until you’re face to face with him—lower back pressing against the sink counter. 

A tear falling down your cheek, one quickly followed by another.  

If you hadn't just spoken, you’re sure you could have easily excused it as water from your hair. But, from this position, it doesn’t blend. It stands out, sparkling and shining to the two of you—as he raises a hand to wipe it away with his thumb.

“I like you alive, too.” 

Your eyes meet his, taking a moment until you realise the call back to your words from your bed that first night: I care about you and… I like you alive, Simon.

He dips his head, making it easier to stare into his eyes as he nods. I mean it. I mean them. Believe me. 

Both of your shoulders sink, as if the rest of the unspoken words are heavy on both of you, adding a breath each to the air as he lifts his mask up to his forehead before you raise a hand to touch his lower cheek.

You brace for the flinch—before your hand touches him. The one he always does as soon as you brush his skin with any kindness. The demons inside of him making him think he’s not worth it, all the scars which your eyes cannot see, having made him that way. 

It’s why when your fingers make contact, you don’t change your expression at his wince, holding his stare, so he knows: It's okay, I’ve got you. 

“We good?” you whisper, too afraid to say it any louder.

Watching his eyes fix on you, feeling him curl his head slightly into your palm. “We’re good.”

His own hand beginning to draw the same shapes, as you are on his cheek, on your hip—his forehead slowly pressing against yours.   

And it’s intimate.

More intimate than the two of you have been in some time. A moment growing, blossoming. It stuffing out the silence and making something else in its place.

“Rain...”

“Ghost.” 

“…Sweetheart.”

You smile, not quick enough to retort a baby, darling or a dearest back, because he says your name.

The same one he stroked earlier. Your real one.

“Wh-what’s wrong?”

And it hits you. Silences you. Able to hear the thought. His thought. 

It screams and shouts. Having been stuffed down inside of him for weeks. It almost thrums in the air, having begun as a soft strum of a guitar or the soft lulls of a piano and is now reaching its climax—the part of the song where the key changes, the bridge, and everything shifts on its axis. 

He tears his eyes from you. 

The confirmation damning. 

“Oh, Simon…”

You watch his Adam's apple bob, his jaw tightening even as you try to stroke the tension away—pulling his focus back to you. 

Not saying it with words either, but responding with a similar look.

I do too. 

And you hope he can hear you too.

Hoping he’s in tune with your internal thoughts, as you are with his. That you’re both speaking the same language, even if you’re saying nothing out loud.  

The silence different than before. It’s comforting. Allowing the two of you to have as many milliseconds, seconds and minutes.

“C’mon, you need food.” 

Your eyes dip, rolling your lips together as he drops his hand from your hip, your hand falling from his. Looking up, watching his mask shift back into place 

“Ghost…” 

“Yea?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, sighing. “Could you… I know that it’s not usually what we do, but… could you help me… get dressed?” 

He nods. Brief. Direct. It almost making you laugh.

Unsure how the two of you are more embarrassed about that, than almost saying out loud that you love one another. 

“Lemme know if I hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

Eyes locking with yours, he blinks—once, twice—before his hand reaches past you, and you wonder if he’s smiling.

Wanting to find out, his face so close, but he moves as if reading you, returning to his position clutching your underwear.

You can’t help but watch as he slowly lowers down onto his knee, your hand leveraging your weight on the counter as you raise one leg.

He’s delicate, more than anyone would believe if you ever told this story. Not even looking up when you pull the towel up, even if you’re exposing your bottom half to him.

Ghost being so methodical, tapping your other foot as you slide it through the leg hole. You feel the knot in your stomach tighten as his hands pull the fabric up, moving it past your knees, your thighs and onto your hips. 

His eyes linger on your skin, before flicking to your eyes and then presses a single, masked kiss to the space just above where the bone of your hip is.

The action alone screams the same words he didn’t say earlier. Those three words. 

Ones you don’t require him to say, not needing to hear them. 

You know. 

Have known since he stood opposite you between your opened bedroom doorway. It rolled from him then, just as it is now. Thick, large waves, and you don’t mind if it pulls you under, wishing it would fill your lungs, drown you. 

Because you’re hoping to drown him too. Not even realising you’ve already pulled him under. Having done so months ago, before he’d even shown up at your door.

[xiakato]

Interview with the Director(M)- NINGNING

“Took you long enough to get here,” The woman takes a sip from her glass, her office overlooking a beautiful mountain range in the valleys of Switzerland. 

“Giselle doesn’t like giving me the answers I want,” You sit in one of the chairs in front of her desk. 

“She’s always been one to beat around the bush.” 

“Rather annoying, I had to fuck it out of her,” You sigh placing the audio recorder onto her desk. 

“Well if the stories I’ve heard about you are true, I can’t blame her,” The woman’s smile is captivating. Of course the low light that these women seem to rejoice in, added to the atmosphere nearly as much as their beauty. 

“You could see later, first and foremost it’s an interview my dear Ning Yizhuo.” 

“You’ve certainly done your research, even knowing that name I’ve long since forsaken.” 

“It was difficult, you’ve nearly scrubbed every record of your name besides one of course.” 

“My death certificate?” 

“Yes, why? Why go through all that trouble for everything else but leave that?” 

“Because Ning Yizhuo is dead to the world and anyone that may fall about the story of the Ning family, the family that was found dead in their home.” 

“Tell me about your family,” You pull out your journal, filled with the notes from the previous two interviews. The stories these girls hold you feel that they need to be heard. 

“Run of the mill family, I feel, well as run of the mill we could be for 1740,” She leans back in her luxurious chair, looking out of the floor to ceiling windows. The snow falling to the ground as if it’s a missing piece of a larger than life puzzle, “There were whispers, that my family was plotting to betray the Emperor, yet my family still tried and true. My father was a devoted man, my mother could care less, her only care was the children. Till a night such as this one,” she nods her head at the beautiful snowy night and the surrounding alps, “It was a cold night, the fire burned brightly. They descended about our house, blood lined the walls. The blood of the maids spilt in their living quarters sullied their footsteps. They dragged us out of our beds. The terror that encased my body, the tears that stained my cheeks. The cries of my family that fateful night fell on deaf ears as we were slaughtered one by one,” She pauses as a tear falls down her cheek, remembering that painful night of which changed her life, it haunts her, even now, tormenting her in her dreams, “I was left bleeding out on the floor, my vision slowly fading and that’s when I saw her. Skin was white as the snow that fell around her.”

“Is that how she got her nickname?” 

“You seem to know who it is already so yes that’s how she did get that name, Winter.” 

“What of Karina’s brother?” 

“Oh Sunwoo, a cutie, very diligent. He’s long since gone on to work for an unsavory group of vampires. One's hope is to turn the tide of the elders, hoping to get their hands onto power that is yet out of their grasp.” 

“What is this group?” 

She gets out of her chair, “Follow me,” You grab the recorder and follow, “The group is nothing less than a meager thorn in the side of the ones aligned with the elders. They wish to garner enough power and people that could use the power of elders, ones that aren’t an elder themselves. Much like you.” 

“What would they want me for?” 

“They seem to have found a way to extract the power of the hosts, killing them obviously. I heard recently that they’ve been rather busy. I could only assume they’re looking for you,” She opens the door to her bedroom, a lavish room decorated with black and red satin. 

“I see, well enough of them, how did you come to be in charge of this place?” 

“Elder Marius took a particular liking to me, he is long since dead. Watched him turn to ash.” 

“Thanks for your time Miss Ning,” You bow slightly to her and stop the recorder, turning on your heels to leave. 

“Where do you think you’re going manthing?” Her words stop in your tracks, “You seem to think you can just leave without giving me my payment.” 

“What sort of payment do you think you’re going to get?” You turn to look at her, your eyes falling to her perfect legs crossed as she sits on the edge of her bed. 

“The only thing of use that you can give, so strip,” She commanded, her eyes glowing under the light from the fireplace. You were hoping to avoid this as you didn’t want to fuck everyone you interviewed yet her you are pulling your trousers down. She gestures for you to get closer, you do without a second thought. Her soft and slender hand wraps around your cock, shivers run down your spine as you feel how cold she is despite being near a fire. She smirks to herself, “I see why Giselle decided to keep you around.” 

“She keeps more around for more than just my dick,” You tell her as you make her lay on the bed, hiking up her skirt making short work of her panties. 

“Rather confident about it, you should know by now anything that comes out of her mouth you can’t trust,” She chuckles which is replaced by a sharp inhale and a moan as you slide your cock into her, her tightness squeezes your cock not wanting to let go, “Fuck.”

You grip tightly onto her thighs using them as leverage as you thrust deep into her, she squeezes your cock at random intervals adding to your pleasure. Looking down at her, seeing her with that smirk etched on her lips. You part her lips with your thumb, her fangs grazing across it as you keep thrusting, getting her to feel every inch. Her legs wrap around you tightly as she reaches her climax. You slowly pull out as her juices cover the bed sheet. 

“We aren’t done here pretty boy,” She says between catching her breathing, she gets on her knees arching her back, spreading her ass, “Fuck my ass~” 

You don’t have to be told twice, as you push your tip into her ass, “So tight,” You continue to push deeper and deeper.

“No o-ne has fucked my ass since the 80’s, I had to do it myself~” She moans out as you bottom out in her tight ass, “Break me pretty boy, tear that ass up,” She smiles as she feels your cock piston in and out, “FUCK YES!” 

Her moans echo through the halls, the sound skin slapping against skin accompanies it. Your hand wrapped up in her hair as she takes your cock, her mind merely a blank slate. Her eyes glazed over as her ass was used just like she wanted. You pull out quickly, surprising her as she squirts adding to her puddle. Her whole body shakes as she looks back at you, ”You fucker.” 

“I’m only giving you what you wanted, remember that Yizhuo,” You pull her ass back up, spreading it, looking at your handy work. You smile to yourself as you slide back in with ease. She hasn’t recovered from her latest orgasm as you get back to your pace from before. You grip her hips tightly as you pound away chasing your own high using her like a sex toy. She digs her nails into your forearm. You go as fast as your own hips allow as you start to fill her ass with your cum. You keep going, you want to break her, and you will. Grabbing her other arm using them as leverage.

“FUCK FUCK!” She screams out as she starts to squirt as you rail her ass, making sure her ass will forever be able to take your cock whenever. Shooting another load into her, you finally let her go as she collapses on the bed, cum dripping from her ass. You catch your breath as you head over to your trousers. 

“Dirty slut,” You say getting dressed, and walking towards the door as she starts to giggle digging her fingers into her ass spreading it more. 

“Don’t you want to fill my ass more~?”

[trickphotography2]

'tis the damn season | Chapter 9

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Julie/Cece (OC, no physical description)

Word count: 6K

Synopsis: After six years away from home, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was finally going to make his parents happy and surprise his family by spending Christmas in Magnolia, Texas. Introducing his pregnant fiancee to his family is a culture clash, with rural Texas meeting California influencer. Though unhappy in his relationship, Jake knows he has to buckle down and do the right thing with a baby on the way.

The last person he expected to run into was his high school sweetheart and the one that got away, Julie.

The holidays are already going to be hard enough for Julie. Her home baking business, which had started as a fun side project, exploded after a few TikToks went viral. Just when she was getting the hang of juggling her job and business, tragedy struck. Facing her first Christmas as an orphan, the last thing Julie expected was to hear that once familiar nickname - Cece.

After almost a decade apart, Jake and Julie can't help but feel that old familiar spark. Even with the realities of their lives pressing in, they can't help but wonder what might have happened if just one of them had fought for their relationship all those years ago.

Chapter 8 | Master List | Ao3

---------------------------------------

Chapter 9

"Hangman, my office - now."

Jake closed his eyes as the door to the Ready Room slammed shut, the silence after Cyclone's order already overwhelming. He could feel the other aviators staring and set down his nearly full cup of coffee, scrubbing a hand down his face. The soft clanking of his g-suit clips was the only sound in the room as he forced his head high and strode into the hallway, following in the air boss's wake. 

Cyclone barked for him to come in when he knocked, and Jake stood at attention in front of his desk. He tried to keep his eyes on the wall over his shoulder, but he could see how the vice admiral clenched his jaw and heard the tap of his pen on the desk. "Sir -"

"Did I say you could speak, Lieutenant?" Silenced, Jake forced himself to take a breath and make sure he didn't slouch. It was another minute of tapping before his superior spoke. "I want to know why the hell the base is getting calls about your personal life…legal, the gate shacks, and even the base commander's office. And then I hear that it's not only us - Coronado is also hearing about your sex life. So why is that, Hangman?"

A wave of dread hit him. He hadn't thought, perhaps naively, that what Shayla did would get back to his job. He didn't live online - hell, his social media hadn't been updated in months, except for his ex tagging him in stuff, though his follower account was high. Cece's business was connected to her social media, so it had made sense for them to make that connection. But him? Why the hell would anyone call the fucking base? "Sir," he started again after clearing his throat. "I -"

"Save it. I've seen both videos." Cyclone ran a hand down his face before resuming his pen tapping while looking out the window. "Conduct Unbecoming," he muttered, and Jake froze. Catching this, Cyclone turned his gaze back to the younger aviator. "Conduct Unbecoming of an Officer and a Gentleman. They're tossing around the idea of hitting you with an Article 15." 

Anger battled with worry at his pristine record being marked with disciplinary action. Being known for violating the Uniform Code of Military Justice. If he accepted it, an Article 15 would save him from a trial and court-martial, where he would face fines or confinement at best, lose a rank, or be dishonorably discharged at worst. The Article 15 still held a penalty. He could deal with a 30-day restriction or even his paycheck being halved for two months - it would hurt, but he could do it. But it could impact his ability to be promoted. Every time he went up for a rank, there would always be an asterisk next to his name and accomplishments. It would be on his Fitness for Duty report, marked under behavioral. 

Because his fucking ex lied. 

Her fucking lie made them think he'd acted dishonorably. Brought shame to the Navy. Impacted his ability to command subordinates. That her posting the video would impact his mission capability. 

Jake swallowed hard, refusing to acknowledge the angry tears pricking his eyes. For years, he'd always thought his greatest regret would be letting Cece go in Virginia, but now he knew it was talking to Shayla that night at the Hard Deck. 

The clicking of computer keys snapped Jake out of his shame spiral, and Cyclone's lips pressed into a thin line. "Activation orders are in your inbox. A new mission came in before the holidays, and I was going to wait to issue orders until after the new year, but the timing's perfect for getting you the hell out of my sight. The SEALs need aerial support and requested two of my best. Unfortunately, that includes you. You'll need to do a SERE refresher before deploying." 

Jake's throat tightened at the mention of SERE. Like all pilots, he'd participated in Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape training. While the experience was invaluable, he could never entirely forget the feeling of being waterboarded or the screams of the woman in their squad who had been captured by the instructors and thrown into a pit. The rest of the team had been forced to listen, hiding in the grass as the instructors poured buckets of water over her until she was treading to keep her head above water, yelling at her to give up the intel. 

"How long is the deployment, sir?" 

"The earliest refresher course is in Kittery, so you'll be headed to Maine in three weeks, then back here for a month of training before deploying. The mission length is unclear, but we expect to be on radio blackout for its entirety. Now, get the fuck out of my office."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and Hangman?" Jake paused with one foot out the door. "Keep your private life off the goddamn internet." 

"Sir."

Julie's eyes were heavy as she stared at her computer, resisting the urge to drop her head into her hands. Rather than head into the bank, she'd called out of work. She knew it was putting her supervisor in a bind, especially since a lot of the parents were still out taking care of their kids who were out of school for the holiday. Still, she would sit at the counter covering for the tellers instead of processing loan applications in her office. Opening herself up for that amount of scrutiny was too much. 

Not only that, but she was so tired. After Jake left and Lucy finally went home to her family, Julie crawled back into bed. She could still smell Jake in her sheets, and when it became overwhelming, she got up and stood outside of Daddy's bedroom. After Lucy had helped her clean it the first time after he died, she'd only gone in to dust and change the sheets occasionally over the last 11 months. Daddy's clothes were still hung in the closet and tucked into the drawers, his wallet and watch still on the dresser. After a long moment, she crossed the bedroom, running her fingers along the furniture before slipping into the bed like she had so many times as a little girl after waking from a bad dream. 

But this time, Daddy wasn't there to hold her until she went back to sleep, banishing the monsters from her imagination. "I miss you," she'd whispered, resting her hand on his pillows.

Sighing, she pushed to her feet and went to refill her coffee. She was almost out of creamer and knew a trip to the grocery store needed to happen. While her appetite was nearly non-existent, she knew she needed to eat. Without a working oven, her options were limited. Ally offered to drive down to the store with her truck to pick up a new oven and Will and Mr. Seresin to install it, but Julie was reluctant to see the Seresins. She had yet to answer Jake's call that morning or respond to his text.

I love you so much, Cupcake. We'll get through this. I'll call you later.

It was still on her mental list of things to do, along with replying to people requesting to cancel their orders with her. While her first instinct was to agree and issue a full refund, Lucy had put her foot down on that and pointed out that they'd signed contracts that outlined penalties for cancelations - they would get partial refunds if anything. Settling back at the kitchen table, Julie clicked on her next order email and scanned it before deleting it. And the next. And the next.

The fourth email was an actual inquiry for cake pops. The person had included a note in the comments.

I hope you and Jake are happy. His video made it look like you guys are meant to be. I hope this all dies down soon. I've always wanted to try your stuff, and I figured now would be a good time. Thanks for being my comfort creator on here! 

Tears pricked her eyes as she reread the note. When Jake had sent her the link to his video after he'd posted it, she'd been too numb to react. After showing what his apartment looked like after Shayla had destroyed it was bad enough, but he'd lost his temper and laid out exactly what happened. His work with the greenscreen was wonky, but he shared the screenshots where she'd admitted to lying about the baby. He'd talked about their relationship, how he was never comfortable with her filming, and her begging to continue. How she'd cheated, and they'd broken up before telling him she was pregnant, and he wanted to do the right thing.

He admitted to not being open about who Julie was to him when they went home but pushed back on the idea that his family was rude to Shayla. Instead, he told them how she'd posted the "pregnancy announcement" video before they could tell them the news and how she hadn't respected their privacy. He confirmed that he was the one in Julie's video - she could have kicked herself for not catching when his wrist had briefly appeared in the background as she piped out macaron shells and he grabbed a cupcake pan to put in more liners - and anger colored his words when he talked about Shayla destroying her work. 

"I want to be clear," he'd said, staring directly at the camera. "That I kissed Ce… Julie that night. But that was as far as it went. And it was a mistake that we both regretted immediately because I was still engaged to Shayla at that point. But nothing. Else. Happened. I…” He looked away and cleared his throat. "I was ready to agree never to see Julie again if that would have made Shayla feel more secure in our marriage. But we never got to that because she left her computer open, and I saw the texts to her best friend. And I did yell at her. And took my ring back. I was only at Julie's house that night because I couldn't stand to be under the same roof as someone who tried to trap me into a marriage with blackmail. Julie was my friend that night, and I needed that."

"I won't apologize for not staying with someone who lies and manipulates and intentionally hurts my loved ones. And that's what Shayla did. She hurt people to get you to watch her videos and get brand deals and free shit. She doesn't care about you or me or anyone but herself. But I do owe an apology to my family for bringing her with me, making you uncomfortable, and not being the son you raised. And, of course, to Julie - who has been family since we were kids and I've been in love with almost that long. I'll never be able to make up for the hurt I've caused, not just over the last week. I wasn't always honest with you when you deserved that, and I put myself and my career before you. You didn't do anything to deserve all of this except be there for an idiot who is still in love with you and couldn't hide it well. And I'll spend every day trying to make it up to you if you let me. I've been bad at keeping promises, but I want to keep the one of being your first and last kiss, Cupcake." 

"And to everyone else, please just… leave her alone. Julie's the most selfless person I've ever met and doesn't deserve this. Hate me, hate Shayla, but leave her out of it. She's a good person, and those are hard to find." 

He looked so defeated, hair a mess from running his hands through it and the dark circles under his eyes again. From the extent of the damage, Julie knew he wouldn't have gotten much sleep last night, either. Unlike herself, he probably didn't take the easier route and call out of work rather than face real life. He was probably facing it head-on with that bullheaded stubbornness he'd been known for as a kid. 

After typing a quick quote for the cake pops with multiple decorating options, including a short 'thank you for your support!', she clicked into the next email. She closed when she saw a request for a macaron cake that read 'Happy Homewreckers!'. Tears trickled down her face as she breathed like Jake had taught her. She could get through this. 

Lunch was rough. Jake could feel eyes on him as he took his tray to their usual table, sitting with his back to the wall and forcing himself to meet the gaze of everyone who looked at him. A few had the decency to look away quickly, but others leaned toward their buddies and whispered. 

The Daggers circled around him, providing their unspoken support. Still, he knew they had questions for him and were just waiting for some privacy to ask. But he could have put up with it if Cece had just responded to his text. She hadn't said a thing since he'd sent her the link to his video, and he was starting to regret doing it without talking to her first. It was his fault this was happening, and he wanted to protect her as much as possible - but he should have at least given her the option of not doing it. 

And now… now he had to tell her that he was deploying. Again. The very thing that had ended their relationship all those years ago. This time, though, he was going to tell her. Jake had to show that he'd changed for her to trust him. But, fuck… the idea of going through SERE again and then a blackout mission? Not being able to contact Cece or Will, his parents? Possibly missing Tyler's birth? 

Cyclone may have picked him because of his record, but it also felt like this was a punishment. 

Julie pulled her daddy's baseball cap low on her brow, ducking her head as she walked into the grocery store. The cart rattled loudly as she hurried down the aisles, avoiding as many people as possible as she stocked up on snacks and anything she could make in the microwave. 

For as fast as she moved, the whispers moved faster. Clinging to that numb feeling, she tried to block them out, not even wondering how the older Magnolia population would be aware of internet drama. She would put money on Betty Roberts having spread the news far and wide. All she needed to do was get her stuff and get home, where she could go back to bed and pretend that this was a bad dream. 

"- showing her face after all that?"

"Did you see his, though?"

"We all know the Seresin boy's been known to tell tall tales. Besides, you know what those two are like - they've always been all over each other."

Cheeks blazing, Julie ignored the loud conversation from the aisle, recognizing the town gossip's voice. And sure, as teenagers, she and Jake hadn't been the most conservative about public affection. But Betty made it sound like they'd been groping each other in public. She hadn't even touched Jake in public in over seven years, and that had been down in Austin. Keeping space between them had been her goal since he'd come back home. Because Jake's touch, his kiss was… well, it made her lose her head. It made her want to do things like pack a bag and start driving out to California to escape the scrutiny of their small town. It made her want to hide in his bed, covers pulled over their head and his sleepy gaze holding hers until the rest of the world fell away. Until she forgot why the walls she'd built so high were needed. It made her want to ignore the fact that the man she loved had the power to hurt her as no one else did. 

There was a loud scoff, and Julie pressed her lips together, eyes closing as she willed herself not to feel. Not to acknowledge the women turning on the aisle and staring at her, shopping baskets dangling from their arms. She felt their stares like cobwebs on her skin as they neared, their whispers like daggers in her heart. 

And then one struck true. "Her parents would be so ashamed." 

Tears gathered behind her eyelids at the cruel words, a contradiction of Daddy's letter in her purse. Slowly, she turned to face Betty and her friend Joanne, the second-biggest gossip in town. "Are your lives so small," Julie said softly as they stopped behind her, "that you have to make yourself feel bigger by talking about others?" 

"Excuse me?" Betty demanded, recoiling slightly.

Tossing the bag of frozen corn into her cart, Julie turned fully to face the two, her tone flat as she spoke again. "Do you think that people actually like you? That they look forward to seeing you coming toward them, knowing that they have to watch every word, every action, every breath they take in front of you because if they don't toe the line of what you deem appropriate, you'll tell the whole town?" Joanne's mouth fell open as Betty flushed bright red, drawing herself up.

"Why, I never -"

"Shut the hell up. You never shut the hell up," Julie sighed. "You talk, and you whisper, and you judge, and you make people feel horrible for just living their fucking life. And for some reason, you think that people care what you think, but the truth is that we all think that you're a nosey bitch." 

"Julie Ryan!" Betty sputtered. "I don't know WHAT's gotten into you, young lady, but -"

"I'm done." And then, without another word, she turned and walked out of the store, abandoning her cart and her last fuck. 

Holy shit, word on the street is that Julie FINALLY stood up to Betty Roberts!

Jake stared down at the text from his sister-in-law as he sat in his truck after work. While Cece hadn't contacted him all day, apparently, she'd been out and about in Magnolia. He let his head fall back and sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. He wanted to return home - not in his apartment but Texas. Because if Cece had finally said something, things would have been bad.

Jake, have you heard from Julie? I stopped by her house, but she wasn't there. I wanted to check on her after what happened at the store.

The text from Mama worried him. Turning the ignition, he waited until his phone connected to Bluetooth before calling Cece. As it rang, he let his head fall back on the rest, and his eyes closed, anticipating her voicemail again. When she said they needed space, she'd promised not to disappear on him again, but it was starting to feel like that's what was happening. After managing seven years without her, it had only taken one week for Jake to miss her as much as he had when she'd left him back in Virginia. And now… now he didn't know if he would survive losing her again.

"Hello?" 

"Hey, babe." Just the sound of her voice had his muscles relaxing and a tired smile creeping onto his mouth. "You okay?"

"I'm…" There was a long pause, and Jake's grip on the steering wheel tightened when he heard a choked inhale. "I think I did something stupid?"

"What's wrong? What happened, honey?" Cece didn't say anything, but he heard her take a shuttering breath. "Cupcake, is this about the grocery store?" 

Her laugh was watery and brittle. "Of course, you heard about that already." 

"Only that you did what everyone should have done to Betty Roberts a long time ago, but not specifics." He heard her chuckle before gasping, and his heart broke at her sob. "Cece…" The only sound on the other side of the line was her crying, and Jake wanted to pull her into his arms so badly. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose and swallowed hard. 

"I-I called her a n-nosey b-bitch." Jake snorted, which made her wail, "It's not funny, Jacob!" 

"I'm sorry, honey," he laughed. "You're right, it's not funny. It's fuckin' hilarious and well-deserved. You're a goddamn hero for finally sayin' it to her face when everyone's been sayin' it behind her back for decades." 

Cece sniffled, and his hand flexed around the wheel. "You… you don't think Mama and Daddy would be ashamed of me?" 

Rage blinded him. "Did that bitch say that?" he demanded. When she hummed an affirmative, he slammed his fist onto the top of the steering wheel while cursing under his breath. "Honey," he said through clenched teeth, "you know that's not true, right? Your parents loved you and would never have been ashamed of you. Your daddy told me all the time how proud he was of you. And your Mama loved you so damn much that she probably would have told Betty off herself, just like she did that woman who said somethin' about the pie you submitted to the fair."

"What?" There was confusion in her voice, and Jake chuckled.

"You know - when you entered a kids' baking competition when we were eight or so for the summer fair. I heard one of the other girl's mom's makin' a comment about how your pie wasn't as pretty as her daughter's, and your Mama told her that it's a good thing that she wasn't picked as one of the judges because she wouldn't know a pretty pie if it was shoved in her face." 

"My mama said that?" Cece asked, laughing wetly. 

"Yup. That's why we spent so much time by the quilts that year - our mamas weren't quiet about how much they thought her submission wasn't up to snuff."

"I… I remember the quilt but didn't know about the pie." 

"Your mama was proud of everything you did, Cece." When she was quiet, he sighed and started to pull his truck out of its spot. "What're you doin' tonight, honey?" 

"Um… not much." 

"Any chance you'd be willing to let me see your gorgeous face? I'm driving home now, but we could do a video call in about an hour." 

“I… um…” The hesitation killed him, but then she spoke again. "I'm not sure what my internet situation will be tonight." That made him laugh.

"I know Magnolia's a bit behind the times, but the wifi wasn't bad."

"I'm not in Magnolia." Easing onto the road, he frowned. 

"Did you go get your oven?" Her groan made him smile. 

"No, but that probably would have been the smarter thing to do."

"Where'd you go?" 

"Arizona."

"Ari -" Jake's foot slammed on the break before he blew a stop sign, and he stared down at his phone as though he could see her face. "What the hell are you doing in Arizona?" 

"Well, I'm not there yet," she said after a beat. "I'm still in New Mexico, but close to the border, so I'll be there soon." 

“Why…what the… Cece, why are you in New Mexico? Why are you going to Arizona?!"

Her nervous laugh was drowned out by someone hitting their horn, and Jake glanced in his rearview mirror before slowly moving forward. He tried to keep his attention on the road, but it was hard. "Did you know the Grand Canyon is only about 10 hours from Magnolia? And I've never been." 

"The Grand… you're going to the Grand Canyon? In December?"

"Why not?" Her tone was defensive, and he knew he needed to tread carefully.

"It's not… the best time for sightseeing." His reasoning felt flimsy even to himself. "And what about work?" 

"I need to concentrate on driving," Cece replied after a long pause. 

"Baby -"

"I'll call you later when I stop for the night."

"At least tell me you're gonna get a hotel. I don't want you to sleep on the side of the road. I can get you one -"

"I can afford a fucking hotel, Jake!" Shocked at her outburst, he stayed silent, listening to her heavy breathing. "I'm not a child. I can take care of myself."

"I know that."

"Do you?" she hissed. "Or are you just like everyone else, thinkin' I've been waiting for you all this time? That poor, pathetic Julie Ryan always needs someone to look after her? That my whole world stopped the day I left Virginia, and I've just been waiting for you to come back to me? Do you know that everyone - EVERYONE - thinks that you left me? And I let them because you weren't there to defend yourself, and it was too hard to convince them otherwise?" 

"Ce -"

"I didn't tell them that Golden Boy Seresin was a liar who couldn't even tell the woman he was supposed to marry that he was leaving AGAIN. That I had uprooted MY WHOLE LIFE for you, and you didn't even have the decency to tell me that you were leaving. You just let me look like an idiot in front of all the other spouses. Let me think that we were gonna have the wedding and start our lives together - all while you were keeping a huge secret from me." Jake's heart shattered when her voice cracked. Pulling to the side of the road, he slung an arm over the steering wheel and rested his forehead on it.

"Honey, I'm sor -"

"I protected you all this time. I put my dreams aside for yours and was okay with that. All I asked for was honesty, and you couldn't even give me that. And when I finally - FINALLY - had something that was mine and only mine, something that I loved and built and put in the hard work for… you ruined it, Jake. You took it from me." For a long time, there was only the sound of her panting breath over the line.

"I'm so sorry, Julie. I never meant to hurt you," he rasped.

"I know that, and that's the hardest thing about all this - you never had to try to hurt me. I just let you." 

Tears dripped down his face as he listened to her cry. "I…I don't know…baby, I'm sorry. Tell me how to fix this, and I'll do it." 

"I don't think you can. There's nothing… we've been moving toward this since we were 18, Jake. And maybe now it's time to just throw in the towel." 

"No." Clearing his throat, he spoke firmly and sat up. "No, I'm not givin' up on us, Cece. I love you. You're the only woman I've ever loved, and I won't lose you again." 

"You love who I was when we were teens. You don't know me now." 

"Then let me. Come out here, and let's figure this out."

Her laugh was brittle, "That's the problem right there. You always ask me to do the hard thing without realizing it - I have to come to you. I can't have a career because yours is more important. I have to make myself small so you can be the big shot you always wanted to be." 

"I… I can't get leave to come home, Cece. Please, you know I would if I could. But I -"

"I don't know you would. You've never had to make the sacrifices in our relationship." Her words were like a slap to the face. 

"That's not true." That only made her laugh, and he felt a rush of anger. "You think I wanted to be away from you all the time? Is that what you think? When you said you thought you were pregnant, I was ready to give it all up - the Academy, flying, all of it. And you're saying I didn't make any sacrifices?"

He could feel the hurt across the open line and opened his mouth to apologize when she cut him off. "Well, it's a good thing I wasn't pregnant then or after we fucked at the bar, so you never had to decide between me or your dreams. Because, unlike you, I don't think I could have lived with ruining yours." 

The call ended as Jake stared out the windshield, trying to comprehend what Cece said. Had she thought she was pregnant after they'd hooked up in Austin? Was that why she'd run away from him in the grocery store? Scrambling for his phone, he dialed her number, hanging up and calling again when it was sent to voicemail.

Just like his next ten calls.

Cold seeped into Julie's skin as she watched the sky turn indigo as the sun rose. Snow blew around her, and the news warned of a blizzard that day. The smart thing to do would be to head back into town and climb back into her hotel bed, but she couldn't tear her gaze away from the beautiful sight before her. 

There was something so peaceful about sitting there, her racing thoughts finally silent. Tears pricked her eyes as the wind whipped her hair into her face. As the light started to kiss the canyon's rim, her eyes were drawn down into its depth. Snow dotted the upper rim, disappearing further down. 

Gorgeous. And only a day's drive away from home. 

The thought had her reaching into her pocket and retrieving her phone. Daddy's lawyer had sent her the bank account info for Mama's travel account. Ignoring the red bubbles alerting her to the missed calls and texts, she navigated to her email and clicked on the encrypted message. Cell service was spotty, but she memorized the login information. 

Her finger hovered over the texts, curiosity warring with peace. She'd seen the preview of Jake's message as she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. It had started with an apology, and it took everything in her not to apologize to him. She'd never meant for him to hear the arguments and thoughts she'd bottled up for years, but they'd spilled out at the first opportunity. Julie's resentment toward him had been overwhelming and now was tinged with regret for hurting him with the truth. But she'd carried that hurt in silence for so long. Everything about their relationship from the moment he was accepted into the Naval Academy had been about him. Hell, even their spring breaks in South Carolina had been to make his life easier - the times she'd asked to meet in Florida or for him to come to Texas, he'd pleaded for her to go to him. He was so tired between school and training, and he wouldn't have the summers to relax like she would. So, she went across the country every March to spend time with him instead of going on trips with her friends. He'd only met her college friends at graduation, while she'd spent a week with his every year.  

Instead of looking at the texts, Julie took a picture of the sunrise and sent it to Lucy. When she'd called from the road to let her know that she was heading out of town, her best friend had been worried and made her promise to check in. The picture was slow to send in their text thread, and Julie took the opportunity to scroll through their messages. Pictures of her kids and husband were sprinkled throughout. There was a video of Joey asking for a monster truck birthday cake and Julie crouching next to Emma at her ballet recital. 

Sniffling, she shoved the phone back into her pocket and stared at the sunrise, trying to force away her thoughts. But they raced in opposite directions - ten hours east to Magnolia and nine hours west to San Diego. If she was at home, she would be getting up soon and heading to work, or having breakfast with Ally. Out west, Jake was probably waking and getting ready to go to the base. 

Her breath misted in the air when Julie sighed. The wind was picking up, and she knew she'd need to get back to town before the storm blew in, but it was hard to tear her gaze away from the canyon. A car door slammed, and she jumped, turning to see two people climbing out of their vehicle. They nodded, and she smiled back as they stood a bit further from her and looked at the sunrise. 

When her fingers started losing their feeling, and the sky was a beautiful pink and orange, Julie returned to her car. As it heated, she took a deep breath and pulled up Jake's texts. They were full of apologies and pleas for her to answer the phone. He wanted to know if she'd thought she was pregnant after they'd seen one another in Austin. That made her cringe. She regretted telling him like that, especially after everything that happened with his ex. He promised to try harder if she would just pick up. He wanted to come home, but he was just told about a mission he was being sent on and wouldn't be able to.

I only have 3 weeks until I leave, and we won't be able to talk. Please, baby, don't let it end like this. I love you, and I know I haven't always been the best at showing it, but I want this to work.  

A lump rose in her throat at the thought of him leaving again, and she paused before sending him the same picture she'd sent Lucy. We'll talk before you go, but I need space right now.

The technology gods were clearly on Jake's side because the message went through quickly and was marked as read almost immediately. Three dots appeared on the screen, and Julie bit her lip while watching them flicker. Finally, the message appeared. Beautiful, but not as beautiful as you. I love you, Cupcake.

After a moment, she typed back Love you too, Farm Boy.

Quickly closing the message, she pulled up the banking app and entered her Mama's travel account information. She hesitated before closing her eyes and hitting the login button. Slowly, after a few seconds, Julie peeked at the screen. The amount made her breath catch. Tears flooded her eyes as she stared at the number. 

Fumbling for her purse, she grabbed Daddy’s letter, skimming the words until she found what she was looking for. 

I put her life insurance payout there and have added a little every year. All you have to do is contact my lawyer, who'll give you the account numbers and start the transfer. I should have given it to you before, but… well, the reason always changed. But now that you have it, I want you to do whatever you want with that money. If you want to travel like your Mama wanted? Do it. You want to go back to school? Perfect. Start your bakery? You'll be so successful. Buy a house? I only ask that it's somewhere other than Magnolia. Sell the house and put the money toward your next dream. 

Be selfish, baby. Treat yourself to whatever you want - as long as it's what you want. 

Looking over the dashboard at the sunrise over the Grand Canyon, Julie started to cry at the memory of her Mama reading her books before bed, building worlds in her mind. Her daddy pinching pennies as she grew up and helping her bake late into the night. Lying in the back of Jake's truck and talking about all the places they would see when they were married. 

The money wouldn't solve everything, but it was enough to give her space to breathe and figure out what she wanted to do. It, along with her moving fund, would give her what she needed most—time. 

As she pulled out of the parking lot, she could almost hear Mama's voice. "You and me, baby girl, we're gonna see the world one day." 

---------------------------------------

Author's Note: Soooo... thank you for you patience with me getting this out. I had some difficulty with this chapter, because I was struggling between going with my original ending and one that was less angsty. I went with the original (the other option was Cece driving to Jake's after because they didn't have a fight, and her meeting the Daggers). But Cece needed to finally let Jake know how she was feeling, and Betty may have been just the push she needed.

SERE training is no joke. I stole the story about the woman being thrown in the pit from my best friend's husband (former military intel guy), who still has issues with the smell of peppermint to this day because he hid in a patch of it while it was happening. They no longer waterboard soldiers, but that practice only stopped in the 2000s, I believe.

Also, the next chapter will be the last one in this series 🫣 (Edit, there will be an epilogue)

Read Chapter 10

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[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 9: ~

When the Walls Crumbled:

This is it. The long awaited Murine/Muirinnes chapter.

Fun fact: This is my first ever romance piece I've done for any fan-fiction. So, I have no idea if this is good or not.

Another fact: I had already completed this chapter before chapters 7 and 8. This was going to be chapter 7, but I had to map out a timeline when I decided this was going to be a mini-arc, and not a time-jump to post-rescue. Plus, during that time, I decided not to have military involvement. What I have instead you'll soon see.

Tw: Parental abuse and gambling.

Part 10:

Innes couldn't sleep. He found himself staring at the container ceiling. Drool ran down the chin, which only momentarily snapped him out of his daydream. Then right back to it. He tried, but no amount of tossing or turning was helping. Even when he was leaned against Muir, he found no comfort. A quick check from his watch showed it was 2:15am.

'Maybe some fresh air will help?' He asked himself.

With a quick glance at Muir, seeing him sleeping peacefully, Innes carefully moved from his side and made it for the door. He'll go outside, sit at the railing, and have a smoke to himself. Or he would do that if a tendril didn't wrap around his waist. Of course, Muir was secretly awake the entire time. Sneaky little shit. Innes accepted defeat with a deflated sigh and turned to see Muir lift him up and place him in front of his face.

'I thought you were asleep.'

Muir ignored the empty statement.

'Innes, what's wrong?' Because he could sense something. His heartbeat wasn't normal, and he felt it sink at the question. Then there were his eyes. For hours, Innes has had a hurt look in them. Even when he cheered for Brodie and Finlay, and when gorged on the leftovers, the look was still there. Plus, even if they've been practically inseparable, Innes couldn't bring himself to look Muir in his. Even now, Innes was clearly looking through him. 'It's okay. You know it'll be okay.'

Words filled and drowned Innes' mind.

'Stupid boy. You deserve this. How can you look at yourself? Stop being a fucking idiot!'

The words Innes would hear from his father and he'd repeat them as self-punishment.

'Don't cry. You're not a man if you cry!'

He wanted to, but a part of him was always afraid to. He feared his father would find out, even over a hundred miles away and being 6 feet under. That man left a mark that was hard to scrub off. No luck. Even Innes had a breaking point. Tears began to fall, and Muir began to wipe them away.

'Why aren't you mad at me?' A lump formed in his throat, and his heart began to race. 'I left you alone. I just ran whilst you turned into,' he gestured to Muir's exposed ribs. 'This. I'm your supervisor. I'm supposed to look out for you. You said that yourself!' He paused to catch his breath, but to no avail. 'I'm so sorry, Muir.'

The guilt had been eating away at him. Since he heard Muir calling out for him in distress. Even if no one could blame him, Innes' heart felt heavy, and he wanted to be sick. In his mind, because of him, Muir will never be human again. His body blew open and turned inside out with ribs exposed and flesh crawling along the hard-hat, which was possibly the reason it didn't spread further. He lost his hair, his mouth was stretched on one side, and most of his lips had melted away, half-blind despite having multiple eyes, and his innards hung inches from the floor. It was all his fault. Muir's cry for help will be something he can never forgive or forget.

'Innes, where ya going?!'

'INNNNNEEEEEEEES!'

'Innes? Help me, Innes!'

'Innes? Where's Innes? I just need help, eh?'

How was Muir able to break down the walls he tried so hard to build? What was this man to him? Innes never cried, and yet in one day, he cried over him twice. Not even his ex-wife got him to cry when she left him for someone else. He didn't cry when his house got repossessed through his gambling. And he certainly didn't cry when he heard his dad had passed. A tendril kept wiping his tears away. Muir pulled him closer, and Innes hugged what he could of his face. He didn't want to let go.

The last 3 years raced through his mind. Innes remembered the day he was called up to Rennick's office. At first, he thought it was because he had rolled up his sleeves and pants because of the unbearable summer heat. He wasn't too happy to hear he'd be looking after a newcomer with no prior training, but he did get a bollocking for the uniform.

Muir stepped off the chopper without a single hair out of place or crease in his uniform. Like all new hires, he had brought too much baggage. A backpack and small suitcase. Innes knew more than half of that wasn't going to see the light of day for months. Always amusing to see. He lingered at the steps with crossed arms and a smirk. Rennick introduced himself with that fake yet convincing smile to the untrained eye. In all honesty, Innes thought Muir had brided his way to become a deckhand. How can someone just leave their family farm and instantly work on an oil rig? Still, he grinned and taught Muir everything he could, even if he kept his walls up.

He couldn't tell when they began to crumble, but whenever there was a crack, he would try to mend it. It was exhausting. A fight he had to surrender because as much as he denied it, feelings started to bloom. He hoped they would go overtime, but the opposite happened. Muir's looks, his smell, his laugh, and even his clumsy nature that has gotten the pair in more than enough trouble, just made Innes -

Oh. That's why. Because for the first time in years, Innes was genuinely happy.

'I love you.' He let out a shakey breath and sniffled as he pulled away. The muscles in his neck twitched as he smiled. The hurt look in his eyes was gone, and he could finally look at Muir. His heart continued to race and skip a beat. 'I wished I told you sooner.' He noticed Muir began to cry, but with a smile on the one side of his face. One of pure joy, as if all the problems in the world had washed away. Now, it was Innes' turn to wipe his tears. He'd noticed his right eye was completely open again, and his nose at some point had been put back into shape.

'I've been waiting three years for you to say that.' He stifled a laugh and lightly squeezed Innes' waist. 'I love you too, my big man.'

'I think that's you now.'

'Don't get smart with me.'

The pair shared a mix of laughter and cries. They pulled each other together for another long hug. Innes kissed Muir above his good eye, then at the bridge of his nose, where they placed their foreheads together. They dried each other's tears. Muir moved his head towards Innes to replicate a nuzzle on a part of his shoulder.

It might be the middle of winter, but they felt warm. It was inviting. It was new. It was something they didn't want to let go of, so they stayed like this. Frozen in time.

Roy opened the door. Neither had come for breakfast, so he thought it was best to check up on them. He found the pair huddled together. Tendrils wrapped around Innes like a blanket, except for his arms hugging them in return. Muir lightly snored, stretched, and gently pulled Innes closer.

He was no expert, but Roy could tell. He slowly closed the door and left the pair. What harm would another hour do?

[ghostaholics]

ᴍɪsᴄᴏɴᴅᴜᴄᴛ

SUMMARY: Ghost doesn't tolerate bad behavior. PAIRING: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!Reader (drabble) WARNING(S): illicit relationship & power imbalance; dom/sub vibes (brattiness); this is not that fleshed out but I think their background is enemies-to-lovers; fingering; ruined orgasm, but he makes it all better, sorta; oral sex (receiving) A/N: this is OOC but I still wrote it anyway because my mind would just not shut the fuck up W/C: 2.1k

HE HOLDS YOU THE SAME WAY HE HOLDS HIS GUN – with all the confidence that he can take you apart and put you back together again like it’s muscle memory.

It's not pride. It's just fact.

He wants to know the inner-workings of your brain. He wants to know what makes you tick. Hell, all he wants to know is what it's like to be inside of you.

He’s still wearing his clothes – jacket, trousers, and boots – everything down to the signature gloves and the fabric balaclava that masks his face.

You, in turn, have nothing. It’s a very unfair playing field – one that you hope to level soon. But Ghost has always been mountains above you even before the current circumstances; you've never turned down a challenge, though.

"Maybe..." he says, musingly as he stands at the foot of his bed, "I won't let you come."

It's a taunt, one that you happily indulge.

You wet your lips in anticipation. You're excited – hungry for it. Back and forth. Pressing his buttons, and in return, learning your place under his direction.  A provocation to take up with the same kind of resolve you'd had when the rules said that you couldn't do it because he's your superior, your Lieutenant – it swells inside you, profuse – fills you up to the brim.

(Illicit. A violation of boundaries. Conflict of interest.)

But look at where you are now. You’ve managed to fucking do it.

It's so overwhelming that you can't possibly stop the next words that you fire back, like loaded bullets, full metal jackets shooting off at the mouth: "Maybe you just can't make me."

Ghost seizes you by the throat – hand so big it engulfs your lower jaw too; sick with power, the thought infects him like an all-consuming disease: he could crush your windpipe if he wanted to. It’d be so easy. Apply pressure. But only enough to provoke a sharp intake of breath. (You can take it.) "God, the fuckin' mouth on you," he growls.

Your voice, breathless under the force of his hand and far too flirtatious for your own good: "I can show you what else it can do." A shameless smile stretches over your mouth as if he doesn't have a noose around your neck – a palm instead of rope but equally as unforgiving.

His eyes burn holes into you. They smolder. And his temper? He's fuming. Underneath the surface, but raging all the same, make no mistake. There are a lot of things he’d like to do to you that would wipe the grin clean off your face and scrub the insubordination from your brain. "Think I’d rather take an apology, first."

"Oh," you lament around a pout. "You'll be waiting a long time before you hear one out of me."

The answer is an act of arson; it reeks of gasoline. Octane. It’s a fuel that you douse onto ever-growing flames. Scorched earth policy, like you want to sit back and watch the world go up in smoke, embers and all.

"Trust me,” he says, shucking his gloves off –doesn't want to get them dirty with your recklessness. (At least he can wash this sin from his hands later.) “You’ll feel sorry by the time I’m through with you.”

So how far can you push him? Turns out, a lot. More than you’d anticipated, actually, because earlier:

“Don’t test me.” “Why?” “You won’t want to find out.” “I think I do.”

His fingers brutally stuff your cunt, and your walls eagerly accommodate the stretch around the width of him. An uninhibited moan wretches itself from your throat at the intrusion. You clamp onto his arm instinctively for purchase. He's got you filled to capacity.

"You're so tight," he murmurs, feeling around for a bit, searching for – there it is. He hits that little spongy spot inside, and he knows he's got you. His digits slide through your hot core in that come-hither motion, and he's enticed by the way your body convulses at his discovery. He's addicted to the sensation, already knows he'll never be able to find anything else that gives him a high as good as this – that he'll never be able to quit you. Perfect, so perfect. The craving is bad, like he's been stabbed full of needles and shot up with something that he knows will have him hooked forever.

You rut down, hips canting as you fuck yourself down on his fingers, meeting him thrust-for-thrust because you're just that needy for it.

He collects every moan like it’s payment, and after the defiance you've been throwing his way, it's the least that you owe him.

And—

He doesn't need to do it – you're already soaked. But he fucking spits on your pussy anyway. Yeah, that’s good. So bloody fucking good. He watches it mix with your arousal. Slickness, everywhere. It leaks out of your puffy folds, juices running down to the juncture of his wrist where his tattoos start – floods the gaps in between the ink of his sleeve. He's aching for more.

Filthy. Filthy. Filthy.

You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch the sight. It's lewd. You nearly collapse on the spot.

But still, you capture his wrist, nails sinking into his flesh as he continues to pump in and out of your sopping cunt. You’re so wet, it’s almost embarrassing. You don’t want him to stop. You have to keep him there forever. "I'm close," you croak out. "I'm—"

"Gonna come now?"

A familiar wave of heat starts to crest within you. "God, yes." It surges, rises hard and rises fast. The feeling is blinding.

"That's it," he says around a low rumble of approval. "Give it to me."

It's the final tipping point to send you over the edge – no return. Euphoria is within sights. You're flying to a climax and it's right there, so close you can almost touch it and—

He snatches his fingers away.

You come around nothing.

You're yanked back into a cold and disappointing reality. It's disorienting. The heat fizzles out so fast it’s like a bonfire during a downpour.

That ecstasy that had been building up passes through you like a phantom. It's just gone. Goddamn it.

"No, no, no! Fuck, Ghost! What the fuck?" 

You didn't finish. You didn't get to the end, because he took it from you and snuffed the life out of it with no remorse.

It's what he does best.

You're drowning in your own bitter rage, reeling between riptides of ire and violence. The feeling is highwater. You want to commit atrocities against this man.

He draws his fingers into his mouth, mask pulled up for a fraction before he sucks, eyes lazily flicking over to you – you’re the picture of red-hot anger and burning insolence. Deep satisfaction settles in his bones. He lowers the balaclava back to where it was. "You taste sweet," he comments, almost absentmindedly. "Shame the personality doesn't match."

You're seething, a temper bristling with unfathomable resentment. "You're so fucking mean."

"Hate me all you want, love. We both know whose cock you get wet for at the end of the day. You wouldn't be here otherwise."

He calls you the term of endearment as if he cares. You aren't stupid. That’s not what this is. His tone is laced with derision.

"Unbelievable," you mutter. "I'm gonna have you court-martialed for being such an asshole."

He chuckles darkly. "Let's try this again."

The first day he met you: Your file, in big bold letters with an extensive skillset, and one section that stood out to him: INTERROGATION. Everything redacted. "How good are you?"– he'd asked. "That's classified, sir. But all you really need to be worried about is that I know how to make people talk." Smartass.

"I wanna... oh, God. Let me come. I want it, need it," you moan. He's been continuing his onslaught for too long, and you can't handle it.

"Where'd all the attitude go, huh, love?"

The whimper is high in your throat. "Please."

"The begging's a nice touch. Unfortunately, it won't save you now. I’m already fresh out of fucks.”

“Simon—”

He wouldn’t call you a whore, but that’s exactly what you sound like.

Your composure snaps.

"I'm sorry," you gasp, wrecked.

Finally.

His voice is devastating – a sawtoothed-edge that threatens to tear you apart. "Done playing games?"

It sends cracks throughout your fortitude – fractures spidering along your backbone. It’s a thousand splintered fragments.

Something in you shatters. It feels a lot like your self-respect.

“Yes, sir.”

This is rock bottom, a callous reminder of where the two of you stand. You despise using his title now more than you do out on the field.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “thought so.”

He kneels in between your legs, has your thighs wrenched open between the sheer size of his bulky shoulders. Simon lifts the edge of his mask up to settle onto the bridge of his nose, just to expose the bottom half of his face – sharp contour, a determined set to his stubbled jaw. It’s not all of him, but it’s enough. Simon’s mouth is on you in no time flat. It's not something he'll admit, but he’s starving for this. Ravenous – a carnal appetite. He wants his fill. Lust gnaws at his gut; it bites away at his resolve.

"Tastes so good," he grunts, sending vibrations rocking through you. His tongue laves over your clit, your entrance, lapping it up, taking what he wants. "Anyone ever tell you how much of a brat you are?" he asks, voice like gravel.

"Christ, shut up," you mumble pathetically.

Simon sinks his teeth into the side of your thigh to show his displeasure before turning his attention back to the task at hand. He's amused at the way you curse at him for being a bastard. More passes at your clit that make you tremor under him – he could get drunk off of this. It sends a nice buzz to his head better than his favorite whiskey.

His tongue is wet and soft, dipping between your engorged folds and making the nastiest noises. He's licking his way into your cunt. "Fuck." Again and again, using his mouth to rip those pretty sounds from you – the moans and everything, he'll drink it all up.

He adds his fingers back to the foray, knuckle deep. A high-pitched whine leaves you, cresting into another low moan as you adjust around the familiar feeling of the heavy and thick drag of his fingers through you; it almost makes him come, untouched.

"Ah, Simon," you whimper.

He lifts his head, chin drenched. There's a glossy sheen to his lips. Thoroughly wet. So much. You can feel it pooling under your ass, too. The sheets are saturated. That's all you. "I'll let you come this time," he rasps, sounding just as bad as you.

And at that, you don't care. Nothing else matters anymore.

You chase the high, white-hot pleasure mounting to a fever pitch. It strikes somewhere deep inside you. Blinding ecstasy swallows you whole. It’s cataclysmic. Bliss surges through your veins. “Oh, fuck me,” you choke out, arching off the bed. Your body's wracked with spasms. It's the hardest you've ever come in your life, and you hate that he's the reason for it.

Beginning and end — everything in between, and all at once — he's there. Simon continues, even after you ride out the rest of the orgasm, working you through the entirety of it – a mercy that he grants you for your earlier penitence until you're spent and oversensitive. It's charity. He's just that generous.

"Fuckin'... just drippin' all over my fingers," he growls, "can't wait to see what kind of a mess you make on my cock. I'm gonna ruin you."

"Yeah?" you say, in between shuddering breaths.

"Mm."

You've gotten what you wanted from him already, so a vain attempt to save face: "Do your worst."

The switch is instant. His eyes flash to yours in warning. "How many times am I gonna have to prove you wrong today?"

That same smile again, the one that spells trouble –  it's what started this in the first place. “However long it takes until you make me cry, maybe.”

[theladyofbloodshed]

Hunt x Nesta - Chapter 8

The sounds of the shower roused Hunt from sleep. Since Nesta had discovered that her cell could access music at any moment, she was unstoppable. A symphony blasted through the wall; violins were reaching their crescendo alongside a barrage of brass instruments that were accompanied by a flurry of percussion. Then the cannons came as she turned off the shower.

Releasing a groan, he rolled onto his side to check his cell. Eight messages. All from Nesta at various points in the morning whilst he still slept. Each one made him laugh.

‘Hey, when you text, you don’t need to write an address line or a sign off. I know it’s from you because I have your contact saved,’ he explained as she entered with a towel wrapped around her body.

‘What do you mean?’

Hunt motioned for her cell that was churning out another classical song. ‘What am I saved as?’

Nesta paused the music. ‘I don’t know. Plus five zero five eight two-’

He yelped like he’d been shot and threw himself down. ‘You didn’t even save my number? Do I mean nothing?’

‘I don’t know how.’

With Ruhn’s number, he showed Nesta how to save it. He pulled a photo from the web of Ruhn being arrested before he was legal to drink – of course, his daddy had the charges scrubbed but the photo remained – and saved him as the Prince of Pricks.

‘There, now try with me.’

A devious smile flitted over her lovely face as she stood in the middle of the room typing at the speed of a snail.

‘That index finger is getting quite a workout,’ he commented.

Surprising him, she raised her middle finger.

For the second time that morning, Hunt collapsed back onto the pillows, laughter rumbling out of him. ‘Who the Hel taught you that?’

‘We have that in my world.’ She flashed the phone towards him.

His contact name had been updated to Orion Athalar – my favourite angel along with as many emojis as the name would allow. The picture was of him shirtless with ridiculously fluffy wings.

‘You said you’d deleted those, liar.’

‘I’m leaving today. I need a memory to keep.’

‘You’re taking the cell with you to plug in where exactly?’

Nesta shrugged and pressed it to her chest. ‘I will invent electricity in my world so I can always look at these photographs.’

There was no doubt in his mind that Nesta could do anything that she set her mind to. He couldn’t help but wonder what sort of person she’d be if she stayed in Lunathion. They’d stayed up late in each other’s arms talking for hours; Nesta had wanted to know everything about him and the land she was leaving behind. They’d talked about university for over an hour with Nesta needing to know what could be studied, what the fees were, who could study, when it could be studied, and what happened upon graduation. Hunt had listened to her talk about Prythian but most of it left him seething. Nesta couldn’t tell him anything about the place she lived because they stuck her in a fucking house and cut off her funds so that she was entirely dependent on the king and his lackey. That one, Cassian, he’d quite like to meet so he could knock him into next week. She’d grown upset when she talked of her sister whose pregnancy would cause her death. Beyond kidnapping a couple of surgeons and a midwife, Hunt didn’t know what to do to help. The male, Cassian, who forced her on a hike as punishment for telling her sister the truth deserved to be punched. He didn’t like any of these fae males, but this one sounded like the worst.

He'd even come clean about Micah and the awful things he did to inch towards freedom. In a way, Hunt wanted her to be repulsed or to pull away then at least it would soften the blow of her departure. But this damn female just said that she understood why he did it and held him a little tighter.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’

Nesta snickered. ‘Don’t tempt me, Hunt.’

It wouldn’t be that hard to adjust. He’d grown up in a time when technology was near enough non-existent then emerged from a dungeon and everybody had cell phones or were driving cars. He’d cope again going backwards. Anything was possible with her at his side. But maybe Hunt would cause a few too many fights with the fae that ruled her.

‘Just stop letting them put you in danger and using you. Or I’ll fly all the way there and kick their asses.’

Hunt sat her down on the edge of the bed to start drying her hair. She was nervous about him doing it although he thought he did a fabulous job of his own. Truly, he was desperate to do it. Nesta was leaving back to a world where the male that she was tangled with didn’t seem to care for her at all. He needed to show her that males could be gentle – that it was a choice not to be caring. He wanted to dry her hair and take care of her because that was a male’s duty – not fucking her then leaving with his seed still dripping from her.

Vik was expecting them when Hunt took Nesta through a private entrance into the Comitium that was strictly for workers only. Worker was laughable. The slave’s entrance was a better name for it.

‘The sword and the Harp as promised. And I don’t need to remind either of you that it would be a good idea for Nesta to return today, do I?’

‘No, mom,’ Hunt replied, kicking her boot lightly.  

‘And I needn’t advise you that walking through Lunathion with a sword will likely have you arrested.’

Hunt frowned. ‘Danika Fendyr and Ruhn Danaan do it.’

‘They’re leaders of the aux and will be the heads of their species one day,’ Vik said.

Sensing Hunt was about to argue with Vik, Nesta rested a hand on his forearm. ‘I’d rather spend my last hours here with you rather than in an interrogation room.’

‘I’d still be there. We can play cops and robbers.’

‘Gross,’ muttered Vik before she turned back to her computer.

For once, Nesta had left most of her hair down. She’d pulled it from her temples with a twist and a couple of hair pins. Paired with a pale blue summer dress, she was utterly stunning. But his dreams of strolling through Lunathion with her again hit a snag when Micah’s name flashed on his cell.

‘You should answer that,’ she said, peering at the name.

‘I want this day with you.’

Nesta pushed the phone towards him. ‘I’d be glad for time with my thoughts. Answer that. Do whatever it is you need to do. We can meet later.’

‘I’ll fly those to the hotel,’ he said, gesturing to her returned items.

Nesta kissed his fingers then strode into the sun, hips swaying as she went.

***

How many different ways could Nesta try to convince Hunt to leave with her – or for him to ask her to stay. She didn’t want to impose. She’d done that enough already on his life. But if Hunt asked her to stay… No, she couldn’t. Feyre was dying. What sort of sister would she be if she left her in those final moments?

Nesta sighed.

The same sister they all believed her to be; worthless, spoilt, and needing redemption.

A shadow bumped into her arm then a figure took up the seat beside her on the bench. Ruhn Danaan wore his typical black jeans and t-shirt with a pair of sunglasses to protect his hungover eyes from the bright sunlight.

‘It’s very loud,’ he said, wincing.

Children were playing at the park where Nesta’s feet had taken her to. Their squeals and joy made her think of the children who never stood a chance in Prythian; the ones who were exposed to war, Illyrian girls who were clipped and beaten.

‘I didn’t think you would come.’

‘And miss the chance to say goodbye?’

Following Hunt’s advice, Nesta had sent a text that merely asked Ruhn to meet her – and she received a reply asking who it was in return. Then another saying if they had once had a date, he wasn’t the sort of guy to want to settle down and he was sorry.

‘I need to return this.’ Nesta held out Tristan Flynn’s credit card. ‘I’d like to keep the cell phone. If that’s alright.’

‘Of course you can. Flynn will be devastated you gave this to me and not him.’

A messenger otter scurried along then stopped in front of Ruhn, brandishing a letter. Nesta couldn’t stop her fawning.

‘Tharion Ketos. What a weasel,’ he muttered, pocketing the letter.

‘I wish we had those.’

‘Mer?’

Nesta tutted. ‘Otters. We have otters, but not ones that wear little jackets and deliver letters.’

Ruhn gave a slight laugh then folded his arms over his chest. He looked at her, really looked at her. ‘You don’t want to go back, do you?’

Everything suddenly felt hot and painful. Nesta tipped her face upwards, blinking as quickly as she could to keep from crying. Ruhn stroked her bare arm.

‘I can’t sugar coat it. My father will not stop until he finds out who you are. You’re technically under his jurisdiction as one of the fae. Hunt is a slave – there isn’t much he can do for you. If Micah sells his ass to Sandriel, he won’t be here.’ Ruhn winced. ‘Is it really better here for you than there?’

Yes, she thought. Because I can be somebody here. I can study and learn and be my own person without history trailing me. And I’d have Hunt.

‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I know I have to.’

‘Let me walk you back to your hotel at least.’

Despite the beauty of the day, Nesta had gone cold and hollow with every step closer to the hotel.

Nesta steeled her wounded heart. She held the pieces together even if they felt like they would shatter from the force. It wasn’t fair.

‘How much would it cost to buy Hunt?’

Ruhn let out a whistle. ‘The Umbra Mortis?’

‘What if I offered my Harp or my sword?’

‘It might sweeten the deal but Hunt Athalar is one of a kind.’

Visions of her putting on the Mask or Crown and forcing Micah to release Hunt to her came to Nesta. It was a bad idea, but a tempting one. There had to be some way for them to be together. Maybe destiny was forged by their own hands.

‘That Harp of yours,’ Ruhn said. ‘It wouldn’t be related to the Horn, would it?’

‘Why would it be?’

Ruhn shrugged. ‘It’s just that the Horn went missing the other day. I came to see you just afterwards and you looked pretty panicked. Then Athalar appeared looking sweaty just after there was a freak lightning storm at Luna’s Temple.’

‘How odd.’

‘Odd indeed.’

On an instinct, Ruhn grabbed the strap of her dress with two fingers at the edge of a busy road without a crossing. Nesta hadn’t quite mastered it yet, but she knew not to walk out now – but his care was appreciated.

‘I heard it’s broken anyway,’ Nesta said with an airy tone. ‘It wouldn’t be any use to the person who now has it.’

‘Unless they knew how to create Made items like a magic sword that doesn’t like me.’

‘What would it mean if there was somebody in Lunathion who could create Made items – theoretically, Ruhn?’

The hotel came into view and they slowed their pace to finish their theoretical conversation. Ruhn pretended to stroke an imaginary beard then slung an arm around her as they walk so he could lean towards her ear and speak in a whisper.  

‘If the Asteri knew there was somebody with those powers in Lunathion, they’d be the public’s most wanted. And Hunt Athalar would be ordered to bring them in dead or alive. I don’t think that theoretical person would want the Umbra Mortis in that situation, would they?’

There was no telling if Hunt could disobey direct orders although she knew he’d try. For her, he’d try. And she couldn’t do that to him.

At the doors to the hotel, they stopped opposite each other. Amidst the vibrant colours of his tattoos, Nesta could make out damaged, scarred skin.

‘I’m sorry that it can’t be the way you want it.’

Nesta offered a half-smile that felt like a veneer slapped over a rotting foundation. ‘Do any of us ever get what we deserve?’

‘Maybe in another life.’

This was her other life, her other chance. When Ruhn embraced her, she didn’t know how to respond because the males here treated her with kindness without expectation.

‘I’ll tell Flynn you love him. He can peddle that story about unrequited love to simpering females.’

‘Goodbye Ruhn.’

***

Five names. Five names for him to kill.

Hunt felt sick from it. Sick with himself. Because five on one night was more names than he usually had in half a year. He shouldn’t rejoice in death, but it would shave off a little more of his debt.

He was wrong for it. Wrong for being glad that he could exchange a life for his debt.

Nesta deserved better than that. Better than a slave. A killer. A worthless male.

When he met her in the hotel room, he didn’t mention that he could smell Ruhn Danaan on her clothes despite her desire to spend time alone. He’d let her keep that secret if he could keep his. She might have held him last night and waved away his debt to Micah as something he couldn’t control, but it was Hunt’s action that led him to this point. Nobody forced him to lead a rebellion. And it wasn’t just killing. A single bullet to the head was merciful; the sorts of death Micah had him enact would send Nesta running from him.

Hunt bundled up his grief and disgust. He could hold it back for a few hours. Give her a good few hours before she returned. Let Nesta go home beneath a golden sky rather than his storm.

‘I did something. I think.’

Nesta held out the Horn to him which was glowing with an iridescent light. Faintly, he could feel a thrum of magic through his core.

‘How?’

‘The sword is a Made item. Made by me. I was Made by the Cauldron then took its power.’ Nesta swallowed then looked at him. ‘I fixed it Hunt. It can open to new worlds. It’s a safer bet than the Harp. I fixed it.’

‘If anybody could fix a relic that is thousands of years old, it would be you,’ he said, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone.

Every now and then, a silver flame would skitter across the instrument that she clutched in her hands. The Harp would hum in unison with it. Whoever – whatever – Nesta was, Hunt didn’t care.

‘Are you going to blow it?’

Despite her nod, Nesta didn’t move for a while, just stared at him with wide eyes.

‘It’s alright if you’re scared. I’ll be with you.’ He kissed her forehead and the Horn buzzed between them like a hornet. ‘I’m talking to Nesta, not you.’

*** ‘Ready?’ She wanted Hunt to call it off, to tell her to stay at his side until the stars fell. No matter his warnings about the Asteri or Micah or the Autumn King, none of it could be as bad as what was waiting for her in Prythian. A vengeful queen, a sister who was to die, and a high lord who only wanted her to suffer. It didn’t matter what danger she faced in Lunathion because with Hunt at her side, anything was possible. There was no storm they couldn’t weather together.

Hunt squeezed her knee. ‘Ready. To the stars.’

Pursing her lips, Nesta touched the horn to her lips and blew.

A pathetic, raspberry echoed through the horn.

She glanced at Hunt, heat building in her cheeks, and saw that he was screwing his face up. After a moment, he burst into riotous laughter.

‘What was that?’ He asked between his booming laugh.

She found herself laughing in answer, infected by his merriment. ‘I’ve never blown a horn before. I don’t know how to do it.’

Hunt slapped his thigh, trying to right himself. ‘Not like that!’

The pair of them lost it. Whatever tension had been clinging to the room soon evaporated as Nesta tried again and again to put her lips towards the horn. Each time she pouted or made a trumpeting noise, Hunt roared with laughter, setting her off too.

‘Stop looking at me because you’re putting me off.’

Tears rolled down Hunt’s cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut although a large grin spread across his handsome face.

Nesta pulled out her phone and searched how to blow a horn. In a world where knowledge was at her fingertips, it seemed terribly wasteful not to utilise it.

‘Maybe the Horn is still broken, Starlight.’

But it couldn’t be because her magic had been drawn to it and the Horn had been buzzing with possibilities since.

‘I can do it,’ she insisted.

‘I know you can,’ he replied, touching her leg again. ‘Not looking again.’

Easing out a breath, Nesta formed her lips in the shape her cell phone told her to. A low, well-held note emitted from the top of the horn.

Hunt whispered her name.

Near the wall, a great portal had opened, its edges rimmed with her silver flames. Rather than offering a view of Crescent City, Nesta saw into the library in the House of Wind. There was her favoured arm chair with the foot rest pulled close by. A little stack of books that she’d pulled out a couple of weeks earlier was upon the three-legged table.

‘You did it,’ he praised, stroking her cheek. ‘Is there anything you can’t do, you wonderful girl?’

Nesta grasped for him, too emotional to speak. Her hands reached for his face, pulling it to hers to kiss one final time. Strands of his hair fell onto her cheek as they kissed and she stretched out a hand to brush the inside of his wing one last time.

‘Mother above, what the fuck.’

She leapt away from Hunt, startled by the voice.

Lucien Vanserra stood in the library opposite them, peering into the hotel room, a full cup and saucer held in his hand.

Hunt braced his legs then lightning wreathed his body.

‘No,’ Nesta urged. ‘This is my sister’s mate.’

His voice took on a lethal edge. ‘This is Rhysand?’

‘Definitely not,’ called Lucien.

‘Elain’s mate. The eye.’

‘The eye,’ confirmed Hunt, finally taking in the golden eye and the scar rippling down Lucien’s face which was paler than usual.

‘We thought you were dead or kidnapped or trapped in the Prison.’

‘Surprise,’ Hunt said drily.

They passed the bag through first to test it. Lucien, baffled and muttering to himself, waited on the Prythian side to accept it. Maybe it was odd to keep all of the clothes from Lunathion as they’d have no place, but Nesta didn’t want to part with anything from her week there. Everything was taken from her in the war, so she wanted to keep this.

When the Harp and Atraxia were passed through safely, she said it was her turn.

The portal was too high for her step through easily so Hunt lifted her over it and Lucien, gingerly, accepted her on the other side, lowering her to the floor as if she was a sack of potatoes.

‘I think if I blow the Horn again, it will close it.’

She lifted it near to her lips. ‘Don’t make me laugh this time.’

���It’s my last chance. I have to,’ Hunt insisted, brown eyes sparkling with joy.

But when Nesta did press the Horn closer, the amusement drained from Hunt’s expression, accepting it was the end.

A single note emitted and the flames collapsed in on themselves, leaving Nesta with a view of the tall windows in the library. She dropped the Horn then sank to her knees and wept.

[mypoisonedvine]

hey jd, how do we feel about aemond finding out that aegon put his hands on you? granted, you’re just a servant girl and it’s not the first time he’s harassed the help, but what would happen? huh? 👀 -@pluvialpoet

word count: 2.2k

warnings: implied/vaguely described smut, implied SA of some kind, hurt/comfort, brief suicidal ideation, heavy angst, friends to lovers, way too much wholesomeness, not exactly breeding kink but mentions of pregnancy/babies

"I'll fucking kill him," Aemond decided. "I finally will, I'll do it."

"No, you won't," you sighed as you rested your hands on his shoulders. "That wouldn't do anyone any good."

"It would do me some fucking good," he insisted, nostrils flaring and uncovered eye wide with fire, "knowing that no man who has touched you lives."

"He did it to anger you, Aemond," you explained flatly, holding on tighter to him and trying not to notice the way it made your broken heart race. "Don't give in to him— you'd only be giving him what he wants." Just as I did... but I had no choice.

He looked away quickly, so you couldn't see his eye at all, and for a second you thought he might be getting choked up. "So it is my fault, then," he realised.

"No!" you yelped. "No, I didn't mean—"

"He knows that I care for you," Aemond whispered shakily. "Better than I do, he knows, and he wants to use you to hurt me. It's why I never..."

He swallowed, turning away from you, and you reached up to his shoulder. "I thought you would tell me anything, Aemond. Tell me."

It was a promise you'd made well over a decade ago, when you were just children. That was when it all started: this bizarre, impossible friendship. Back then, it didn't seem so strange to you that a servant girl and the prince could be friends, but the longer it went on, the more you both became aware of how forbidden it all really was. It never stopped you, though. Yes, it made you more cautious— only meeting in dark, quiet places, or secluded corners of the gardens— but it never made you any less close. He shared with you the fears, the dreams, the prayers he could not tell his own family; and you, just the same, though you had no family left after your mother succumbed to illness. Even the other servants didn't approve of your friendship with the prince, so you had to hide it from them at well— if they suspected he favoured you in any way, they would exploit you at best, or take some kind of revenge at worst. Still, he snuck into the kitchens when you were cooking to steal bites of fruit and cheese while he talked to you; still, you scrubbed the floors by his chambers in the morning just in case he wanted to come out and sit down nearby, leaning against the wall and giving you advice on the latest dilemma of your life (of which you had several, often one after the other if not overlapping).

That promise to tell each other anything, and everything, you made it in a tree in the gardens. He loved to climb as a boy, and you couldn't keep up but he always held your hand when you were afraid to fall. That was your tree, and it was where you found him, crying, after he'd seen the scar over his eye for the first time. He'd kept a brave face about it all— about the bullying, about his fear he'd never have a dragon of his own, about how angry and terrified he was about what had happened to his face— from the beginning. He didn't even let his mother in on the truth of his feelings, telling her not to be upset about his eye because he wasn't, either. But the lie of indifference that he'd so carefully constructed fell apart in a moment when the healers showed him the barely-healed scar. He climbed your tree alone, to the highest branch, and sobbed— which, by the way, was excruciating with his wound— as he wondered if he should pitch himself from his height and hope it was enough to end everything.

But when he looked down at the ground again, you were standing in the middle of the green grass, staring up at him. "I'm cross with you!" you informed him plainly, balling up your little fists and shouting.

He sniffled and wiped his eye quickly, covering the other with the patch the healers had given him— he didn't want you to see him like this, he didn't want anyone to see him like this. "With me?" he repeated with a shaky voice. "What... what did I do?"

"You climbed our tree by yourself!"

He laughed a little, even through the tears. "I found this tree first," he reminded you proudly, "I showed it to you! I said, look at this tree I found."

"Yes, but it's our tree now," you explained, "and you shouldn't be in it by yourself. I can't get up there without your help!"

Rolling his eye to feign irritation with your ineptitude, he navigated himself down a bit until he could reach out for your hand and help pull you up. When you were sitting together among the branches, you eventually coaxed the truth out of him, about everything he'd been afraid to admit to anyone. He seemed to think he would be fearless if he simply told no one what he was really afraid of; but that hadn't worked, had it? The boys still taunted him for having no dragon, and he still lost his eye. The only thing that had changed was that he had to go it all alone. Until now.

"You have to promise not to hide anything from me again," you decided. "We have to tell each other everything. Even the things we're scared to tell anybody... that's the stuff that matters most, anyway."

"Okay," he agreed. "How are we going to swear on it?"

You tilted your head in confusion.

"We have to swear on something," he decided, "or it's just something we're saying."

"I'll swear on my life," you decided. "I'll die before I ever hide something from you, or tell you a lie."

He seemed hesitant. "Can I hide one thing from you, at least?"

"No!"

He frowned. "At least let me wait to show you."

He reached up to the patch shakily, and you realised what it was he wanted to hide. "Okay... that can wait, until it's healed better. But you need to swear on your life!"

"All right! I will!" he groaned, frustrated by your insistence. "I swear, on my life, I'll tell you everything from now on. And never lie to you."

"Or you'll die," you added, smiling with a grin that was missing a tooth or two that had fallen out recently.

"Or I'll die," he agreed. For the first time since he saw that scar, he didn't want to die.

But even then, you couldn't have known how much more complicated things would become. Now you were grown— faster than you should've been— and Aegon, jealous of the affection you shared, had tried to spoil it all. It was the first time since you made that promise that you really considered hiding something from Aemond, being both ashamed of what had occurred and terrified of how your best friend would react.

"Please, tell me," you begged him as your hand held tighter onto his shoulder.

He almost scared you with how fast he turned around, how he clutched your arms and yet couldn't look you in the face. "I never told anyone," he whispered harshly, "how I felt about you. I never wanted to break our promise— it was just to keep you safe, I need you to be safe, do you understand?"

Though you had to bite your lip to keep it from quivering, you nodded.

"But if he knows..."

Your eyes welled with tears, trying not to see Aegon's face in your mind, the horrible way he'd looked at you.

"I should tell you," Aemond decided. "I should tell you that I've fallen in love with you."

Before you could properly react to that, his hands clutched your face and wiped the tear that had begun to run down your cheek.

"He hates me for it," Aemond continued. "He hates that I'm in love with a servant girl and he can't even love his own wife. He hates us because he'll never know what we share. And he must have thought that if he forced himself on you, that he would understand, that he could know what kind of love we have. But he can't imagine that it's your mind I love, not your body. He can't imagine the beauty of your heart."

Crying harder, you reached up to hold onto his wrists. "Aemond..." you whispered.

"If you don't love me, don't tell me yet," he pleaded. "You can break our promise, just this once. Let me imagine for a night that I haven't ruined everything."

You pulled your hands away and plunged forward, slamming your lips onto his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He widened his eyes for a second before kissing you back, delicately holding your waist to keep you close. It was tender and sweet, even as you struggled to stop crying from the overwhelming emotion of the moment.

When you broke away, he pressed his forehead to yours, and you both shut your eyes. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you," he added, and you smiled.

"Weren't you afraid to die?" you joked.

"It felt like dying," he replied, opening his eyes again and examining you. "Having you so close, but not in the way I wanted... being able to keep you near but never hold you... it was worse than death, at times. I never wanted anyone to touch you but me."

Sighing shakily, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears louder than your own voice when you spoke. "Then touch me," you breathed. "I want you to."

His grip tightened on your waist, thumb petting your back, and you looked up at him expectantly. "My brother..." he trailed off. "I don't want to be like him. I don't want it to... be like that."

"It won't," you promised, "you're nothing like him. I want you to touch me, Aemond, please— I want to forget. Make me forget any touch but yours."

Pulling your body into his, guiding your head to tilt back, he kissed you again— deeper, hungrier, still slow but with this growing sense of desperation between the both of you.

He took you to the garden that night, pressed you up against your tree, and claimed you in the way you'd dreamed he would for years. He did more than make you forget Aegon, he made you forget everything that wasn't this moment; he held onto you so tightly and promised to never let you go, told you how beautiful you'd become, admitted how many years he'd spent longing for you but hiding his true feelings. You had so many things you wanted to say in return, but you were entirely lost for words the whole night— all you could do was cling to him and whine his name and run your fingers through his silky silver hair.

You spent the whole night in his arms; even when the sun was beginning to rise over the garden, he brought you to his chambers and took you once again there. Needless to say, he was exhausted after that, and passed out beside you on the mattress when he finally decided he couldn't go again. You were tired, too, but you couldn't sleep— you were so full of joy and excitement that you stayed awake and laid beside him, petting his hair and scratching his head and back as he slept. You didn't mean to wake him when you kissed his arm, but he turned and looked at you with a small smile. "Good morning," he mumbled in a deep, scratchy voice.

"It's well into the afternoon," you reminded him with a giggle. "You've slept all day."

He gave you a mischievous smirk as he pulled you closer, scooping you up into his arms and pressing your back to his chest. "Well, when you make love all night, that's the consequence, it seems," he explained.

His hand that held your chest moved down to your stomach, just under your belly button, and held you there as he leaned in closer to kiss your ear softly.

"There could be other consequences," he noticed.

You swallowed nervously. "Yes," you agreed, "but I could drink—"

"No," he interrupted, though he softened a second later. "I wish you wouldn't, at least not every time... I want it to take."

Your heart swelled. "But Aemond, you're a prince," you blurted out, looking over your shoulder at him, "and I'm only—"

"And you're my beloved," he whispered back, caressing your cheek with his hand and smiling at you. "And our child would be beautiful."

You smiled shyly, turning your body completely so you could hide your face in his neck. "Our child would be a bastard," you warned him.

"Our child would be a prince," he corrected, "our child would be made in love. Would you like that?"

You nodded against him, and he smiled as he kissed the top of your head. Finally, the need to sleep caught up with you after being up for so long; you ached inside and out, and with your head on his chest your eyes started to get heavier. You slept like you never had before, not because of the exhaustion— but because you'd never felt so safe.

[p0ssywhippedcream]

I'm back again! So for me, all the one-shots where Percy is being a shit to y/n are like a series of  a toxic relationship, and I WANT HIM TO SUFFER SO BAD. It could be because I despise assholes or because he reminds me too much of my shitty ex (Percy, I adore you, but this is personal now).

Yes, my ex wasn't over his ex while being with me and told me that he preferred to still have the 140 pictures (yes, I remember this detail) of her than be with me.

Like I said before, I would love fluff, but I need vengeance! I NEED IT!

So please, I beg you! Write something that will fulfill my soul; I know you can. I only want him to pay, nothing else.

Love, THE Anon 🧚

I've tried to figure out how to say "fuck your ex" in a creative way but low-key im too tired he's just a douche n im so happy you know you deserve better n you're not with him!!! Also I wrote this sleep deprived on a 8 hour flight n actually kinda hate it but I promised so I deliver.

48 times. 48 times Percy’s called you and 48 times you haven’t picked up. It’s been about two weeks since you left and he hasn’t heard a lick of you, complete silence on your end.

For a while he respected the wall you’d put up, only because he didn’t miss what was behind it. He had Annabeth, his best friend and he didn’t need you.

Then earlier, he was doing the dishes with his mom. She was drying and he was washing and maybe he would’ve noticed her silence sooner if he wasn’t zeroed in on scrubbing off a chunk of fried egg.

When he finally looked up, Percy noticed her staring out the window with the look she only got when she was thinking of his dad and nudged her gently.

“Mom?”

Sally turned and met his questioning gaze. Her eyes were less sad, more reminiscent.

“Sometimes I just wonder, what it would have been like if he stayed.”

Percy nods, thinking of the man in the next room who stepped in the empty role his father left behind.

“I love Paul, my life now, but I just know that... maybe if he tried a little harder, you could have had it a little easier… I won’t ever forget the love I had for him because it gave me you, but I don’t think I’ll ever forgive it either.”

And now he’s sitting on his bed, slumped over his phone with so many wonders. Could you ever forgive him? Why was it so easy to let you go if it hurts so bad now? 

He calls you again, gets your up-beat ringtone and can’t help the surge of anger. It’s misdirected, you don’t deserve it and it immediately returns full force his way with a guilt tenfold.

So he calls you again and you tell him to leave a message at the beep. He hangs up before he can hear it.

His thumb hovers over the little phone on his screen, 50 times is pushing it.

He gives you a break, and waits, and waits, and waits.

And an hour later, his phone rings and he practically pounces on the device. It’s your smiling face shining up at him and your concerned voice echoing when he picks up.

“Percy? You okay? What’s going on?”

“I-I’m okay, I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Percy,” You sigh, “I was seriously freaked out, I thought you might be dying or something.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

He heard you take a breath, holding one of his own.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I’m- I’m sorry. I’m really sorry and really stupid and I should’ve apologized so much sooner.”

“Yeah, I know.” He winces, “Anything else?” 

“Annabeth doesn’t mean anything to me that way, it’s you. It’s always been you and I’ve been too blind to see the obvious. I thought I needed her still because I knew I could never ask you to be what she was.”

You don’t say anything, he’s compelled to go on but a little scared he’s already messed up.

“Percy, there’s so much wrong with everything you just said but I don’t have the energy to correct you. I’m tired, it’s been a long day and I really just can’t do this, okay?”

“Wait, p-please,” His voice cracks and he makes no attempt to cover it. “Can you just listen to me?”

“No, I can’t. When I said I was done, I meant it. Don’t call me again.”

And with that, the phone call is over. The dial tone is a harsh contrast to your soft voice, it breaks his heart a little more. He misses you a little more when he pulls the phone away from his ear and sees what he could have had in your profile picture. He hates himself a little more when the next number he’s calling is Annabeth’s and she’s picking up with a care in her tone he only wants to hear from you.

[darkstrawberrytimetravel]

Why don't you just give in? Pt.2

Fem reader

Pt.1

You

He's looking skinny, or as skinny as a man who's resembled a brick shithouse for the last two decades can be, less toned I suppose more lean. I watch as he turns away, the t-shirt he's wearing allowing for more creases, bagginess. He's forgone his mask, not that he needs it. He needs a shave instead, he almost resembles his Captain with that growth. His dirty blonde hair now sun bleached in parts and his tan somewhat deeper.

You know you want to run your fingers through it, feel the short hairs against the pads of your fingers as your hand moves against the grain. The last time you did that his hands were- My thoughts are both rudely and thankfully interrupted.

“Ohhh blimey you see the lads? Who's that with the scraggly face? The tall one?” I hear Laura beside me. Instantly the table I'm seated at falls into hushed gossip, as they always do when they see the task force. The SAS lads are a common sight around here, but the more specialist unit within it still garners mystique, enthusiastic and borderline obsessive gossip whenever they grace us with their presence.

“Ghost… you really don't recognise him without that rag on his face?” I murmur as I look down and bring my mug of coffee to my lips. Ghost... I still hate that callsign. Nickname. The lore. I mean I know how fucking vicious and brutal he can be. It's not learnt or adaptive behaviour since joining the military. As usual the table descends into the usual gossip, the girls wanting to follow them to the pub they'll inevitably end up at later on. Such is the routine when they land back on home turf, especially since they've clearly been gone a while. Eat, drink, fuck, repeat.

I zone out, leaving the others to continue their usual shite when they talk about the lads. Finishing up, I stand with my tray and head to the tray return carts, Laura shouts and tells me I will be joining them tonight and that it's final. Fuckin’ a! Wherever the lads will be, so will we, the sodding groupies they are. Though it won't take much to be out the way, they're only headed to a pub. No need to dress to impress.

Walking away from my table I steel myself, walking past Riley and his lot. I resist the urge to gob in his food, as usual. I would have done it years ago, but I've risen above that version of myself. I do however afford a quick glance down and I'm met with ochre orbs, his ochre eyes. This time I yield and look away, not wanting to walk into someone with a tray full leftover dinner.

Later I find myself freshly showered, the weather keeps flip-flopping so I decide on shorts with a tank and a hoodie with my favourite trainers. It's still warm and humid enough to warrant the summer gear, but as August stretches through to September there's a chill in the air. I look at myself in the mirror, my hair tousled and low key smokey eyes. I almost feel like I should scrub the makeup off, I'm in my mid thirties, why am I dressing like I'm fifteen years younger.

We all bundle in the taxi for fifteen minutes it takes for us to get to the town centre in Hereford. I listen as the others plan and scheme where the lads are, I give the usual non committal noises they'd expect but eventually I put my proverbial foot down. “Look, I don't want to spend all night with you lot drooling over them. We'll get pre-drinks at The Queen's Arms, some of you will get a quickie I'm sure, and then we should go somewhere better to spend our time.”

I'm met with eye rolls and smirks, it's no secret I'm not enthralled by the lads on the task force, and even under duress when plied with copious drinks I've still not spilt the beans. Finally the taxi pulls over and we hop out, the fare being prepaid since it was a group booking. I stay behind to organise a return journey later before following the girls into the pub. We're met with a wall of sound, almost raucous, as we filter in and find a table. I see Riley actually enjoying himself around the pool table for once.

Pt.3

[kitashousewife]

we're in trouble now

an: Halloween vibes? but not really? idk sort of kind of based on bad, bad, bad by LANY

pairings: geto x fem!reader

warnings: MANGA SPOILERS (vol 0, geto's past/high school years) mentions of: killing, curses, death, blood, police, crime, throwing up/gagging. sorcerer au, reader is not a sorcerer. established relationship, pet names, angst to comfort kinda? geto is just a little troubled, lowercase intentional

-

geto has been...off lately. and you're not sure why. he's been coming home later and later each night, causing you to lie awake in your shared bed, staring up at the ceiling, worried out of your mind.

it must be his job.

you've been dating for three years now. you knew before you started to date that he was a jujutsu sorcerer. he told you one night at the fanciest restaurant in tokyo, flushed cheeks and stuttering over his words. you couldn't care less, though. if anything, it was fucking hot to have a sorcerer as a boyfriend.

his job never got in the way of anything, though. he had amazing friends, who you've spent lots of time with. he was always home before dinner, never leaving on missions any longer than two days, even offering to take you along.

the last time that happened was about five months ago.

now it's 3:30 am, and you've found yourself in bed by yourself. again. calling him again, the line goes to voicemail almost instantly. you huff and throw your phone on the bed, watching it bounce before it lands face up. to your surprise, he's calling you back. rushing over, you leap onto the mattress, answering as quickly as possible.

"s-sugu? baby, are you alright?" your voice shakes. you're not sure why your chest feels so tight, why your breaths seem harder and harder to take.

geto feels the same way. he always does after he finishes off another one.

phone between his ear and shoulder, geto stands in front of a public restroom sink, scrubbing his hands for the third time in a row. the cheap soap does nothing to get rid of the blood that stains his fingers, deep in every crevice of his skin. looking at himself in the mirror, he feels an incredible sense of guilt.

"yeah, i'm fine baby. hey can you do me a favor, sweetheart?"

you can hear his voice echoing, almost as if he's in a pool.

"s-sure, where are you?"

geto feels guilty. he doesn't mean for you to be this upset. he also doesn't want to lie to you.

the four bodies behind him in the open stall are making it a little tough.

"oh i've just been finishing up work," one of the bodies, eyes still open, stare right at geto through the reflection of the mirror as he speaks. "i'll be home soon though, darling. i promise."

he hits mute as a shaky sigh leaves his lips. he peeks at his reflection once more, watching as the shirt worn by one of the dead bodies soaks up more blood. one of the bodies lets out a liquidy gurgle that echos off the tile walls. geto can almost see the last bit of life escape them, floating up into the air to join the rest of those that died the same way these ones did.

"what was the favor you needed?"

geto feels sick now. your voice so sweet, so innocent and airy. he can't you're with someone like him.

a killer.

sneaking out of the bathroom and to his car, he unmutes himself.

"could you grab a couple suitcases from the closet? pack up enough for a few days, and could you pack a little for me as well?" he buckles himself in and just as he starts his car, the sound of sirens appear in the distance.

"yeah, i can do that," you stand up, heart still racing. did you have a trip planned?

turning down different back alleys, stalling for a second as the sirens get closer, geto takes a deep breath.

"you're an angel. i'll be there soon. i love you, my perfect girl."

you end the call and begin to do as you were asked. filling the suitcases as quick as you can, you don't pay much attention to the outfits you've created. you don't even know where you're going, anyway. you smile, picturing in your mind a quick little getaway for the two of you. sightseeing, sleeping in, and spending time away from work.

you still feel a little off.

where was he?

the door bursts open, presenting a very flustered geto. his bun is almost out, dark tresses barely hanging at the nape of his neck. the pieces that fell out stick to his face from what looks like sweat. his pupils are blown wide, mouth slightly agape as he breathes heavily. you drop the t-shirt of his out of your hands and scramble to your feet.

"s-sugu? oh my god, what happened to you? did you get mugged? d-did someone try to kill you? oh my god," you gasp, hands reaching for every part of his body to make sure he was in one piece.

geto swallows back the guilt induced vomit that sits at the back of his throat. "no, baby, not at all," he coos down at you, but his eyes look anywhere but your face. they check each window and door, before eyeing the suitcases. "thank you so much for doing this. we're going away for a few days, is that alright?" he says with a smile. cupping your face ever so lightly with his slightly stained fingers. he's thankful you forgot to turn on the lights.

"of course, suguru. are we going far? let me make something to eat," you pull him towards the kitchen, but he tugs you back.

"we can eat when we get there, i promise. let's just get going," he speaks quickly, eyes still checking the windows.

"is everything okay?" you say, copying his stares out the window. he notices and grabs his suitcase and yours, before heading towards the door. he almost throws up again, torn between telling you everything and keeping you in the dark. he swallows hard.

"the car is on, i can explain everything later. we'll be just fine, i promise." you smile, feeling a little more at ease. with a nod, you grab a jacket and head out the door.

as soon as you get to the car, geto opens the passenger door for you and puts the suitcases in the back with speed. you haven't even buckled your seatbelt by the time he starts to drive away.

"it's 4:30 am baby, we don't need to race! it's not like anyone is on the road," you laugh and reach your hand to hold his. he jumps when you touch him. "i'm sorry! i didn't mean to scare you," you mumble, and he gives you a small smile, which fades as soon as the faint sounds of sirens fill the air. his stare jumps up to the rearview mirror, and he takes a sudden sharp turn that has you jumping in your seat.

"suguru! what is going on?"

he turns down another street and speeds up a little bit.

"angel, i've gotten myself into a bit of trouble, okay? everything is gonna be just fi-"

"what did you do?" your voice is stern, but geto gives you a smile, eyes softening as he drives down a back road.

"i'll explain everything later, just like i promised. for now, i need you to trust me, okay?"

your mind and stomach scream no no no at you, but your heart takes over.

"okay, i trust you."

-

you must have fallen asleep at some point on the drive, because when you open your eyes you're met with sunshine and costal views.

"there she is, good morning darling. we're almost there."

blinking a few times and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you realize that you have pulled into a small town next to the ocean. geto appears to be more relaxed. you reach around for your phone, but you can't seem to find it.

"are you looking for your phone?" you nod. "i put it in my bag for you. i thought it would be good for us to stay off of our phones for the next couple of days. just time with each other, how does that sound?" his face beams at you from the driver's seat. you can't say no, especially not when he's being so kind and sweet.

"i think that sounds lovely."

you pull up to a motel, which looks as if it doesn't get a lot of business. you start to feel a little uneasy, and geto can sense that.

"wait right here, i'll get us checked in," he kisses your cheek and walks towards the motel office. now that you're a little more awake, you start to become hyper-aware of your surroundings. based off of the looks, you're at least four hours from home. you start to think a little more. was he running from the cops? what type of trouble is he in?

he returns quickly, room key in hand. he grabs the suitcases out of the car and you follow close behind him all the way to your room. as soon as you enter, he quickly shuts the door and locks it behind him. you have a seat on the old motel bed without a word.

feeling a little more relieved, he sighs and looks at you. worry all over your face, wringing your hands that are placed in your lap.

"isn't this nice? our own little place, right on the ocean. i know how much you love the ocean, we could even go check out the shops later!"

you don't say anything. geto begins to panic.

"are you hungry? would you like me to get some food for us? if you want, we could go-"

"why did you take me here?" your voice is nothing more than a whisper. you feel sick, you know something is terribly wrong. he kneels in front of you on the floor and grabs your hand.

"sweetheart, do you think humans are good people?"

you give him a confused look. "maybe not everyone, but most people i know are good people," you think out loud. geto's stomach feels a little uneasy.

"your asshole manager? you think that guy is a good person?"

"no, not him. but my other coworkers are great people, remember? you've met them!"

of course he has. he's been to many work dinners and events.

he also killed one of them last night, but he won't tell you that.

"darling, why do you think there is so much crime in the world? so many good people like you say, having their lives ruined by these terrible humans. wouldn't the world be a better place if they just...went away?"

your mouth opens slightly and you blink at him a few times. you start to sweat a little bit, and the room feels like it's caving in on the two of you.

"what are you suggesting?"

he comes to sit next to you on the bed and holds you in his arms.

"do you know what i do for work?"

he feels you nod into his chest. "you fight curses, right?"

"that's right. do you know why curses exist?"

you shake your head.

"because of humans. regular humans, like you, who can't fight or see curses. curses only exist because of them. they are able to flow through people and hurt them, which makes my friends and i come in to save them. that doesn't seem very fair, does it?"

you disagree. you know deep down that this isn't right, what he's implying is evil.

"w-well no, but-"

"do you know hard it is to fight curses? to even be around curses?" he stands up, voice raising. hot, angry tears fill his lash line. "do you know how disgusting my cursed technique is?"

your mouth opens and shuts, unable to form any words at all. you want to speak, but you simply cannot find the words to say. you know there is nothing. you can say to help him feel any better.

"i don't know but i want to, i want to understand you better," you mumble, lip quivering and voice cracking slightly. you feel terrible, you had no idea how much pain geto has been in. he paces back and forth in front of you, wiping his tears with his hands. suddenly he stops.

"you'll think that i'm gross, that i'm a monster," he rambles. you stand up, grabbing his hand and holding him close.

"i promise i won't. i love you,"

he takes a deep breath and backs away, leading you back to the bed to sit down. you continue to hold his hands in your own, attempting to provide any sense of comfort.

"i can summon curses. i can call them to help me fight, whenever i need them," he starts, glancing at you to see your reaction. to his surprise, you're completely neutral.

"that sounds really cool, sugu. what do they look like?" you ask, eyes wide and full of curiosity. geto can't help the smile that grows on his face at how innocent you are.

you are exactly why he wants this perfect world.

he raises his hand and a small curse appears. something kind of silly looking, much like a kids drawing with wings. you look at it for a second, before he interupts.

"can you see it?"

you nod. "that's good. some humans can see them, and some can't. this little guy is harmless," he waves his hand and the curse flies away, out the door and into the world.

"can you make bigger ones?"

he chuckles. "yes, some ten times his size, maybe even bigger. they all have different abilities, some are stronger than others," he looks at you once more, relieved to see that you're smiling.

"how do you get them, do you make them?"

geto doesn't say anything, but continues to stare at the carpet at his feet.

"i swallow them," noticing your confused face, he elaborates. "it turns into a ball, fits right in the palm of my hand, almost looks like a crystal ball," he swallows hard. "then i just...swallow it."

you nod and stroke his back. he shivers a little at the thought.

"it tastes so vile, so disgusting. i can't even describe the taste," he shakes his head, tears brimming his eyes once more. "tastes like death. which make sense," he sniffles.

"why, sugu?"

he looks at you, tears streaming down his face at this point. you brush them away with your thumb, but they keep falling.

"i'm a killer. you don't deserve me. i try to make this world a better place, one where i don't have to watch my friends die. one where i don't even have to worry about curses, one where i don't have to think about ever losing you," he raises his voice, each word coming out through choked sobs.

"i want to keep you safe. i want to be away from this, from everything. i want to protect you," he cries, and you pull him close. "god, everyone probably thinks i'm so fucked up. they probably thing im ruining your life,"

you shake your head. "people can think whatever they want." with a nod, he lays back down on the bed. you push the fallen strands out of his face, playing with them a bit to help him calm down.

"how long do you want to stay here?"

he wipes his face and props himself up on his elbows. "i dunno, couple of days at least,"

you nod. the two of you sit in silence. geto has run out of things to say, as have you.

it’s light outside, sunny and bright. the exact opposite of the mood inside of the dingy motel room. seagulls sing outside as they perch, happy tunes that almost make you laugh. you’re not sure what to think, what to feel.

“are we gonna be alright, sugu?”

he sighs. “i think so.”

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

You asked for prompts! How about Stede noticing Ed’s pearl necklace and maybe telling him how pretty he looks wearing it? Or maybe it breaks and Stede fixes it for him? Either way some excuse for Stede put it around Ed’s neck and kiss his neck or WANT to kiss his neck while he does it? Basically neck kisses or yearning please!

Yes! Yessss! Neck kisses >>>>

Send me a prompt and I'll write a 1k word fic!

--

“Oh, shit. Fuck. Shitdamn.”

Ed’s frustrated voice filtered in through the open kitchen window - that was what Stede was calling the hole in the kitchen wall they hadn’t gotten around to patching up yet - and Stede looked up from where he was trying to figure out how to debone a fish. Turned out the little fuckers had a lot of bones, and just all over the place, really.

“Ed? You alright?”

Beat.

“Uh, yeah, all good!”

Ed’s tone had been overly cheerful, in the exact way it always was when Stede knew all was most certainly not good. He’d definitely sounded upset, but he was usually pretty good at letting Stede know if he’d just accidentally hammered a finger or miscalculated something, so it had to be something more serious, then. Stede quickly washed his hands, deciding to leave the fish for later, and hurried outside to check on his boyfriend.

Ed had said he was going to be working on reinforcing the front steps, after Stede accidentally stuck his foot straight through the boards a few nights ago. What he was actually doing was sitting on the broken step, looking down at something in his hands, his shoulders very tense and his lips pursed like he was trying not to cry.

“Ed?” Stede slid down next to him on the step, and Ed quickly clenched his hand into a fist to hide what he’d been looking at. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Ed sighed, his voice small and creaky. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if you’re upset.”

His heart broke a little, as Ed’s lip wobbled, but he didn’t force it. If he was just quiet, and calm, and gave Ed time, then soon enough-

“I was taking my jacket off,” Ed started to explain, “and my necklace got caught on one of the buttons. I didn’t mean to pull it - I think I broke it.”

“Oh,” Stede said, quietly, and he held out his hand. “Can I take a look?”

Ed looked like he was halfway expecting Stede to yell at him, but he slowly let the necklace drop into Stede’s palm.

“These pearls are so lovely,” Stede said, trying to get the smile back on Ed’s face as he inspected the damage. It was a nice necklace, with a knot on either side of each pearl so they wouldn’t slide off the string even if it snapped, but Stede was relieved to see the clasp was just twisted open. Necklaces like this were delicate, so the damage looked worse than it actually was.

“They were lovely,” Ed corrected dully. “Until I ruined them. They were so nice, and now they’re fucked.”

“You didn’t ruin-”

“Probably for the best.” Ed rested his arms on his knees, hunching over to hide his face in his arms. “Needed to throw ‘em away anyway.”

Stede frowned. He reached out a gentle hand, hovering over Ed’s shoulder, and was relieved when Ed leaned sideways into his touch. “Why would you say that?”

Ed shrugged. “They were too nice for me. Was always gonna ruin them eventually.”

“Ed? Can you look at me?”

Stede waited until Ed raised his eyes, scrubbing at his cheeks with the back of his hand, and then he held up the necklace. “This is fixable. It’s a pretty easy fix, too! The clasp is just twisted.”

“Oh.”

“You haven’t ruined a thing,” Stede assured him. “I used to fix necklaces all the time - Mary never had the patience for it.”

Stede led Ed back inside, finding the smaller tools they kept in the kitchen and selecting a little pair of pliers. It would take a careful hand, to correct the bent metal without breaking or warping it further, and Stede wanted to do a perfect job.

“I haven’t had a necklace like that before,” Ed admitted quietly as he watched Stede work. “Too nice for me, like I said.”

Ed said it like he was trying to convince himself, and Stede scoffed.

“Ed, you put everyone else wearing a string of pearls to shame,” he promised. “You wear them well. They’re so pretty, and they look beautiful on you.”

He looked back in time to see Ed’s eyes flick shyly to the floor. “Thank you.”

Stede held the necklace up to the light, making sure the clasp looked perfect. “All done,” he declared, holding it out for Ed to see. “May I?”

“You may,” Ed said, aiming for a light, teasing tone, but too obviously flattered to really pull it off.

Stede stepped behind him, gently moving his hair out of the way, and Ed shivered at Stede’s fingers brushing over his bare neck.

“There we go.” Stede gently secured the necklace, and before straightening Ed’s hair back into place, he kissed the back of Ed’s neck. Ed hummed in delight, pressing back into his touches, and Stede pressed kiss after soft, loving kiss to the side of Ed’s neck, from his jaw down to his collarbone. “So pretty.”

Ed leaned back into Stede’s arms, sighing happily as Stede dropped a hand to his waist, holding him there. “Can you call me that again?”

“You’re so pretty, Ed,” Stede said, kissing the sensitive skin at the base of Ed’s neck, right where the string of pearls lay. “You deserve to wear whatever you want.”

“I thought you liked me best with nothing on at all,” Ed teased, pressing back into him.

Stede hooked his chin over Ed’s shoulder. “Well, the pearls are a close second.”

He hoped, someday, Ed would know that he could have the nice thing he’d always wanted but had been too scared to enjoy, and understand he wasn’t doomed to break them. He hoped Ed knew that Stede would support him, and help him find the fine things he wanted to wear, clothes and accessories that made him feel good and pretty and like himself.

But, for now, Ed had this lovely string of pearls, and it was a fine thing he knew he could keep.