yiyipartnerincrime

[yiyipartnerincrime]

» DEOBI DAY SPECIAL REQUEST DELIVERY »

to: maki @sknyuz 

req: haknyeon x gn reader | melting by kali uchis

summary: saying no was out of the question when haknyeon finally asked you to be his

genre: non-idol au | established relationship, fluff

warnings: alcohol consumption, kissing

wc: 1.08k words

an: so sweet this sent me spiraling... i was writing this during my break at work and hoped nobody could read over my shoulder lmaoooo anyhowww maki thank you for requesting <3 save a life, tag a jusadan !

stars: @carrotsworld @winterchimez @honeybeehorizon @sknyuz @bbangbies @from-izzy @jaehunnyy @blizzardfluffykpop @neo-deobi | taglist

masterlist | @deoboyznet

one.. four… six… your eyes lingered on the empty glasses of beer littering your table. haknyeon is pouring the last bit of another bottle onto his drink. 

he’s sitting right next to you, something he always insisted on doing since you started seeing each other. it was a small gesture that stuck with you, not noticing how significant it was at first. 

you realized every date you’ve had always sat across the table, until him. this way, haknyeon feels warm, he feels personal, he feels close.

“stop doing that,” you whispered.

the smile plastered on his face all night only grew sweeter as the night deepened. you reached over to brush your thumb over his cheek, his nose crinkled at the ticklish sensation and the pinkish hue remained on his skin. 

oh, you’re gonna be the death of me.

“stop doing what?” he leaned in closer.

the chatter of the bustling restaurant on a saturday night was only starting to grow, but nothing was louder than the pounding of your heart. 

you closed your eyes for a second to take a deep breath before lifting them once again, greeted by haknyeon’s gaze. he lifted his eyebrows, silently repeating his question. 

“stop saying things that make me want to kiss the hell out of you.”

“is that an invitation?” haknyeon smirked.

you tried your best to put up a front before failing to hold it together. haknyeon chuckled as you rest your forehead on his left shoulder out of embarassment. he kisses the back of your hand, not letting go of it after he puts it down.

“how can you be this shy after a couple flirty comments- baby, look at me,” haknyeon lifts your intertwined hands under your chin, leaving you no choice but look at him directly, “you know- i’m only gonna get worse.”

you bit your lip, feeling a little dazed from the influence. it took a few seconds before his face finally looked crystal clear through your point of view. 

haknyeon steals a kiss from you, followed by another, leaving him with a stupid smile he can’t get rid of.

“oh god- what did i sign up for?” your mouth opens in shock. 

“it’s only the first day, might i add,” he reminds you, looking smug from the realization.

five years ago, haknyeon was barely an acquaintance. 

in university, you and haknyeon were connected through a mutual friend and you knew he was a guy whose reputation preceded him. 

known as one of the loud and mischievous ones in his friend group, haknyeon had a bright, personable character that drew people to him. 

you lost contact after graduating but thought of haknyeon from time to time while occupied with your respective relationships and careers. it was clear as day that with his charm and easygoing personality, haknyeon’s popularity was undeniable. 

that was true then and it’s still true now. 

three months ago, haknyeon accepted a job offer in your city and moved in with your coworker, ji changmin. when your paths cross once again, you two meet each other with older, yet still familiar, faces.

“y/n, you’re here!” haknyeon was excited, recognizing you at the housewarming party changmin threw for him.

“wow, i took a guess hearing his new roommate’s name.. but i mean- how are you two connected?” you looked at changmin.

“my sister married his brother.. so, we’re brothers?” 

“what a small world,” you smiled, staring at the family photos hung up on their wall.

“yeah,” haknyeon also smiled, but he was staring at you.

the man wasn’t much of a shy type but he only ever dwelled on one regret all throughout college: not ever reaching out to you. 

haknyeon hid his hesitation within his cheerful mask when he was actually riddled with worry about pursuing you, someone who didn't seem interested. 

he was convinced that life had other plans when you moved far away straight out of college, never giving you the chance to respond because he chose to be a coward.

that’s when haknyeon realized he had been given another chance when he saw you that night.

it didn’t take long for haknyeon to make the first move. 

texts turned into calls, calls turned into coffee, coffee turned into meals—he could not afford to waste his chances and his time. 

haknyeon had no plans on making his advances subtle either. his cards were on the table, carefully placed by his hand, fully displayed for you. 

the way he earnestly put the effort to see you at least once a week. the way you never had to question his intentions and feelings because his actions and words were consistent and always matched. 

the way he showed you how to love and receive love that was not transactional, without expectation nor exchange, that you could be loved simply by existing.

slowly, you grew to look at haknyeon in a different light. though at times, he was still playful like before, it was clear that his quiet confidence did all the speaking for him. 

saying no was out of the question when haknyeon finally asked you to be his.

“you’re my boyfriend,” you say to him, as if he needed the confirmation.

haknyeon nodded, his eyes softening. you feel his thumb caressing the skin at the back of your hand, squeezing him in return.

“ju haknyeon is my boyfriend,” you repeated.

“ugh- can’t get enough of hearing you say that,” he groaned.

you grinned, relating to the way his face faltered in response. 

no matter how many times you were repeating what you said, the jittery feeling brewing inside you also never waned. you moved your hand to tell him to come closer, cupping your hand over your mouth to whisper in his ear.

“my boyfriend.”

you giggled before letting out a tiny squeal when he let go of your hand and wrapped his arms around your waist—grateful that you were sitting in a booth tonight to enjoy a little bit of privacy. 

this time, you inched your face closer, keeping your eyes on his lips. he tilts his head and closed the gap between you, softly meeting your lips with his. he brought his hand up to your cheek, deepening the kiss even further, not knowing his touch was holding you together and melting you at the same exact time.

“yes. a million times- yes, i am,” he sighed.

you were no lightweight, but you were definitely drunk on something a little stronger than anything you’ve ever had before. 

[yiyipartnerincrime]

» DEOBI DAY SPECIAL REQUEST DELIVERY »

to: anon

req: eric x gn reader | next door by amelia moore ft. astn

summary: does breaking your neighbor's door count as flirting?

genre: non-idol au | fluff, strangers to something else?

warnings: none

wc: 1.2k words

an: these are one of those days where inspiration just truly hits my god it's like a rush of dopamine that never runs out.. absolutely love amelia moore so i'm sooo happy i got to write something inspired by her songs :) anon i hope you like this one <3

stars: @carrotsworld @winterchimez @honeybeehorizon @sknyuz @bbangbies @from-izzy @jaehunnyy | taglist (please sign up or comment if you want to be tagged for the other requests!)

masterlist | @deoboyznet

"first of all- is it even your own?"

you stood in the hallway outside your front door, leaving your dad's question unanswered. he didn't need to see your guilty expression on facetime to know the real reason why you were calling, he can hear it in your voice.

"don't tell me you just broke someone else's door on the third day you moved in."

"it was the next door neighbor's..." you muttered so quietly you could've sworn you said it in your head.

looking at it, the damage could not be described as major in any way, but it wasn't small enough to be overlooked. if the door was hit with a force a tad bit stronger, the chipped panel could have been a hole instead. 

"honey, what's your plan?" this time, your mom spoke on the line. you turned your head left and right, scanning for other residents walking on your floor. 

you can always walk away and act like nothing happened. but the moment you got closer to examine the dent and saw it was bigger than your hand, it was over. you can't walk away now.

"i have to tell my neighbor-"

"-that wasn't the first thing you did?" your dad interrupted, causing you to flinch at his volume.

"whatever- it'll be fine. i'll take care of it," you brushed off your parents’ nagging and pushed your moving cart in your apartment before closing the door. you quickly said goodbye and hung up the phone. 

the five steps you had to take to reach the next apartment felt heavier than usual. you brought your hand up to knock, then stopped. knowing how heavy your cart was, you wondered why he didn’t hear it. you were sure that the crash was loud enough to have alerted your neighbor, eric. 

eric sohn. the one with kind eyes and cute smile. strong build and confident air. the type to charm someone within a few seconds of meeting them, obviously, speaking from experience. 

on your first meeting, eric was wearing a plain black tee and tan cargo pants. he didn’t need to know you’re a sucker for his black-rimmed glasses or the way he brushed his hair, damp with sweat after working out. 

he was walking towards his unit when he saw you bringing in a few luggages, taking one of his airpods out his ear and starting a conversation. you had to check your expression before letting him know your surprise upon seeing him punch his pin code next door.

eric looked over your unit number, “405, right? let me know if you need anything, i’ll be right here,” he pointed at the sign.

unfortunately, you haven’t had another chance to interact with him since you exchanged greetings to apologize for the noise you’re making while moving-in. now, you’re standing in front of the very same sign, debating whether it was too late to run away. 

“out of all the reasons why i would be knocking…” you mumbled.

it only took you two knocks before he opened the door. you were able to say the word “hi” before freezing in place, your mouth agape in awe. eric was in the middle of putting on his shirt with a towel across his shoulder. he’s drying his wet hair while greeting you back, fresh out the shower.

“-wasn’t sure if i was hearing things.. i’m sorry, i was in the shower,” he explained. 

i can tell, you said to yourself, trying to peel your gaze from his face. 

droplets of water fell from a few strands of hair in front of his forehead. suddenly, you were too aware of how close you were standing when he stepped a little closer to the door and you could smell the scent of his shampoo and cologne. eric waits for a moment before asking why you were here, but inside you were wishing time would magically freeze so you can see him this close just a little longer.

“oh- uhm.. i accidentally hit your door with my cart and now there’s a crack on it,” you ran your fingers through the chipped wood below the handle, “-thought we should discuss how i can pay you back or help with the repair. i’m really, really sorry.”

eric hunched down to take a closer look at the damage, “you don’t need to pay me back. it’s such a small scratch, don’t worry about it,” he smiled.

“-no, but i really feel bad. i should pay for the repair, or the materials, whatever you need…”

just as you were apologizing profusely, eric kept reassuring you that you didn’t need to do anything. his resounding laugh filled your ears as he examined the crack, assessing how deep it was and feeling the rough edges that was exposed after the crash. following his hand, you noticed the silver ring on his right pinky.

“the perks of working in construction means i do this all day and have the right contacts for everything, including who to call if your neighbor breaks your door on your second meeting,” eric teased you.

“but because you’re cute, i’ll let it slide this time.”

you rolled your eyes, feeling a sense of relief when he threw you off with humor and trying not to freak out about the fact he was flirting. he goes on to say the repair would be quick and easy, something he can take care of so you can focus on completing your move-in. 

“eric…” you pouted, not letting it go.

“y/n…” he said, copying your tone. adorable, he thought.

you tapped your foot, thinking of another way to make this even. looking back at the door, you roughly knew what needed to be bought for the repairs and thought of when you could stop by the store.

“i’ll tell you what- let’s go to the hardware store together. i’ll let you pay for the materials but promise you’ll let me do the repairs?” eric suggested as if he read your mind seconds ago. 

he held out his phone to let you save your number in his contacts and took yours to do the same. deciding when you’ll be free, you checked your calendars and agreed to meet again and go to the store in two days. 

“alright, you’ll do the repairs. great timing, i have a few things i need to pick up there too-”

“-like what, a new shower head?” he chuckled before fully processing what he had said.

your eyes widen, figuring out what he meant by knowing exactly what you needed to buy. for the past two days, you’ve been complaining about the faulty shower head to the management but only met with half-hearted excuses and delayed responses. eric closed his eyes in regret, afraid he sounded like a creep after blurting out what he noticed.

“y-your bathroom is adjacent to mine, the acoustics are great but the soundproofing is a little…” his voice trails off in the end, understanding when to stop before he says more.

“oh…” you say quietly as warmth creeps in your cheeks the more you think about what else he heard the past couple of days. 

you tried to recall if you ever put your phone on speaker when calling your best friends in the bathroom, especially because he was definitely one of the topics in one of those conversations, already earning his own nickname. 

“-kay, i’ll see you soon?” he asked. you try not to melt when he shoots you that cute smile. 

you nod, barely croaking an indistinguishable yes to respond. running inside your own apartment before he even closed his door, you felt your phone buzzing with a few notifications, messages from eric. 

that’s when you knew he definitely heard you. 

loud and clear.

hey y/n

safe to assume i’m the boy next door?

[yiyipartnerincrime]

» DEOBI DAY SPECIAL REQUEST DELIVERY »

to: anon

req: younghoon x fem reader | mariposa by peach tree rascals

summary: you've been waiting for younghoon to come your way, or was it the other way around?

genre: college au | fluff, angst if you squint a little bit :)

warnings: alcohol consumption

wc: 2.1k words

an: i did my best to write all the parts i knew i wanted to include so this doesn't become another spontaneous wip 😭 sooo she was a little longer than i anticipated.. anon i hope you like it <3 i clearly had so much fun writing jealous younghoon.... i might need to write more jealous tbz.. they are my WEAKNESS!

stars: @carrotsworld @winterchimez @honeybeehorizon @sknyuz @bbangbies @from-izzy @jaehunnyy @blizzardfluffykpop | taglist

masterlist | @deoboyznet

“-how many?”

younghoon looks up at jacob, reaching for the beer on his hand. he didn’t hear the first part of jacob’s question, only focusing on the fact he was empty-handed.

“hoon-ah, i asked how many you’ve had?” jacob holds up a can but keeps it out of younghoon’s reach.

it’s been a while since younghoon kept track of the time, now simply counting down to midnight when they would be able to rightfully kick people out of their house.

younghoon shrugged his shoulders, then threw his head back. massaging his temples, he can’t figure out if his dehydration or this lame party caused his headache.

“stop giving him drinks, he’s had more than enough,” hyunjae turns his focus on their conversation.

although he was busy hosting tonight, hyunjae has been keeping an eye on younghoon by making sure he stayed close by. jacob glares at hyunjae, not appreciating the accusatory tone that laced his words, but he let it go as soon as younghoon asked for some water.

“did something happen? he doesn’t ever drink- at least not this much,” sangyeon chimes in. he sat on the ledge of the couch, opening the water bottle before handing it to younghoon.

“-nothing happened,” younghoon interrupts, somehow managing to find a confusing middle—sounding firm and absolute and sounding like he wants to convince himself that nothing actually happened.

sunwoo walks back from the lively living room after he spots the boys gathering around the couch. he tried to ask hyunjae what was happening, failing to communicate only with their eyes.

something about younghoon being in the middle of the the circle intrigued sunwoo, especially since they were the closest out of the group along with hyunjae, with all three growing up in the same hometown.

a chorus of cheers erupted across the room. a game of beer pong reached its peak, excitement surged through each player and lurker.

but younghoon’s eyes immediately darts on one person: you.

judging on your stupid grin, it’s clear that you were winning the game. yes, you were competitive, but everyone can see that smile wasn’t about the game. you weren’t watching the cups, but was instead pouring all your attention to your partner, beomgyu.

“since when did we invite those txt kids?” younghoon grumbled, grabbing the bag of chips on the table.

hyunjae and sunwoo made eye contact upon hearing his complaint. they had their suspicions since the start of the night, although, if they were being honest, the signs have been there for weeks now.

they laughed out of the blue, raising weird looks among their other clueless friends.

“what is it?” sangyeon asked, familiar with hyunjae and sunwoo’s antics, “something must be so amusing, you’re just gonna have to share with the class.”

“i don’t know, but younghoon might know a thing or two-” sunwoo bursts out laughing, enabled by hyunjae’s knowing look.

younghoon snaps out of his trance, realizing he hadn’t taken his eyes off your direction, when he hears his name.

“no. i don’t know what you’re talking about. stop-” younghoon starts throwing his chips at sunwoo.

hyunjae took a sip of his beer, smiling at the sight. younghoon took the bait and he was clearly struggling as they were reeling him in. he looked at the rest of the guys and pointed straight at you.

“you guys know y/n, right?”

“are you seriously gonna do this-”

“chanhee’s cousin, y/n?” jacob asked.

“yeah, they’re related. but did you know she grew up with us too?” sunwoo mentions, winking at younghoon.

“heard about it- why? what about her?”

younghoon plops back down the couch. he wants to walk away from this conversation but he didn’t have the energy, or really, the space to get away from it. he accepted his fate and went back to munching on his chips, seething in his discomfort quietly.

from time to time, younghoon glances at you from a distance, trying not to count the times your eyes found him (which was zero).

“y/n had a huge crush on younghoon growing up. she followed him everywhere since elementary to high school. they were famous for being tom and jerry, only if they were human and one was madly in love with the other,” sunwoo explained.

“i’m guessing he rejected her-” sangyeon whipped his head back at younghoon.

“not just once, or twice-” sunwoo nodded.

“-twelve times,” hyunjae rolled his eyes, “four during elementary, two in middle school, five times in high school, and once when we were all in uni. this fool has rejected her twelve times.”

jacob and sangyeon’s jaws dropped looking at younghoon, who is now avoiding their stares.

for the longest time, you and younghoon were paired together by everyone. the difference between your feelings was striking, the same way you were polar opposites in your personalities.

the cold, aloof prince and his persistent, bubbly admirer. where he was, there you were.

despite all the teasing, there was not a day where your eyes left younghoon. he didn’t have a proper explanation for all the times he pushed your feelings away, baffled at how your feelings remained no matter how many times you were rejected. you were the annoying girl who followed him everywhere, while he was the boy of your dreams.

“you have your feelings, i have my own,” you told him after he declined coming to homecoming with you during sophomore year.

rejection #10.

when you brought up how many times he has rejected you, younghoon was a little surprised.

he knows you’ve been following him for years but never thought his rejections to have reached that number. it would be a lie to say he wasn’t flattered. after all, you matched his interests and likes so perfectly.

that's why even when he continued to say he was overwhelmed by your loud expression, he couldn’t admit that he was starting to get comfortable with the thought that you were always there.

that was until you weren’t.

“half of those don’t even count- we were just kids. she didn’t mean it,” younghoon mumbled.

“so, you’re saying you didn’t mean some of those rejections either?” hyunjae hummed, raising his eyebrow. he doesn’t answer the question.

younghoon looked at you for a second.

you were still standing by the ping pong table with a drink on hand. beomgyu was standing directly behind you, his arm was propped down the table, leaning towards you.

younghoon clenched his jaw when he saw beomgyu’s face turn towards your neck, stopping by your ear to whisper.

the music is not that loud for him to be doing all that, younghoon thought.

“seeing that his eyes could burn a hole through that beomgyu kid right now, i’m guessing he hasn’t been all that truthful on those rejections…” jacob smirked.

“aren’t they dating?” hyunjae asked, pointing at you two.

“they’re not,” younghoon stands up, grabs hyunjae’s drink and takes a swig, “they’re not dating.”

…

unlike younghoon had thought, you have been watching him all night.

how could you not? it was not out of the norm for younghoon to stay in one place during a party, even one that was held at his own house, but it was not like him to drink all night.

“hey,” beomgyu hands you an unopened can of hard seltzer, “care for another round?”

your eyes wandered for a moment, noticing that younghoon finally stood up and made his way outside. beomgyu held the chilled drink at the back of your hand, snapping you out of focus.

“i think i’ve had enough beer pong tonight,” you gave him a quick smile and played it cool.

without taking the drink, you excused yourself to get some water in the kitchen. all common sense flew out the window when you walked the opposite direction anyway, following younghoon out to the side porch.

you earned a startled response from him when you opened the door and stepped outside. a guilty look washed over your face. maybe younghoon needed the space to get some air, but here you are again, seeking him out unprompted.

when it comes to him, rational thoughts never come front and center. but this time, before you were able to give him a quick sorry and leave, younghoon says hi.

“y/n- hi,” he waved, “how are you?”

“i’m- doing good. i’m good,” you smiled, shifting yourself to face him.

“i haven’t seen you around lately,” younghoon mirrors your expression.

he has always been a little hard to read, but you knew what his eyes looks like when he’s genuine. you know he was happy to hear you’re doing good, and you know he was actually curious as to why he hasn’t seen you recently.

“well, we dont live next to each other anymore,” you looked back at the house, scanning the spacious lawn around you.

“how are the dorms? you like it?” he asked.

“it’s nice. there’s no commute because it’s on campus- definitely saves me time. how are you liking the house? i heard from chanhee, eleven guys in one house can be a bit of a handful sometimes…”

younghoon chuckled, “i have to drive to campus but having my own space is real sweet. we can be a handful, it’s true. but we almost all have different schedules so it doesn’t get too crowded.”

“they seem nice, too,” you say, walking by the ledge.

“they are,” he agreed.

younghoon takes a step closer to your space, leaning the same way.

you both took a peek at the front of the house, watching people come in and out of the front door. the dim porch light was flickering, but it was enough to shine on your face.

slowly, his eyes move from the party goers to your side profile. you were too preoccupied to notice him staring.

“so-” you both started, surprised to hear you two had something in mind at the same time.

“-you go first,” you say quickly as you shifted your weight back and forth, swaying your body ever so slightly, left and right.

younghoon couldn’t help but smile when he noticed your old habit. you do that when you’re curious but have to hold back from asking a million questions or when you had something to say but have to find the right time to say it. you both realized both scenarios were true at the moment.

“that guy, beomgyu?” he asked vaguely.

“huh?”

“-nothing you just… you just looked close that’s all,” he adds, still lacking the main point of what he was asking.

“beomgyu… he- uhm- lives on the floor above me. i guess we’ve been bumping into each other more often these days.”

“y/n, are you avoiding me?”

“what- me? avoiding you? of course… not.”

younghoon makes direct eye contact with you when he asks that question. it didn’t matter if he sensed you were nervous talking about beomgyu. you were more hung up on the fact he’s bringing up that you were avoiding him, genuinely believing he wouldn’t notice.

everyone tells you that over time you’ll get over this silly crush, and you believed them. thinking your feelings are fleeting, you left them unchecked especially when younghoon never changes the way he acts towards you.

now that you’re in university, you know that it is time for a new beginning, meet a lot more people, find versions of yourself you’ve yet to discover. there was more to life than what you already know. but unfortunately, you weren’t avoiding younghoon because you stopped having feelings.

you were avoiding him because you never lost them.

younghoon has always rejected you, but he was never mean. constantly interacting with someone who has come clean with their feelings towards you means awkward tension will always follow.

looking back, you would definitely change the way you behaved around younghoon most times, but he never treated you any differently.

still, you know you wanted more and that you’re always going to want more.

“younghoon, i have a question- and i need you to be honest.”

“why?” he laughed nervously.

“you just have to.”

younghoon looks down to think for a second before saying okay. you stopped swaying, planting your feet on the floor, unsure of what to do with your hands.

“beomgyu asked me out yesterday…what should i do?”

“-why are you asking me?”

“i’m just asking you about what you think…”

because this might be the first and last time i will ask you.

you stare at him, scanning his expression for any emotion, any reaction. disappointed to see it unchanged, you made up your mind to go home.

you were about to turn your heel and leave without another word, smiling bitterly.

“okay- i got it.”

until, younghoon’s hand gets a hold of your arm and pulls you back closer to him. younghoon can't believe what he was about to say at that exact moment, but he believed that he needs to before it's too late.

“don’t- dont go out with him and just keep your eyes on me.”

[yiyipartnerincrime]

sneak my way into your heart | ljy

Pairing: bf!juyeon x gn!reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship

Word count: 1k

Rating: pg-13

Type: oneshot

Warnings: kissing, pet names, sneaking? grammar mistakes

a/n: well... i gave in ! thankies and smoochies to @shakalakaboomboo and @from-izzy for beta reading ! 🤍

network: @blankjournal

The crisp mountain air filled your room as soon as you opened the window, light rays of sunshine knocking on the hard glass. The woody scent from outside made you smile, reminding you of your childhood, yet it was all gone when you realised you might run out of time. You threw a quick look at the little watch on your nightstand, its screen signaling that it was almost 6 am. Why were you awake at such an ungodly hour? Well, the reason behind the hassle was sleeping peacefully in your bed, soft breaths audible as his body was engulfed by the warmth of your pink duvet, protecting him by the wind’s touch. 

“Sweetheart, c’mon, it’s time to go back to your room,” you whispered, shaking the boy’s arm softly. 

Juyeon stirred, visibly bothered by the fact that he already had to wake up. You were in a three-week summer camp with your other friends from college, away from the responsibilities that were to come with you growing up. Amidst that, Juyeon has made a habit out of sneaking into your room at night—hence, you two had to wake up before anyone noticed his absence to the morning call. 

“Five more minutes?” 

“Nope, you’re waking up now," you said, grabbing the blanket harshly and pushing it aside, making him shiver as soon as the morning coldness hit his bare arms. 

“Baby, you’re exaggerating.” He whined, lower lip hanging into a pout while he pulled you into his arms, hoping to get some source of comfort after the blanket was ripped off of him. “A normal partner would wake the love of their life with a kiss or something, y’know…” 

You sighed and started to brush his hair with your fingers, a smile escaping your lips as you looked at him through heavy, sleepy eyes. You and Juyeon have been dating for quite a while now, and everyone knew you were college sweethearts—well, everyone except the organiser who hosted the camp and provided this beautiful place for you. Juyeon insisted that you two beg the organiser to give you the room with the bunk bed, even preparing his best puppy eyes for the request—yet, as soon as you met her sharp eyes, the idea was quickly forgotten (to Hyunjae’s relief—yours and your boyfriend’s best friend, who was just hoping that you two would stay out of trouble for these three weeks). You almost gave the boy a panic attack when Juyeon told him to keep the door unlocked so he could get inside in the morning without bothering him, just so he could spend the night with you. Back in the city, you were living together, so you were really used to having each other close and sharing personal space, especially at night—the reason why, your oh-so-smart boyfriend thought sneaking was a great idea! 

“We’re still meeting for the picnic we planned in the evening, aren’t we?” he asked, lips stretching into a lovely smile. 

“Yes, sweetheart. Now go. I can already feel the host open her eyes and get ready to wake everyone up.” 

You nuzzled for just a minute more into his neck, pressing a feather-like kiss on his shoulder and letting him go. 

The evening was the time you were allowed to do whatever you desired, being given two hours to spend however you wished. Some of the guys went fishing, some of the others dived for a sweet, peaceful, beauty sleep, while the rest settled for a quick game of cards on the patio. You and Juyeon planned a little picnic to make up for the time spent separately (and also because saturday was your “all day together” day), so you excused yourselves after two games (which your boyfriend was so upset he lost—well, truth is he didn’t even concentrate on the game, too focused thinking about your date), taking the little basket with stolen snacks and a blanket for you to sit on. You found a place near a river, nice and shaded from the sun’s golden glow, surrounded by all sorts of alpine flowers that you and your boyfriend admired attentively. 

“I missed you,” Juyeon said, pulling you closer to him so he could hug you. 

You nuzzled into his neck, inhaling his musky cologne as a content sigh escaped your lips. “You were sitting next to me when we played cards with the others, and you also woke up next to me in the morning,” you teased, raising your head to meet his eyes, lips puckered into a soft pout. “Joking, sweetheart. I missed you too.”

He smiled and pressed a soft kiss on your temple, his head finding your lap not long after so you could play with his hair—a habit he got used to since you moved in together. Your fingers got lost in his black locks as he relaxed into your lap, your background music being a mix of his satisfied hums and the melodious chirping of the birds. 

“Don’t you dare fall asleep! I will eat all the muffins and drink all the juice if you do,” you threatened jokingly, yet your smile dropped when you heard your lover’s steady breaths, his eyes closed. “Lee Juyeon!” 

He kept his face still, adding to the dramatic effect. You made an annoyed sound, trying to push him off of your lap, when the boy broke into a whole-hearted laughter, dropping his acting immediately. His hands found your cheeks, cupping them as he brought his face closer to yours, lips finding each other like puzzle pieces, molding together into a sweet, longing kiss. 

“I was just teasing you because you pulled the blanket off of me in the morning.” 

You whined, hitting his arm softly, before wrapping your hands around his waist, dragging him into an embrace full of love. 

“I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to spend time with you for nothing, my love.” 

You still blushed like the first time, holding his nape to bring your faces together and pressing your nose onto his, rubbing softly, lively chuckles escaping your lips. The rest of your evening was filled with laughter and giggles, red hearts floating above the two of you as the love you shared spread into the air. 

[yiyipartnerincrime]

genre fluff , mackiah x fem!reader   cw none   wc 273   request yes   note tried to add some kiah essence to this !! love my ampies <3   net @kstrucknet @andearnet

22:02 . . . “G’day milady. How art thou on this fine Tuesday?”

You snorted, “It’s raining here, Kiah.” You flipped the camera on your phone, showing your boyfriend the dark clouds and rain pouring down.

He furrowed his eyebrows, frowning slightly like he was figuring out how to respond to the turn of events. He hadn’t anticipated such bad weather back in Korea. “Well… I’ll enjoy the sunshine for both of us then.”

You smiled. It was late in the evening for you but still midday for Mackiah, as he was overseas for tour. He called you everyday, usually before you went to bed. You’d tell him about your day, and he would tell you about his plans for the day and about the show the previous day. There were only a few stops left on the tour, and you already couldn’t wait to have him back. Video calling could never compete with holding him in your arms. Sending kisses through the screen would never satisfy you quite like his lips on yours.

Still, you took what you could get. An endeared smile grew on your face when Mackiah excitedly showed you his food he had ordered through room service. You laughed when your call was rudely interrupted by Seungmo and Kyrell who made it their mission to annoy and tease your boyfriend until he kicked them both out. And when it was time for you to say goodnight, you blew a kiss for Mackiah to dramatically pretend to catch in his hands through the screen.

You never liked being away from your boyfriend, but video calls with him were something you had grown to love.

ampers&one taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @loserlvrss,, @xikskrrrs,, @cupidslovearrows,, @i03jae,, @talkingsaxy,, @tmrwsuns

[yiyipartnerincrime]

ᝰ　CHILDHOOD　( 최수빈 )

genre fluff , parent au , soobin focused (very little mention of reader) , girl dad!soobin   cw babies/small children , everything seems like a big deal when you're a little kid , crying , not proofread   wc 1481   request yes   note oh how i love girl dad soobin :(   net @kstrucknet

Soobin’s daily life quickly changed from late nights gaming with his friends and lazy mornings to strict bedtimes and a longing for sleep that he could never attain after his first daughter was born. They say you can never truly be prepared for kids, and Soobin could attest to that. Parenting hit him like a truck, leaving him scrambling to get back up on his feet without time to think. 

Every action, reaction, and decision had consequences he couldn’t quite predict when he stared into the big boba-like eyes of his eldest, Dahyun. While there was nothing he loved more than holding his newborn in his arms and watching her little face scrunch into a million different emotions, the happy moments just as easily turned into a thunderstorm in the blink of an eye. 

The first time Dahyun got sick, at just a few weeks old, Soobin swore that his heart was going to stop on him. He had never been so sick to his stomach worrying, and it only got worse when she had to be admitted to the hospital. You had never quite seen your husband as distraught. Your strong, stable, calculated Soobin who always seemed to have the answer to every problem was anxious enough to make your stomach churn. 

You learned then just how far out the limits of his love were. Soobin loved his daughter more than anything in the world, and you weren’t sure whether you were quite ready to see it every day for the rest of your life. His love, which you thought was already boundless and uncountable, doubled after the birth of your second daughter. 

With a bit more experience and a fraction more confidence than when Dahyun was a newborn, you watched Soobin with his second daughter even more intently than you had with the first. The smiles he shared with her, eyes always finding their way back to you. Little Dabin’s features, which Soobin swore resembled yours perfectly, were remarked on daily by Dahyun’s discerning eye. Her love for her younger sister was automatic, and you were sure that it would never fade every time she proudly told you that while she would always be daddy’s favourite, Dabin was her favourite.

While Soobin sometimes brought up trying for another child, you knew your little family was complete the moment Dahyun ran to you in tears one night, crying over the realization that Dabin would not be two forever, but that in just a week, the little girl would turn three. No amount of assuring or explaining could calm your little five year old, even with the help of your husband’s sensical arguments, and you decided at that moment that your two daughters already completed the household. Your husband easily agreed. 

Dahyun had been a morning person from the time she was a year old, and Soobin still struggled with her early mornings. She had always been a quick learner, leaving your husband tripping over himself to keep up with her. She took her first steps at just eight months, and started speaking in semi-complete sentences by the time she was two. Her sassiness and independence made you both proud and worried. She didn’t like depending on anyone but herself, even when she was too little to know what was best. Soobin had to work twice as hard to make sure she knew he was always there when she needed to fall back on someone. 

Dahyun hated reminders of her own incapability. Like how at six years old she still wasn’t able to reach the microwave. Her tiny socked feet struggled, standing on their highest tippy-toes. Even with the few weeks of ballet lessons she had taken when she was four, she still couldn’t get enough height to reach the handle or press the buttons. Her bowl of cold oatmeal stayed neglected on the counter, and Dahyun fought the reality of her current situation.

She had already told her dad that she would have absolutely no trouble preparing her own breakfast. She knew exactly how much butter and sugar she liked in her morning oatmeal, and she had watched you operate the microwave thousands of times. She was so confident in her own abilities that the thought she physically wouldn’t be able to reach the appliance to complete the task had never crossed her mind. Admitting she needed help would be admitting defeat; admitting she had been wrong; admitting that she had overlooked something so simple and so obvious that it would strip her of her own perception of her intelligence. 

Dahyun had far too many thoughts for the regular six year old, and worried twice as much as the average adult, and Soobin was well aware of his daughter’s propensities. 

Which is why when she had boldly stated that she would fix her own breakfast with a big smile on her face, Soobin only bit back his own dimpled one and encouraged her with a trustful gaze. But, as soon as Dahyun tromped towards the kitchen with determined steps, Soobin followed her immediately, Dabin in tow, anticipating when he would have to step in and remind his eldest that she couldn’t do everything by herself just yet. 

“Can’t reach, Dahyun?”

Dahyun turned to the voice of her father, dark eyes that mirrored her fathers more and more as she grew older, growing teary at the sight of him.

“Dad, am I dumb?” she asked with a trembling voice. 

Soobin furrowed his brows, his hold on Dabin loosening slightly. He watched as a tear rolled down Dahyun’s cheek, quickly followed by a second and third.

He was no stranger to the fussiness of kids, whether it was Dabin sobbing after getting put down for a nap when she was a newborn, Dahyun’s tantrums as a very stubborn toddler, or her upsets during school. But something about this was different, and it hit Soobin’s chest hard. Seeing his daughter questioning her own intelligence in tears at just six years old was too much for him to handle. 

He let go of Dabin completely, grabbing his eldest instead and wrapping her up in his arms. The hug was tight and safe, and it made Dahyun sob harder. 

“Why would you think that, sweetie, hmm? Because you can’t reach the microwave?” Soobin kept his own voice from stuttering, trying to treat the issue at hand like any other upset, and not panic his daughter further by how worried he was at the words leaving her mouth. 

“If I can’t even get breakfast by myself. What will I do when Dabin starts school? I promised her I’d make breakfast for us on her first day!” Dahyun cried, hugging her father tighter.

“You’re not dumb, Dahyun. You’re so smart, and thoughtful, and kind. And you’re the best big sister to Dabin. You don’t need to be able to make breakfast to be considered smart, or capable, or a good sister, okay? Especially not at six years old.” 

Dahyun mulled over the words for a moment, sniffing back a few lingering tears. Her eyes glanced towards Dabin who immediately smiled at her. There was no one as obsessed with Dahyun as her little sister, thanks to how closely they had been since she was born, and if anyone was able to cheer her up, it would certainly be Dabin.

Soobin noticed the little spark in Dahyun’s eyes return and her demeanour calm a bit. She looked up at the microwave again, still clearly hurt at the fact that she couldn’t reach it, but less down on herself because of it. Soobin smiled.

“Do you still want to make breakfast yourself?” he prompted. Dahyun nodded eagerly, looking at her dad as if he had all the answers. While he didn’t have all of them, he did have the one that would solve the current problem. He pulled out a little step stool from the closet and unfolded it. 

“I know you’re a bit scared of heights but this will help you reach the microwave. I’ll make sure you don’t fall,” he reassured her, his heart warm as she stepped up and was able to reach the handle of the microwave. 

Her joy was contagious when she pulled out the bowl of warm oatmeal and stepped down from the stool. Even Dabin started to giggle seeing her sister so proud of what she had accomplished. She carefully placed a piece of butter on top of the steaming oats, followed by a spoon of sugar. She set the spoon in the bowl delicately like she was garnishing a michelin star meal, and after all that, her eyes still wandered up to her father’s face in search of his approval. And just like always, there was that adoring smile that Soobin always gave to his daughters no matter what they were doing. But this time, it held a bit more tenderness.

txt taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @90steele,, @ddeonudepressions,, @cham3li,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @blossominghunnie,, @amara-mars,, @wccycc,, @seunghancore,, @ujisworld,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @sxmmerberries,, @talking-saxy,, @nicholasluvbot,, @cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @yudaies,, @stannwjnss,, @gong-fourz,, @nonononranghaee,, @forever-atiny,, @stantxtforabetterlife,, @loserlvrss,, @lexeees,, @cupidslovearrows,, @hyukabean,, @nicholasluvbot,, @i03jae,, @lilbrorufr,, @tmrwsuns,, @sea-moon-star,, @hanwoolvhs

[yiyipartnerincrime]

genre fluff , established relationship , timestamp , beomgyu x fem!reader   cw none   wc 364   request yes    note i love soft moments like this :( the kind of love i need   net @kstrucknet

23:41 . . . Beomgyu’s messy hair covered his forehead and eyes, but you could still feel his gaze on you.

His body relaxed completely, head resting on his arm outstretched on the table, fingers in your hold. You were laser-focused on his hands, a small nail polish applicator in your right hand applying another thin layer across the nail on his thumb. Your boyfriend always let you paint his nails in the evenings before bed, even if he had to remove it a few days later for work. It was more about the moment than the end result. He would keep whatever you painted on, even if you claimed you messed up, or the design wasn’t as pretty as you wanted. On days he wasn’t filming, he liked the little reminder of you, even if it was only expressed through a shiny black polish. 

Your careful fingers rubbed a spot where the polish had gotten on his finger before moving to the next nail. You had already completed the first two coats of black on his right hand, and Beomgyu was nearly falling asleep already. He couldn’t really help it when your touch was so soothing. He had to keep completely still for you anyway, and drowsiness set in quickly whenever that happened.

“I’m gonna add stars to your ring fingers,” you announced as you finished painting his left pinky finger. He hummed in acknowledgement. You had been practicing your stars recently on your own hands. Beomgyu remembered noting the pastel star design of your nails last week. They were a bit blob-like as you were still struggling a bit with the smallest detail brush, but you were quickly improving. He was more than willing to be your practice subject.

“Do you want white or silver stars?”

He lifted his head at your question as you held out two different bottles of polish. Beomgyu nudged the white one silently, smiling when you picked up his hand again. Your fingers tapped thoughtfully against his knuckles as you rummaged for the right nail art brush. He let his head fall again, eyes blinking shut. You’d have to wake him up once your masterpiece was finished.

txt taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @90steele,, @ddeonudepressions,, @cham3li,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @blossominghunnie,, @amara-mars,, @wccycc,, @seunghancore,, @ujisworld,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @sxmmerberries,, @talking-saxy,, @nicholasluvbot,, @cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @yudaies,, @stannwjnss,, @gong-fourz,, @nonononranghaee,, @forever-atiny,, @stantxtforabetterlife,, @loserlvrss,, @lexeees,, @cupidslovearrows,, @hyukabean,, @nicholasluvbot,, @i03jae,, @lilbrorufr,, @tmrwsuns,, @sea-moon-star,, @hanwoolvhs

[yiyipartnerincrime]

cough u want a hak req so !! morning after the wedding haknyeon <//3 he'd be so soft and dreamy and in love i can't :(

now playing — honey, honey - mamma mia! ver. *read with this playing for best experience

pairing — ju haknyeon x reader

genre — married life, established relationship, fluff

cw — none, afaik !!

wc — ~400

note: ugh zanna u wanna ruin me sooo bad thank u for requesting my ult <3 i love him sm i just can’t think of a good prompt for him. enjoy your our husband!haknyeon fic bc let’s be real this is for everyone in the server imlookingatyouves

masterlist | join the taglist | 400 follower event

the morning after your wedding to the literal embodiment of a hug—ju haknyeon, your now-husband—is quiet in the most tender way. the world feels muffled, like someone pressed pause on everything outside your hotel room. the air still smells faintly of flowers and champagne and something warm and honeyed, like the remnants of him clinging to your skin. your dress is folded over the back of a chair, his tux jacket hanging off a lamp, and in the middle of the bed is him—all flushed cheeks, messy hair, and arms that held you so tightly last night you thought you might melt.

you wake up to the softest warmth on your cheek—not sunlight, not really. but something even better: it’s haknyeon. his cheek is pressed against yours, warm in a way sunlight only wishes it could be. there’s a weight on your hand—familiar and comforting—and when you turn, slowly and sleepily, he shifts with you.

he’s half-awake already, lids heavy but fluttering open the moment he feels you stir. there’s a pause, then the sleepiest smile spreads across his face—drowsy and crooked and so full of love that it settles deep in your chest.

“good morning… my wife,” he whispers, voice hoarse from sleep and late-night laughter. he hides his face in the pillow like he’s embarrassed, like he still can’t believe he’s allowed to call you that. then peeks out again, cheeks dusted pink and eyes gleaming. “that’s never gonna get old.”

he catches your hand in his and brings it to his lips, kissing the space just beside your wedding ring—as if the moment needed more softness. the ring glints faintly in the morning light, and he stares at it like it’s magic. like you are.

“i didn’t even dream last night,” he says quietly, thumb tracing over your knuckles. “felt like i didn’t need to.”

you laugh gently, and he does too—tired and happy and still somehow shy, even after vows and kisses and stumbling through your first dance with his forehead against yours.

“what do we do now?” he murmurs, voice a little awed. “just… wake up next to each other forever?”

you tell him yes. he grins and kisses your hand again, this time just above your ring. “sounds perfect.”

you don’t even make it out of bed. he tugs the covers up, tucks you in against his chest like you're the most precious thing he's ever held. and with his cheek pressed against yours again, he whispers, “breakfast can wait… but loving you can’t.”

me rn

𐔌 . ⋮ taglist .ᐟ the boyz ֹ ₊ ꒱ @kstrucknet, @deoboyznet | @loserlvrss @hateateez @slytherinshua @yudaies @cuppasunu @triciawritesstuff @xh01bri @d4ily-s-nsh1ne

[yiyipartnerincrime]

♬⋆.˚　WOES OF A MUSIC STUDENT　( 김대영 )

genre fluff , music university au , both reader and jaehee are pianists , jaehee x fem!reader   cw school stress , i actually know next to nothing about jazz composition so if it makes no sense ignore , not proofread   wc 434   request yes   note i love jaehee soooo bad whenever he touches a piano i actually fall to my knees like i'm not sane   net @kstrucknet @neocity-net

“We should use the minor third, not the fifth. We’re going for something jazzy so get the classics out of your head,” Daeyoung said, pointing at the chord you had written out of habit. You sighed, already erasing some of the composition. Composing jazz melodies always had your brain spinning a bit. Daeyoung had a better grip on the theory of it.

“Let’s do an F minor 7 here since we had a theme of D in the previous two bars. We can resolve it with a G or C7 later on,” he suggested, picking up his pencil and scribbling in the chords over where you had erased the previous ones. With skilled hands he played the twelve bars you had written so far, rich chords and a dancing chromatic third pattern singing out between them. You had to admit, it sounded perfect. 

“This jazz unit is gonna be the end of me. I’d give everything to go back to Baroque,” you slumped over the piano, forehead resting on the top of the fallboard. 

“It’s the last one of the semester. It’s better than practicing your pieces for finals another fifty times. Surprised you haven’t killed one of our professors yet,” your boyfriend joked. He was surviving another year at music school a lot better than you. Maybe you should have taken your parents advice and majored in something safer. It was all to prove a point. To show them that you could be successful in a career in fine arts. You weren’t too sure yourself, though.

Daeyoung always believed in you. He saw where you shined musically while most teachers didn’t spare you or your playing an extra glance. Maybe it was just because he just paid more attention, or that he cared more. You knew he would do the same to any of your classmates. It wasn’t just because you were dating— he was just kind to everyone. 

“I think I’m going to rip my hair out if I have to think of one more chord progression,” you mumbled, defeated. Daeyoung rubbed your back, coaxing you to lean against his shoulder instead of the piano.

“I’ll do the rest. It’s only 20 measures.”

You nodded, grateful that you didn’t have to look at the empty staff still to fill with notes. Your boyfriend grabbed the pencil again, drawing in a rhythm of triplets in the thirteenth bar. Closing your eyes, you listened to the sound of the pencil scribbling on paper and Daeyoung’s hands on the keys; the gentle melody slowly washing away the frustration that had been building up all day.

nct wish taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @lexeees,, @nyukyusnz,, @planetkiimchi,, @haecien,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @yudaies,, @mjupis,, @lilly-cherry7,, @kpopandbookschild,, @taroddori,, @lexeees,, @voikiraz,, @xikskrrrs,, @cupidslovearrows,, @yvshi,, @nicholasluvbot,, @hhaechansmoless,, @i03jae,, @somerandomf1fan,, @tmrwsuns

[yiyipartnerincrime]

As I go through Powerless, here are my favorite notes I made when first reading this beautiful book <333

[yiyipartnerincrime]

ミi hear you like magic? i've got a wand and a rabbit!

part one | part two

🍓 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, size kink, virgin!reader, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, some mild second-hand embarrassment perhaps, sex toys, edging, failed masturbation attempts, ghost takes your virginity and also maybe ruins you for literally anybody else ever again

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

The ceiling over your head is drab grey and water-stained, the old paint peeling away in strips. It’s an ugly sight, but you barely see it; you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

The sheets beneath you are uncomfortably damp with your sweat, but you don’t have the energy to roll over just yet. You feel hot and itchy with frustration, and you scowl up at the ceiling above you as your fingers curl into fists. But even though you feel like laying in your now grubby-bedding for the rest of the evening, you can’t let yourself wallow. There’s going to be a knock on your door any minute, and this is not a position you want to be found in.

With an irritable groan, you haul yourself off the bed and to your feet. Your muscles ache and you feel too warm, but you reach for your clothes anyway. The worn cotton of your shirt feels scratchy against your skin, but maybe that’s just because you’re still over-sensitive and irritable.

You can never quite bear to look at the aftermath of what you’d been doing, so you avert your eyes as you gather up the bright silicone and plastic devices littering your mattress. It’s embarrassing now that the adrenaline has worn off and disappointment is beginning to set in, so you end up gathering them all up more roughly than necessary.

The term ‘toy’ seems incongruous to you. It sounds too childish, too immature. It makes you sound like a stupid kid, as though you aren’t a young adult past twenty fumbling your way through sexual self-exploration. It’s embarrassing, and much more frustrating than you ever would have predicted – despite all of your clumsy, desperate attempts at pleasuring yourself, you’ve never quite managed to reach that peak of pleasure you’ve heard other people talking about.

You grumble quietly to yourself as you try to wipe away the sticky lube that’s still coating your thighs. Your muscles are a little achy from all the tensing you’d been doing trying to come with that stupid vibrator, not even accompanied by the satisfaction you had been hoping for.

It’s not as though you’ve never gotten the opportunity to experiment with others; you’re not unforgivably ugly, you don’t think you have a bad personality, and for the past few years you’ve been surrounded by military men that certainly aren’t known for being picky. And it certainly isn’t like you haven’t received your fair share of offers. 

It just never seemed right. You’re not overly concerned about ‘saving’ your virginity or anything like that; it’s just that putting yourself into such a vulnerable position is scary. You’re aware of the irony, of course, that you’d trust many of these people with saving your ass from catching a bullet in the field, but allowing someone to see you so intimately feels like a step too far.

You’re still sweaty and flustered and naked when a knock sounds from your door, and you freeze. The doorknob turns, but doesn’t open; in that moment, you’re deliriously grateful that you had turned the lock – it’s something that you’ve forgotten to do on far too many occasions.

“Lass, you in there?” Oh god, it’s Soap. 

Cursing quietly to yourself, you jolt into action. Your pants are crumpled at the bottom of your bed where you had shed them, and you hurriedly gather them up and struggle your way back into them.

“Gimme a minute!” You yell, praying he doesn’t notice the somewhat frantic edge to your voice.

You stagger slightly as you worm your way into your pants, and then lunge to grab the stupid dildo you’d just been trying to use. You feel your skin prickle with humiliation as you try to force the stupidly large silicone cock into your already full underwear drawer, jamming it shut roughly to hide it from sight. You don’t want to even imagine what Soap might have to say if he were to see what you had been doing; you think you might have to go full deserter mode and abscond into the wilderness.

“Did ye forget about drinks?” Soap’s drawl carries through the thickness of the door. He doesn’t sound even slightly put out – if anything, he sounds a little amused.

You pause, close your eyes, sigh. Fuck. You had not, in fact, forgotten about drinks, you just thought you had more time.

“No, I– just a minute!” You yell back, shoving your shoes on and trying to fix your hair.

You had completely lost track of time, and now you don’t even have time to rinse your sweat-damp skin off – you’re going to have to sit through drinks with the squad all grimy, like a physical reminder of what you had been up to for the last two hours.

When you finally unlock the door and wrench it open, Soap is standing on the other side tapping a staccato rhythm on his thighs with his open palms. He’s dressed casually in just blue jeans and a black muscle shirt, and he gives you a look of semi-disbelief.

“What the hell were you—”

“Gym.” You interrupt, landing on the only explanation you can think of for your sweaty skin and messy hair.

Soap blinks, but apparently decides it’s not worth the effort to continue that line of conversation. He just shrugs, then turns and starts making his way down the hall, slowing his pace for you to catch up.

You exhale; Soap can be like a bloodhound when he suspects there’s gossip to be had, and you’re relieved to have dodged a round of his relentless questioning. You suppose he can be surprisingly tactful sometimes, and he knows you well enough not to press you. Or, perhaps it’s because you come across as such a non-sexual being that  it doesn’t even occur to him that there may be another explanation.

There’s an unofficial tradition that when the squad is on base, everyone gathers in the sparsely decorated recreation room for drinks and card games on Thursday evenings. It usually makes for an enjoyable night; Gaz and Soap can always be trusted to supply whatever bottles of alcohol they’ve managed to get their grubby little hands on, and it’s always amusing to watch Captain Price get increasingly more irate as Soap pretends not to understand the rules of whatever card game they’re playing. The whole illicitness of having contraband on base only makes the whole thing more exciting; the CO’s on base often turn a blind eye to the activity, so long as it’s kept under control.

But tonight, you’re distracted.

The others had offered a bit of good-natured ribbing when you and Soap had turned up late, but before long you’re all settled in a loose circle on the poorly-stuffed couches in the corner of the room. Gaz has already unstoppered a bottle of bourbon, and is attempting to convince a visibly unimpressed Price to play a game of Kings with them. You curl up on one of the worn-out couches opposite them, watching with a small if slightly stiff smile.

The atmosphere is relaxed and pleasant, almost enough to make you forget about the irritating buzz of unfulfilled arousal under your skin. You shift, trying to keep your movements small, subtle, to avoid the notice of your team. Your denim jeans are nowhere near as comfortable as usual, and you wonder briefly if you should have simply worn your cargo pants just to avoid the harsh friction of the denim.

You sit there feeling… unmoored. You fidget, drink your smooth bourbon in sips in an attempt to avoid wincing, and try not to look as obviously out of place as you feel. It’s been like this, recently. Joining the task force has been an accomplishment for you, a source of immense pride – you’re the youngest member (just narrowly beating Gaz for the title) and a woman to boot, and though the squad has never treated you any differently it’s hard to kick the belief that you have something to prove. 

You engage in conversations the best you can, but you’re distracted and you know it must be obvious. Your preoccupation gets you a couple of furrowed brows and glances, but there seems to be an unspoken agreement to give you some space.

You don’t even realise the extent of your distraction until a big body settles down on the loveseat next to you, and you jolt. True to his name, Ghost had appeared near silently, escaping your notice until he lowers himself down to sit next to you.

And damn, you forget how big he is sometimes. It’s an average sized loveseat, but the lieutenant takes up over half of it. He’s obviously being mindful not to consciously crush you, but he’s not being overly cautious when it comes to avoiding touching you. He’s dressed unusually casually, and his thick, muscled thigh is wrapped in blue denim as it presses carelessly against yours. 

“You alright?” He asks, his voice low and smooth as he nudges your knee with one of his big knuckles.

You haven’t been a member of the task force for long, but you would know Simon Riley by his hands alone, by the earthy salt-spice in your nose as he leans a little closer to peer at your face. You tilt your head up, unable to stop the small reflexive smile that breaks over your face at the sight of him.

“Yeah.” You breathe, hurriedly straightening up where you’re sitting. “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”

His sudden proximity isn’t doing your current state any favours, and you take a quick sip of your drink in an effort to collect yourself. It’s taking a herculean effort not to stare at the way his biceps are bulging against the straining material of his black cotton t-shirt.

“What’re you thinking about?” Ghost asks as he stretches out his legs with a tired groan. The sound is gruff and gravelly, and you feel blood rush uncomfortably to your cheeks. 

“Nothing.” You say quickly.

He doesn’t believe you, that much is obvious, but Ghost never pushes and he rarely speaks more than he has to. He just gives you a glance, brief and knowing and far more penetrating than it should be, before turning his head back so he can watch the boys playing their card game. He’s holding a crystal tumbler filled with dark amber liquid, but he hasn’t yet pulled his mask up to drink from it.

Your eyes drop to the thick, pale scars that mar the backs of his hands. You trace the path of the scar tissue, eyes lingering around the thick knuckles and broad palms, the way that he holds the glass so casually confidently. He’s got nice hands, probably made all the more attractive by the fact that you hardly ever get to see them. Seeing Ghost without his usual long sleeves and gloves makes you feel like a Victorian pervert snatching stolen glances at a passing lady’s ankles.

A quiet snicker causes your eyes to dart back to his face, and you’re mortified to find that he’s caught you staring.

“What’s got you in such a mood?” He asks. Even through the mask you can tell that he’s smirking, though it doesn’t feel as though he’s making fun of you.

“Just one of those days, I guess.” You say without meeting his eyes.

It’s an evasion at best, but Ghost nods ponderously as though he’s giving this great thought. His stare is penetrating, those big brown eyes watching you as though he can see right through you. Maybe he can. You try not to get too caught up staring at his pale eyelashes, darkened by smears of eyeblack.

“Did something happen?” He asks. The question is casual enough, asked as he lazily swirls his whiskey around in his glass, but his gaze is sharp and assessing.

“No.” You sigh, finally looking properly at him.

It’s a little frustrating, but the squad has been like this with you from the start – protective. Your whole military career has consisted of you veritably clawing your way up through the ranks, and you’ve been surrounded by coarse, gruff men that have underestimated you all your life. 141 is different – they don’t baby you, but the way they treat you is unmistakably softer than how they typically treat each other. The concern can be touching, if a little tiring sometimes.

And maybe it’s because he’s your lieutenant, but Ghost’s attention has always been just this side of overwhelming. It feels like you’re pinned beneath his dark eyes, his gaze somehow sharpened as he watches you from beneath his more casual balaclava, the skull pattern printed on his jaw adding another layer of intimidation. But his shoulders are relaxed as he sits next to you on the small couch, settling the weight of his attention over you like a blanket.

You’ve always respected him, admired him. How could you not? He’s practically a living legend, his reputation larger than life, and he’s scary as fuck. But he’s also softer than you had expected, gentle when he needs to be. He still rides you hard in training, pushing you to your limits and taking no quarter, but you can’t begrudge that. Not when you know he’s working to keep you alive. Perhaps that’s how the attraction had first bloomed; once it started, it was hard to stifle.

Ghost hooks one finger into his balaclava and pulls it up just high enough to expose his mouth, and he presses his glass to his lips to take a sip of his drink. You struggle not to stare like a moron, but he makes it so difficult. His lips are full and pink, and there’s a rugged scar bisecting his top lip. His stubble is dark blond and short, and it doesn’t hide the various scars and marks that decorate his strong jawline. 

You almost jolt when he pulls the mask back down, hurriedly averting your eyes and forcing yourself to look out across the room. It’s not just the 141 that’s decided to take up in the rec room this evening; there are soldiers from other units littered all around the room, laughing and joking, playing lazy games of pool on the table in the corner and smoking. The smoke alarm has been jimmied off the ceiling and the window is open, and even Price is turning a temporary blind eye to the blatant disregard for regulations in favour of puffing on one of his cigars. 

Ghost shifts on the worn-out fabric of the couch, and lays an arm over the back of the headrest behind you. It’s a casual, thoughtless movement, but it ends up pushing his body slightly closer to you in a way that makes you feel as though you’re about to catch fire.

You cross your legs, but the seam of your jeans presses into your pussy in a way that sends a frisson of heat up your spine. You hurriedly uncross your legs, and attempt to school your expression into casual neutrality as you force yourself to tune back into the conversation.

“–ach, c’mon, Captain,” Soap is saying in a wheedling tone that he probably thinks is endearing. “One round of strip poker won’t kill ya–”

“No.” Price says in a voice like thunder, brooking no argument as thick cigar smoke pours from his nose. It gives the impression of an enraged bull.

Soap either is ignorant to the warning, or is choosing to wilfully ignore it. Judging by the sly gleam in his eyes, you can guess which. He turns to you then, and waggles his eyebrows.

“C’mon, lassie, you’ll play, won’t ya?” He asks with a grin that promises trouble. “I guarantee you’ll be a sight better than any o’ these louts.”

“Speak for yourself,” Gaz pipes up, already grinning. “I was looking forward to seeing the Captain in his jocks–”

Price promptly knocks his drink back, before pushing himself up to his feet with a grim groan. “Right. That’s enough of you lot for one night.”

Gaz and Soap break into peals of laughter, settling back into their seats as they watch their captain march away.

“Offer’s still open, love,” Soap says, still snickering when he looks over to you. “Wanna play?”

Ghost shifts, his wide thigh knocking into yours as his arm stretches behind your shoulders. He lets out a short exhale through his nose, but when you glance up at him you find him as stoic and hard to read as always.

You just roll your eyes. It’s not the first time that they’ve tried to rope you into strip poker, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. You can always trust Soap to start stripping his clothes off when he’s three drinks in, whether he’s playing a game or not, so it’s not surprising that he tries to involve other people in his bad decision making.

And it’s not a big deal, really. There’s been countless missions and operations that have ended up with all of you staying in uncomfortably close quarters with each other. You’ve seen them naked countless times, and the same with them for you. It’s never meant anything, and you know that Soap’s teasing is exactly that – you don’t think they’ve ever once looked at you through any sexual lens at all.

But even still, the joke flusters you more than it should.

“Think I’ll be joining Cap in going to bed, actually.” You say, clearing your throat and setting your glass down on the low table in front of the couch.

The playful booing from Soap doesn’t do much to change your mind, and you stick out your tongue at him and Gaz as you push yourself up from the couch. You try to ignore the loss of heat at your side when you move away from Ghost, though you can’t help but glance back at the lieutenant. He’s not looking at you, his gaze directed into his glass. You try not to feel disappointed about that.

You say your goodnights, and retreat from the rec room.

By the time you make it back to your dorm however, you’re already playing the conversation back over in your head and wondering if you had made the wrong decision.

Perhaps you should have just played the damn game. Despite your inexperience with all things sexual, you’re not actually all that shy about your body. On missions, you and the squad are often forced into tight quarters, and they've all seen you in various stages of undress before. It's hard to be self-conscious around a group of people that have seen you at your worst, whether that’s soaked in blood, unshowered, sleep-deprived, or injured.

But you were so keyed up from your earlier failed attempts at masturbation that the thought of being so physically exposed in front of your squad is mortifying. It feels as though your unresolved arousal is still simmering through your veins, turning your thoughts slow and soupy and stupid. 

It’s not so surprising. Your preferred method of dealing with stress is coming back to your private bunk and messing around with your vibrator until you’ve forgotten all of your problems. The problem is, you’ve never quite been able to reach that climax you’ve heard so many talk about.

It’s not for lack of trying, and it’s not as though you haven’t come close to that toe-curling finish you crave so much. But it’s like there’s some sort of block, something that always holds you back before you can go plummeting over that edge. Something that makes the buzzing pleasure dissipate before your eyes like smoke, leaving you worked up and so frustrated. It’s probably inevitable that all those ruined finishes have built up like sludge in your veins, leaving you slow and distracted and irritable.

You eye your underwear drawer thoughtfully as you perch on your bed, before reaching inside and drawing out the same dildo you had been using earlier. You wonder if it would be too much to try again tonight – the muscles in your calves still feel a little bit over-worked from training all day, and you have a feeling that straining in an attempt to reach an orgasm you’ll likely never attain will only make it worse.

But the thought of Ghost in that stupid tight cotton shirt stays firmly stuck in your mind, and that really makes the decision for you. Before you can think too much about it, you’re sliding your jeans off and climbing atop your mattress. The sheets are dirty anyway, after all. May as well have some fun before you change them.

You slide your panties off next, then kick them to the side. It’s difficult not to feel a little pathetic, but you push those feelings aside. So what if you have an embarrassing little crush on a superior officer? It’s not like that’s unusual within the military, and you’re quite certain that dealing with all that unresolved attraction like this is the most sensible thing you can do.

You fish out the bottle of lube you had been using earlier, and drizzle it liberally along the dildo’s length before setting it aside on the blanket. While you’ve used your dildo plenty of times, you still struggle to grow accustomed to the stretch of it. It’s a good dildo – a vibrating one in the rabbit style, designed to stimulate your g-spot and clit at the same time. It was damn expensive too, but it’s one luxury you’re willing to indulge in.

You close your eyes, slide it between your legs, and hit the power button. A low bzzz emanates from between your thighs; you jerk at the immediate barrage of pleasure, your abs tightening and your legs twitching apart, creating more room between them.

Your body is quick to react, sweat prickling under your armpits and your heart thudding quickly in your chest. You can feel electric pleasure coursing through you as you press it against your clit, your toes curling into your sheets.

You bring the vibrator lower, your clit throbbing a little at its sudden absence before you press it inside, sighing. It slips inside much too easily – you’re almost embarrassed by the easy slide. You’re so wet, both from your failed attempt at masturbation earlier and from sitting beside Simon fucking Riley all evening. It’s a deeper, subtler pleasure now, and you clench around it with a quiet moan. 

You cycle through the vibrator’s different settings, making it buzz at odd intervals or lower intensities in your usual attempt to build up an orgasm. You wish, with sudden and mortifying clarity, that it could be replaced with a person. More specifically, a person with big hands and firm muscles that still have some soft give to them, and a toe-curlingly gravelly voice.

You squirm, shifting your hips to change the angle of the vibrator inside you. Without meaning to, you imagine Ghost. It’s hard not to, considering your close proximity to him all evening. Your cheeks heat as you imagine Ghost actually being here, watching you all still and silent with that penetrating dark-eyed stare of his. 

You huff out a breath, arching off your bed. This is always the best part. You have to ensure that you relish the build up, before it all fizzles out from between your fingers. You whimper, soft and quiet, clenching around the stiff silicone as it buzzes away inside of you.

Right as you press the soft little vibrating bunny ears to your clit, there’s a knock on the door. Then, horrifically, like a scene from your fucking nightmares, your door opens.

“Kid, you–”

Ghost is already half-way through the door when he lays eyes on you, and then he goes completely still in your doorway.

“Fuck.” You hiss, scrambling to knock the stupid thing off. 

You fumble for it, panicking. The end is slippery and you can barely manage to grip it. When you finally do, it’s difficult to pull out, your body still attempting to hold it inside. It’s another agonising few seconds to turn it off, the vibrator unfortunately featuring one of those awfully thought-out designs that makes you have to cycle through every single one of the settings rather than hit an off-switch.

And then, finally, silence.

Ghost is living up to his name right now; he’s as stock still and silent as a dead man, stiff as a board as he stares unblinkingly at you. You’re not even sure that he’s breathing, but you can see the whites of his eyes as he gapes at you, frozen.

You stare back at him blankly, hoping that your bed comes to life and swallows you whole just to put an end to your mortification.

At last, Ghost blinks, then finishes his sentence. “You left your phone.”

He lifts his arm. In his large, thick fist, is your stupid goddamn phone. You must have left it on the couch when you had gotten up to leave. You might have wondered at the lieutenant voluntarily bringing it to your dorm for you, but you’re hit with a wave of humiliation so strong that it wipes your brain completely blank.

“Ah.” You say, and your voice cracks. “Thanks.”

There’s a moment of mortifying silence, and then Ghost steps into your room. Your heart jolts right up into the base of your throat as he closes your door behind him. The click of the door is as loud as a gunshot in the silence that’s settled over the room.

Ghost still hasn’t blinked. He’s watching you with eyes that look almost black in the dim light of your room, intense as a predator. 

“I–” You attempt to speak, and your throat clicks dryly. “I didn’t–”

Far too late, you realise that your legs are still splayed open. You snap them shut, inhaling a choked breath through your nose.

“I thought I locked the door.” You finish lamely. 

Ghost apparently decides to simply disregard that, which you’re honestly a little grateful for. Instead he steps towards you – the enormous bulk of him feels as though he’s completely filling every bit of space in the room, sucking out all the damn oxygen.

“...‘S this why you were so distracted this evening, hm?” He says as he approaches the bed. “You were in a mood ‘cause you wanted to get back to playing with yourself?”

It’s not a question, exactly. At least, it’s not phrased like one. Ghost’s tone is knowing, with an undertone of gruff amusement. You’re certain that you’re not imagining the rough, breathless quality to his voice either, though the thought sends nerves fizzing through your bloodstream.

“No.” You deny uselessy; it’s plainly obvious what you were doing, after all. “No, I just–”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish. His eyes are still glued to you, even though your thighs are now pressed together. Before you can stop him, he reaches down and takes a hold of your hot pink vibrator where you had been trying to hide it beneath your thigh.

“Cute little thing.” He comments, tilting his head to look at the dildo hanging between his thick fingers.

Mortification burns through you. A panicked sort of screech escapes you and you yank it back out of Ghost’s stupid big hand, shoving it under the blankets. 

Perhaps if it had been anyone else, your humiliation wouldn’t be burning quite so intensely. But this is Ghost – your lieutenant, the gruff man that you’ve looked up to ever since you joined the task force. He’s not a man famed for his patience, nor for his eloquence, which is making this situation all the more unbearable.

“Lt,” You wheeze, scrambling to sit up and cover your pussy with your hands as you squeeze your legs closed. “I swear I didn’t– I’m sorry–”

But Ghost doesn’t seem interested in your apologies. He’s still watching you as though he can see right through the damn blanket, as though he’s measuring you up and trying to come to a decision about something. In that moment, you hate your reaction to him – no matter how humiliating this situation is, you want him to approve of you, even now.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He grunts, and then he sits down on your bed.

You gape at him. It feels as though your brain has stalled; you’re pretty sure you’re not reacting correctly right now. You probably should have screamed when the lieutenant walked right into your room without knocking. That surely would have sent him straight back out again. And even now, you should probably be ordering him out, telling him to leave. 

But you don’t.

“I was.. um.. finished anyway.” You manage to croak out. You sound so pathetic that you nearly make yourself cringe.

Ghost doesn’t answer immediately. He just watches you, his eyes as dark as ever beneath the mask. For a moment, you think he’s not going to answer at all.

But then he says, “Didn’t look like you finished to me.”

Blood rushes to your face so quickly that it makes you light-headed as you catch his meaning. Oh, what the fuck. This is just adding salt to the wound now.

“I wasn’t trying to–” You start, then cut yourself off. “That’s not why I was– I was just trying to relax.”

In the ensuing silence, you realise how silly you sound. At the very least, Ghost doesn’t laugh; he just tilts his head to the side, consideringly.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– sir–”

“Let me see, sergeant.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Ghost’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You have room to refuse. You could tell him to get out of your dorm right now, and he’d do it. Knowing the lieutenant, he’d never bring it up again, either.

You drop your knees apart, spreading your thighs in an unpracticed, self-conscious sort of motion. 

Under the lieutenant’s sharp gaze, your skin prickles and your nerves strain. Even sitting down on your bed, he’s a veritable behemoth of broad shoulders and thick corded muscle. His hulking form towers over you even now, and you feel so damn small as you lay there propped up against your pillows in nothing but a t-shirt.

Ghost has seen you naked before, obviously. You can’t afford to be prudish in the military, where you never know when you’ll next have true privacy, and you’ve changed out and showered with the squad countless times. It’s never meant anything, and the men in 141 have never made you feel anything less than comfortable with them.

This, however, is different. This isn’t just a case of catching a quick glimpse of your nude form as you shower in the group shower rooms when you’re out on missions – your whole damn pussy is out on display for him, still glistening wet and sticky from your ministrations and the lube you’d used.

Ghost’s inhale is as loud as a thunderclap. You’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable in another person’s presence. You feel a little ridiculous laying like this as he watches you, but another part of you feels so humiliatingly desperate for some kind of approval from your lieutenant. 

At first, that approval is nowhere to be found. Ghost is notoriously difficult to read, and you’re beginning to sweat as you lay there waiting for a response – any response.

At last, he makes a noise. It’s part grunt, part hum, and part groan.

“You’re still wet, sergeant.”

Are you imagining it, or is his voice an octave deeper than usual? 

Your eyes trace his face, trying to imagine what he looks like beneath the mask. You can see the suggestion of his nose, the square curve of his jaw. His darkened eyes are watching you so carefully that you feel as though you’re physically being pinned in place.

You swallow. “It’s just– I–”

“You didn’t get to finish.” Ghost interrupts, with the air of completing your sentence for you. 

You try to speak, but nothing more than a strangled sort of murmur escapes. You swallow hastily, then try again.

“I wasn’t going to. Sir.” You tack on the title at the end as an afterthought, but this whole situation is so far beyond professional that you probably needn’t have bothered. “Finish, I mean. I… I never do.”

You’ve admitted it before you can really think about it, and then you regret it wildly. You can’t help but wonder if you’ve overstepped a boundary, but then again the boundaries are currently so blurred that they’re virtually impossible to discern.

“You never finish.” Ghost repeats it. Slowly, staring right at your face, as though he’s confirming what you’ve just said. 

It sounds so much worse in his deep, gravelly voice.

Embarrassment blooms, thick and sickly in your stomach. Your legs start to twitch closed, too embarrassed to be having this conversation with your cunt bared like this, but then Ghost’s big paw of a hand reaches out to settle over your knee, keeping you open and exposed. It’s so rare to see his hands ungloved, and the bare skin of his callous-roughened hand feels almost scorching hot against your inner knee.

“I don’t– I’ve tried,” You say, and you can’t help but feel as though you’re just digging yourself further into a hole, here. “But I don’t– I’m not able to. I mean, I’ve come close, I’m just not able to… you know.”

You trail off lamely, feeling like the biggest fucking loser ever. Why are you telling him this? Why the fuck haven’t you reacted properly, and kicked him the hell out of your room?

Deep down, a shameful little part of you already knows the answer to that. You’re feeling awfully, sickeningly hopeful. Having Lieutenant Riley in your dorm, sitting on your bed and staring so hungrily at the wet, swollen parts between your legs feels like something out of your wildest wet dreams.

His eyes flick towards your pink silicone rabbit dildo, half-hidden under your blanket, and he grunts consideringly before reaching out and taking it into his hands again. It’s standard-size, but it looks small in his big hands.

“You ain’t doin’ it right, then.” He says, so bluntly that you just blink at him. “Show me how you use it.”

For a brief, wild moment, you wonder if you’re experiencing visual and auditory hallucinations right now. Surely you can’t really be experiencing this right now – and yet the lieutenant is still watching you, and you’ve never disobeyed a direct order before. 

He hands you the vibrator, then waits expectantly.

And… well. All you ever try to do is impress him. 

You shuffle your legs open a little wider, ignoring the flustered heat that scalds your cheeks. You’ve never been all exposed like this in front of another person, and the weight of Ghost’s eyes on you is reminiscent of being under a spotlight.

You swear his eyes darken even further when you press the stiff silicone rabbit dildo to your cunt, if it’s even possible for that gaze to get darker beneath the thick balaclava and eyeblack smeared over the narrow strip of skin that’s visible.

The dildo sinks in so easily that it’s almost embarrassing, and your breath catches both from the stretch and the way Ghost leans in a little closer to see. Far from turning you off, you feel your body throb in response to his proximity, and your cunt flutters pathetically around the plastic toy. You shift, attempting to get a little more comfortable, but you can’t dispel the nerves fizzing in your blood as you attempt to push the dildo a little deeper under Ghost’s sharp gaze.

His big, hulking body is so perfectly still as he watches you that it’s making you a little nervous. The only reaction that you get from him is a small, considering hum, but even then you can’t figure out what it means. Your movements are a little clumsy, so hyper-conscious that he’s watching every single thing you do that you end up fumbling a little. He’s looking at you in the same way he assesses threats, his intense dark eyes examining every movement and reaction you make. It makes you feel small and jittery, especially when you realise that he’s judging you by what you’re doing.

“You gonna turn it on?” He asks, and oh god his voice has definitely dropped lower and huskier. You know you’re not imagining it. 

You can’t even bring yourself to respond with words. You just make a strangled sort of sound of agreement, then clumsily hit the on button. The toy buzzes to life once more, and your toes curl absent-mindedly into the sheets as the soft silicone bunny ears pulse against your clit.

It feels nice, but you can’t manage to concentrate on the feeling. Hyper-aware of Ghost’s attention, you let out a quiet moan as you shift the vibrator inside you. It’s a little exaggerated, but you can’t help it – you feel like you should be putting on some kind of a show. 

You glance back at Ghost’s face, trying to guess what he’s thinking; even through the mask, you can tell that he’s frowning. You feel your stomach clench anxiously. Have you done something wrong?

“This how you usually do it?” He asks.

You swallow thickly, feeling a bit stupid. “Um.. yeah.”

Ghost grunts. He doesn’t sound impressed.

“No wonder you can’t come.” He says wryly.

You go still, eyes widening. In the silence, the bzzzzt! of your stupid vibrator is louder than ever. A sudden wave of shame washes over you, and you start to close your legs again in an effort to block the sight of the toy stuffed into your pussy.

“Oh,” You snap sourly, your embarrassment making you irritable. “So you’re the pussy expert now?”

That startles a loud bark of a laugh out of the lieutenant, a sound so rare that you find yourself desperately trying to commit it to memory.

“Think I might know a bit more than you, sweetheart.” He says. He’s relaxed now, his wide shoulders rolling back. He’s always so effortlessly confident, always so assured in himself and his abilities in a way that makes you feel like a silly little girl. 

Judging by the way the corners of his eyes are just slightly wrinkled beneath the mask, Ghost is smirking at you. He finds this funny.

“What about when you’re with other people, hm?” He asks, and his eyes drop back down to try and get a look at you again. When he realises that your legs are clamped tight together, he reaches out to guide your thighs apart again. “No one’s ever impressed you?”

His hands are big and rough and hot, and your willpower crumbles like wet paper as you allow him to open your legs all over again. The vibrator is still buzzing sadly inside you, mostly forgotten about; the stimulation is nice, but it’s never been enough for you.

You huff a weak laugh. You should have known that this would come up, and now you find yourself floundering a little.

“No one’s ever tried.” The confession comes out like a whisper, like a secret.

You can see the moment Ghost understands; realisation settles heavy over him like a physical weight, and the whites of his eyes flash as they widen just slightly. For a moment, he says nothing at all. He doesn’t move – it doesn’t even look like he breathes. 

“No?” He says, except it doesn’t really sound like a question. It sounds rough, and you can feel the almost convulsive motion of his fingers tightening around your knee. 

You shake your head wordlessly, beyond embarrassed now.

Ghost’s wispy blond eyelashes flutter softly as his eyes dart down to your pussy, still humiliatingly stuffed with your stupid little vibrator. He takes a moment to stare, then looks back up to your face. He’s so frustratingly confident about everything he does, not an ounce of shame in his posture even as you wilt beneath him.

“Never messed around with anybody?”

“No.” You say, and it comes out on a wheeze. He holds your gaze without faltering, and you realise that he’s expecting you to elaborate. “No, I– it just never happened. I was never… um, I was just always too busy, I guess.”

“Too fussy, more like.” He mutters, quiet enough that it seems like it’s a comment meant just for himself. You don’t know how to take that, so you chew your lip and stay quiet.

His eyes drop down to the vibrating dildo again, and you recognise something that looks like a flash of hunger. It feels like there’s pressure building up beneath your skin, tight and hot, and your thighs fall open a little further. You feel raw and so, so exposed, but you don’t even care when Ghost is looking at you like that.

“Let me try.” He says, the words falling out sharp and harsh as though he they’ve burst out of his mouth before he can stop them. It’s not like Ghost to speak without thinking it through, perfectly calculated, and your breath catches a little at the offer.

How could you ever say no to that? You don’t really think that he’s going to succeed in making you come – at this point you’re pretty sure your body is a little bit broken and you’re just not capable of orgasming at all, and that’s whatever – but the chance to get fucked by Ghost? To lose the lingering vestiges of your viriginity to your ridiculously hot, mysterious, massive lieutenant? It’s like something out of a dream.

“Okay.” You choke out, nodding stupidly. “Yeah.”

You want to be touched. You don’t think you’ve ever actually felt the yearning for physical contact this strongly in your life; you’re practically holding your breath as you wait for Ghost to make a move.

Finally, he reaches out. His first move is to pull the stupid little dildo out of you, still vibrating, and you feel yourself clench convulsively around nothing as he leaves you empty and wanting. He spares it a brief, evaluating glance, and you feel yourself burn as you realise he’s examining how you’ve soaked the toy.

He tosses it to the side, barely even taking the time to switch it off first, then turns his attention back to you. He’s got that same kind of laser-focus he usually only gets out on the field, and you take a moment to feel incredibly grateful that you’re never going to be on the receiving end of that terrifying scrutiny on the battlefield.

It feels like your skin is too tight for your body, every nerve and synapse strained and primed as you wait for him to touch you. But he’s slow about it, as though he just wants to torture you a little bit. 

When he finally reaches out to lay his hands on you, he doesn’t touch where you want him to.

His callous-roughened hands land on your hips, and pull you down the bed towards him. In the same move, he half-climbs up on the mattress, his huge form practically dwarfing you. Your head and shoulders are still cushioned by your pillows, but your legs are splayed open around Ghost where he kneels on your bed.

You glance down, unable to help yourself, unable to resist trying to catch a look at the outline of his erection pressing against his trousers, and oh. Fuck. He’s big. You knew he’d be big, of course, he’s big all over, but Jesus Christ, maybe you’re a little out of your own depth here–

His thick fingers tangle in the hem of your t-shirt, stretching the fabric out. “Take this off.”

You scramble to do as he says, grabbing at your top and pulling it up clumsily. You realise a moment too late that you’re not wearing a bra, but you suppose at this point it hardly matters. You drop your shirt to the side, and try not to feel too horrifically self-conscious beneath the burning hot gaze of the lieutenant.

Though you can’t see Ghost’s face, you can hear the soft exhale he blows out through his nose, just faintly muffled by the fabric of his mask. His eyes are trained on your chest, darting between each of your tits as though he can’t decide which one to settle on. After a long moment, he reaches forward and cups your left tit with one of his enormous hands, thumbing absently at one of your nipples.

It’s silly; Ghost has touched you before. Lots of times. A nudge of the elbow accompanied by a conspiratorial eye roll, a clap to the shoulder, rough hands pulling you to your feet after training or applying white-hot painful pressure to injuries. But this – you’ve never been touched like this before, not by Ghost, not by anyone.

The shaky breath you let out as his big, rough thumb rolls over your firm nipple comes out as a strangled sort of moan that honestly startles you a little. The noise catches his attention, and he snorts.

“Can’t be that sensitive.” He mutters, but then he reaches to thumb at your other nipple as though trying to be sure.

It’s because you’ve never been touched like this by another person before, you tell yourself. Truthfully, you’ve never even touched yourself like this before. You’ve never bothered to play with your own tits; you’ve always just gone straight to breaking out your vibrators. Now, with every brush of Ghost’s scarred fingers over the tight bud of your nipples, you think you must have been crazy to skip over this part of yourself. But then again, there’s no way that your own hands on yourself would elicit the same sharp jolt that shoots from your breasts down your spine.

“Sir–” You breathe, struggling not to squirm where you’re laying. You wonder, somewhat deliriously, if it might be rude to demand your lieutenant stuff his thick fingers into your pussy. You can already tell that they’re going to feel so much better than your own.

Ghost glances up at you, his eyes unreadable as he watches you bite at your lip. God, his little wispy eyelashes are so blond—

“What?” He says, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Say it.”

“Want to try your fingers.” You breathe before you can second-guess yourself. 

The laugh that rumbles out of Ghost’s chest is low and smoky. It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, so big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. You’ve witnessed those hands crack bones and snap necks and break down doors, and yet you can’t help but wonder desperately what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly.

He adjusts himself on the bed; he’s a big man, hulking and huge as he kneels on your mattress, his weight causing it to dip. His palms wrap around your ankles with ease, and he hauls you into place with a grim efficiency that goes straight to your pussy.

“Big brute.” You say, a little breathlessly.

He ignores you, using his arms to hold your legs open and wide for him. And all you can do is just lie there as he stares, because goddamn it’s like he’s been carved from steel and you can’t break out of his grip. Not that you want to break out of his grip anyway, but you’d really appreciate it if he actually got moving instead of just staring.

“Fuck,” He grunts after a moment, with the air of talking to himself. “Been hiding this all this time, huh?”

“Jesus.” You breathe in response, subconsciously letting your legs drop open even more.

He makes a low noise of appreciation, and finally reaches out to touch you properly. One thick thumb swipes through the seam of your cunt, and you feel the way he’s smearing the clear sticky wetness that’s been leaking steadily out of you. With his now slick thumb, he drags up towards your clit and circles it with agonisingly light pressure.

You let out an embarrassing choked whine, your toes curling at the sensation. Somewhat ironically, Ghost is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your attempts, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow.

“D’you always get this wet?”

You can’t even tell if he’s asking you mockingly or if he’s being genuinely curious; it feels like every inch of your focus has narrowed down to the feel of his big thumb rolling those tight little circles around your clit, his touch scorching against you.

It’s not exactly surprising that Ghost is good with his hands. You’ve seen the way he handles weaponry, locking and loading and aiming to fire with the kind of swiftness that comes from muscle memory, working with unwavering speed and precision. He’s the same in hand-to-hand combat, moving with aggressive fluidity that overwhelms his opponents. You’ve caught hits from him before in training, and you know from experience that a punch from those big hands feels like getting hit by a cinder block.

But even knowing how deft and skilled his hands are, it knocks the breath out of you when he slides his middle and ring fingers inside of you, still rubbing steadily at the swollen bump of your clit. 

When you exhale, it accidentally comes out as a moan. Your cheeks burn, but there’s really no space in your brain right now for embarrassment to sink in. Two of Ghost’s fingers are the equivalent of at least three and a half of yours, and you feel yourself break out into an overwhelmed sweat when they twist and rub against the sensitive squishy spot in the front wall of your cunt.

You’re so damn worked up, your arousal coiled like a knot in your lower belly from your failed attempts to get yourself off all day. Your back curves, humping yourself near mindlessly back up into his hand as he plays you like a goddamn instrument.

You barely even have time to consider how unfair it is that Ghost is so good at playing with you like this when he doesn’t even have a pussy himself, because then he pulls his fingers out of you.

“Oh, no, don’t stop–” You start to protest breathlessly, your chest still heaving, but the quick glance the lieutenant sends you has you falling silent.

Ghost glances down at his fingers. They’re all glossy from fingering you, and he takes a moment to eye up the way they glisten in the dim light of your bunk. You might have felt self-conscious about it, if you couldn’t see the unmistakable gleam of hungry interest in Ghost’s dark brown eyes.

He wipes his hand on the crease of your hip, but you don’t even get the chance to protest before he reaches up to hook his fingers into his mask. You go still, holding your breath in surprise as he pulls the material up until it bunches up around the bridge of his nose.

And that’s– well. You’ve seen his jaw before, and his mouth (Jesus, you had seen it earlier that evening, when he had been sipping on his smooth whiskey of choice), but the sight of his strong jawline and blond stubble and corded scars on his pale skin always manages to knock the breath out of you. And this time, he’s rolled his mask up even further than before, revealing a nose that’s clearly been broken at least once before.

You probably shouldn’t stare so blatantly, especially knowing that Ghost always takes such pains to keep his face covered. You’re not even sure if the other guys on the team have seen his uncovered face, except for Price, and you know that they’ve developed a habit of averting their eyes when he pulls his mask up for whatever reason. It’s a habit that you never quite managed to develop yourself; you’re never able to stop yourself from gaping at him like a moron, drinking in all of the minutest details. He’s never said a thing about your penchant for staring, so you can only hope that he’s chosen to ignore it.

You’re so busy staring that it takes you by surprise when he grips your jaw with one massive hand and pulls you into a rough kiss.

The sound you make is small and startled, but it’s swallowed by Ghost’s demanding mouth. His lips are dry and a little chapped, but they feel scorching hot against yours. You reach up to grab at his arms – mostly just to ground yourself – but you find yourself almost immediately distracted by the firm bulge of his biceps beneath your hands.

Listen, you’ve kissed people before, plenty times. You’re in your early twenties, and just because you’re inexperienced sexually it doesn’t mean that you’re inexperienced full stop. But this, right now, kissing with Ghost, makes you feel as though you’ve been doing nothing but fumbling your way through all of those encounters, like you’ve been kissing wrong all this time.

It’s slow and deep, at first. All-consuming. It lights a fire in your gut, which expands and spreads throughout your body until you find your fingers grasping desperately at the short cotton sleeves of Ghost’s t-shirt where it’s stretched over his thickly muscled arm.

Ghost doesn’t just kiss with his mouth, either. It’s like a full-body experience with him; he puts his hands, his whole damn body into the kiss. He clutches you to him, holding you close even as the force of his kiss bends you backwards into the pillows beneath you. At the same time, it’s all you can do to concentrate and respond to the kiss itself, your attention stretched and strained by the feeling of Ghost’s hands running over you, stroking you sides and squeezing at your breasts and groping at the soft flesh of your hips and ass. 

 “Hah,” You gasp out when Ghost’s lips slide sideways to find the corner of your jaw. His mouth is hot against your skin, bruising, and you feel yourself grow embarrassingly wetter, just from a little kissing.

“You good?” Ghost grunts into your throat as he nips at the base of your jaw.

“Uh huh.” You manage to get out, still clutching at his meaty arms like they’re a lifeline. “So good.”

His breath is hot on your throat when he rumbles out a deep chuckle, and then his tongue flicks out against your earlobe. It makes you forget how to breathe for a second, and you’re distracted when Ghost’s hand changes course, easing beneath your legs so he can press his fingers against your clit again.

Then he pauses, and his fingers slide lower, lazily hooking back and inside you. You tremble, horny and humiliated as you realise that your arousal is glistening all over your damn thighs, impossible to miss.

“Fuck,” Ghost mutters. “All this for me, sweetheart?”

“Hnng,” You whimper like an idiot as his fingers return to your clit, now slick and slippery. “I’m just–”

He doesn’t wait for you to explain. Instead, he pulls his fingers out of you again and kisses you hard. The soft breathy noises you make are muffled into his mouth, and you wrap your legs around his waist automatically. He’s built like a damn mountain, your thighs stretched wide to accommodate the bulk of him as he settles against the core of you.

He likes that – he presses in close, and you can feel the hard line of his cock pressing up against you through the roughness of his jeans. You’re so sensitive that the coarseness of the fabric is almost unbearable, but you’re able to ignore it because you’re so distracted by the sensation of his erection because holy fucking shit that can’t really be how big he is.

You gasp, the sound high and breathy, and you try to grind against Ghost, but it’s impossible because he’s so fucking heavy and he’s pinning you down on the mattress beneath him. Instead, all you can do is squeeze your legs and pull Ghost in even tighter, increasing the pressure between the two of you.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” Ghost whispers, and it sounds like a promise. He drags his lips up your throat, then talks against the corner of your mouth. “You won’t be able to touch yourself again without wishing it was me.”

The wave of desire that rocks through you almost pulls you under, and you swear you might have actually gotten so horny that you blacked out for a second, because from one second to the next Ghost has somehow managed to muscle his way back down between your thighs so that he’s eye-level with your cunt.

“What are you–” You start to say, but then he loops his forearms under your knees to tug your legs wider, and you realise just how close his face is to your pussy. You swear you’re actually pulsing with arousal, and you wonder a little wildly if he can see that.

“Oh, fuck, yes — please,” You blurt out, before Ghost has even gotten his mouth on you. He chuckles, low and amused. His grin looks predatory, but in this moment you really don’t mind being the prey — not if it means you’ll be devoured by that mouth.

Then Ghost’s mouth is against you, wet and burning hot. You cry out, barely noticing as Ghost throws one of your legs over his shoulders, spreading you open.

It’s just the right side of overwhelming. Ghost’s mouth feels like it’s going to swallow you whole – his tongue is huge and flat and firm as he licks over your clit, making your thighs quake on either side of his head. It’s entirely unlike any of the fumbling masturbatory attempts you’ve ever made – you always enjoy messing around with your various little sex toys, but you’re swiftly beginning to realise that it could never compare to real human contact. Or at least, contact with Ghost.

His hands move from your waist to your asscheeks, his big palms squeezing the plump flesh there before using his grip to pull your body closer so that he can bury his whole face between your legs. The rougher material of his mask presses harshly into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, but you hardly even notice it.

Your pussy has never been this wet before; it feels like you’ve sprung a goddamn leak. You might have felt embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the way Ghost groans against you, his wide tongue laving flat and rough against the seam of your cunt as he practically gulps down all the sticky arousal you have to give him.

“Oh god– fuck! Sir…” You sigh, spreading your knees farther apart so that Ghost can wedge his head further between your thighs.

Your ears burn as your room is filled with sounds of him tonguing at your cunt, the lewd wet squish of him working you over until you’re keening, your hips twitching clumsily until his hands tighten where he’s gripping the plump flesh of your ass to keep you still. Then all you can do is twitch as he licks over your clit in repetitive lapping motions, working in circles and then dipping down to shove his searingly hot tongue inside you. You can feel his teeth press against your labia even as he sucks at your clit, and the sensation sends hot bolts of pleasure rocketing down your spine.

Though you don’t mean to, you’re pretty sure that you make his job harder. You can’t stop wriggling, tossing your head back against your pillows and squirming on Ghost’s tongue in a wild overstimulated dance, like a fish caught in a net.

Finally, Ghost seems to have enough of your unco-ordinated flailing attempts to grind against his face. He reaches around your thigh with one arm to reach your clit so he can keep it stimulated as he gulps at the sticky sweetness of your cunt like a man possessed – the action also works to keep your hips pinned down and still. You stop your frantic moving, but your spasms and sounds increase tenfold.

You can hardly believe it, but you feel something coming. A sweet, torturous build up starts in your belly, and you sweat and gasp as he licks and suckles at you relentlessly. You’ve never found yourself in this state so quickly before, with your legs trembling and your breathing heavy and shaky. 

“Oh.. oh…” You breathe, beginning to arch your back.

You know this feeling – this is where that sweet climax builds and builds, only to dissipate at the last agonisingly close moment. But this time, with Ghost’s big head between your thighs as his mouth moves against you, sucking, tasting, eating up everything you have to offer, the breath-taking pleasure doesn’t show any sign of slipping out of reach. It feels like for once you might actually reach that peak.

But then, right as you’re certain that you’re about to tip over that long-awaited coveted release, the bastard pulls away.

“No!” You practically shriek, attempting to sit up. “No, I was so close–!”

“Lie back.” Ghost orders, his voice like the crack of a whip. 

You drop back obediently before you can even register that you’re moving, so conditioned to react instantly to that tone of voice coming from Ghost’s deep rumbling baritone. Your eyes are wide and betrayed as you stare at him, admittedly a little baleful.

God, but it’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s staring up at you from between your legs like that. His eyes are dark and hungry beneath the mask, and since it’s all pushed up and rumpled around his nose you get a toe-curlingly good look at his lower face. His chin is wet and smeared with your slick, and his lips are plump and pink and swollen from all the kissing and suckling he’s done to you. In a moment of near-delirium, you think that you understand now why he covers his face – his mouth is pretty in a way that shocks you, in a way that needs to be hidden for decency’s sake.

“You’re gettin’ greedy,” He grunts, turning his head and sinking his teeth into the crease of your thigh just to make you yelp. “Wait for it, love. It’ll be worth the wait.”

You don’t think you have much of a choice, so all you can do is lay back and hold on for the ride. He presses his mouth to you again, and you whimper softly as he tongues at your clit. 

“No one’s ever eaten you out like this?” He asks, the words muffled into the damp curve of your thigh. It’s stupid, because you know he knows the answer to that is a resounding no, but it seems like he just wants to hear you say it out loud.

“No.” You say, your breaths sawing their way out of your chest.

“Hnn.” He makes some kind of grunting sound against you, his tongue flicking out to taste you again. “That’s why you’ve been so tense, huh? So fuckin’ desperate for someone to touch you?”

“That’s not– ‘m not tense,” You manage to get out, your breasts heaving as your thighs tense up where they’re thrown over his shoulders. “Maybe.. Maybe you’re too relaxed.”

Ghost huffs a hot little laugh at your hip because you both know that couldn’t be further from the truth. You doubt anyone has ever accused Ghost of being too relaxed before, but you don’t have time to feel stupid for it – not when Ghost is devoting the full force of his attention on you, deep breaths huffing against the wet skin of your pussy and making you shudder.

“That’s it,” He croons, his voice uncharacteristically soft and lilting. The rumble of it ripples through your limbs like lapping waves, his battle-roughened palm stroking and smoothing down your ass and thigh as he hauls you closer. “Relax, sweetheart. Fuck, such a pretty pussy. Fuckin’ criminal of you to keep this hidden away all to yourself.” And then, quieter, “Fuckin’ Christ, you’re wet.”

You’re not even sure that he’s talking to you. It seems more as though he’s talking to himself, and it just happens to be you he’s talking about. Your cheeks burn as the feeling of vulnerability sets in, but you keep your legs spread wide as he kisses your clit with his swollen pink lips. You want so badly to be good, for him to be pleased with you, that you push past your embarrassment as best you can.

There’s a budding anxiety in your belly that Ghost is wasting his time here. As much as you crave his touch and the build up, you worry that he’s going to get frustrated with you and your inability to actually orgasm.

But Ghost doesn’t seem to be in a rush. He seems perfectly fucking happy between your legs, and even with his mask all clumsily rucked up around his nose he presses his face into your pussy with his eyes heavy-lidded and hazy. Even when you shift a little in an effort to get him to go a little harder or faster, he just pins you still and continues at his own leisurely pace.

When he reintroduces his fingers, pressing inside and stretching you out with a light sting, you hiss and try to lift your hips again. His rough calloused knuckles brush against the inside of your soft inner thighs, making them quiver as he goes three fingers deep.

“Shhh, atta girl.” He mumbles into you, his words coming out wetly muffled since he doesn’t even both pulling his face back. “Fuckin’– shit, so good.”

The praise shoots liquid and molten through you, and you have to bite back a pathetic keen as you pulse around his fingers. You’re sure he must feel it, because he lets out an answering rumble and laps against your clit, then closes his lips and sucks.

“Oh god–”

“Shhh.” Ghost scoots forward so your knee can hoist over his shoulder. Then he angles his chin to kiss the skin on the inside curve of your knee as he pumps into you with slow, slippery fingers and ungodly squelching noises that only sparks you hotter. You can’t even tell if it’s sweat or tears dotting your face anymore.

Though Ghost’s eyes are heavy-lidded and a little fogged over, he hasn’t looked away from you once. The focused intensity of his gaze spears you through, because you’ve never been looked at like that. No one has ever seen you like this, no one has ever put effort into you like this, no one has ever been so determined to please you before. You don’t know how you’re ever going to recover from this; you have a terrifyingly distinct impression that he’s going to live up to his promise to ruin you for anyone else.

It feels as though your blood is boiling beneath your skin, and you nearly sob when Ghost pulls back. You’ve never been so close, and you want to scream when he takes his gorgeous fucking mouth away from your clit.

“Fuck.” You wet your lips, realising you were panting like a dog and your mouth is bone dry. “Fuck, Ghost, just—”

“Quiet, lovie.” His reply is hoarse and firm, his throat working hard to swallow as he peered down between you, his clever thumb delving slick circles over the taut bump of your clit, his other three fingers fucking with easy rhythm and purpose. It’s maddening, it’s infuriating, it makes you feel as though you’re about to break apart.

His fingers are pulled out, and then you feel firm pressure pressing into you yet again. Your head lolls as you attempt to sit up, your eyelids fluttering as you realise that he’s pressing your stupid dildo into you again.

“Oh, you bastard–” You start to complain, but Ghost doesn’t give you the opportunity to speak properly.

The dildo slides into you so easily, your sticky slick mixing with his spit making the slide almost effortless. You sigh, a build-up of pressure making your whole body feel as though you’ve been stretched out and pulled tight. 

Now that you’ve been pushed to the edge, you linger by it. Ghost keeps you on that edge for what feels like hours, until your breaths are burning in your chest and the ligaments in your calves are screaming from all the straining you’ve been doing. Every roll of Ghost’s thumb over your clit sends sparks racing through your nerves, and your breathing is harsh and uneven as Ghost starts fucking you with the stupid vibrating dildo. The rhythm he sets is firm and unrelenting, pushing the silicone toy in and out and visibly relishing the wet squish of your cunt as it takes it deep.

Ghost huffs against the wet skin of your inner thigh, making you shudder. It seems like he’s enjoying this as much as you are, judging by the subtle roll of his hips against your mattress as he absorbs himself in fucking you with the dildo. 

He experiments with the angle, adjusting the dildo until you cry out, jerking against the bedding, and whining “There!”. You needn’t bother telling him, though; Ghost has a sharp eye, and he’s so goddamn attentive. He’s already repeating the stroke, pushing the dildo in and bumping it against the same sensitive spot he had hit before.

It feels good, but it’s not enough. Now that you’ve felt the firm hot pressure of his fingers spreading you wide and the wet hunger of his mouth devouring you, you don’t think anything else will do.

He shifts, you catch the rolls of his hips against your mattress again, and you feel as though you’ve caught fire. You think of the glimpse you had caught of his hard cock, pressing against his jeans and making the fabric stretch taut, and you find yourself speaking without thinking.

Ghost pushes the dildo in once more, and you reach down to grab at his wrist as you ask breathlessly, “Can I try yours?”

He pauses; goes so still that it’s honestly uncanny, his eyes practically boring holes into you as he stares at your face. You grow flustered, your own eyes widening in response to your own words. Just because he’s deigning to touch you with his fingers and his mouth, doesn’t mean he’s actually planning to fuck you. Jesus, he’s your fucking superior officer. What were you thinking?

“I’m sorry,” You squeak. “That wasn’t appropriate. Fuck, forget I said that–”

Even beneath the mask, you can see the bob of Ghost’s Adam's apple as he swallows thickly.

“You sure?” He interrupts your rambling before you can get started. “I don’t... ‘m not good with virgins.”

There’s… there’s so much you could say in response to that. Namely, he certainly doesn’t seem like he’s bad with virgins, as evidenced by the throb of arousal still pulsing through your soaked cunt. He’s just had you sobbing at the mercy of his fingers and mouth, and all he has to say when you ask for more is that he’s not good with virgins?

Instead, what you say is a rather lame, “I’m not technically a virgin.”

Which is true. Sort of. Based on a technicality – you had bullied your damn vibrator through your stupid hymen years ago, and you’ve always thought the idea of virginity was a stupid one, anyway. 

“Plastic cocks don’t count, darlin’.”

Blood rushes to your face so fast you feel light-headed as humiliation burns through you. Jesus, okay. That’s just mortifying. 

“Oh, you think your cock is special, then?” You scoff, attempting nonchalance.

Ghost shifts, letting your legs drop from his shoulders, and kneels up on the mattress so that he’s looming over you. Fuck, every time you get a visceral reminder of how big he is, you feel a little faint. It’s like having a veritable wall of muscle caging you into your bed. Your thighs are spread wide to accommodate the size of him, and you find yourself absolutely captivated by the sight of him with his muscles straining against that stupid tight t-shirt, still panting lightly from his greedy gorging on your cunt.

He reaches out and drags a hand slowly from your cunt up over your belly, between your breasts, up over your sternum, to rest over your collarbones. It’s gentle – he doesn’t put an iota of pressure against your throat – but all you can fucking see is the swell of his bicep and the dark ink of his tattoo and the prominent veins running down the chiselled muscle of his forearm.

Good fucking lord.

“You’ll find out.” He says.

And oh. Okay then. Yeah, you sure fucking will.

He reaches down and unbuttons his jeans, and you can’t help but strain to try and watch. He pushes them down carelessly around his thighs, but doesn’t make any move to strip them off any further. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that you’re laying on the bed completely nude and exposed, while Ghost has only pushed his jeans down far enough to pull his cock out, but you don’t have any time to feel self-conscious about it.

His cock curves up against his belly, red and twitching. He’s fucking rock hard, and bigger than you had been expecting, bigger than any of your stupid little toys. Your mouth goes dry, and your eyes widen comically. Fuck. No wonder he’s confident. He’s not lacking in any way.

“D’you’ve a johnny?” He asks, one big paw of a hand taking his cock and stroking lazily at it until a bead of pearly precum oozes from the angry red head.

You’re distracted for a moment, staring at the way he fists his cock, before you blink back to yourself. “What?”

“A condom.” He enunciates slowly, as though speaking to someone he thinks is a bit thick.

“I know what you meant,” You snap, embarrassed. “But– no. Why would I? I’ve never…”

You can see the way his eyes crease and realise that he’s frowning beneath the mask, and you’re hit with a sudden bolt of panic – is he going to change his mind now? You can see the hesitation in the lines of his shoulders, but you think if he changes his mind about fucking you, you might just die.

“It doesn’t matter,” You blurt, “You don’t need one. I’m on the pill. I’m clean.”

Ghost cocks his head, but remains still. It’s almost unnerving, and you feel your toes curl into the bedsheets as you wait for an answer. He looks fucking predatory, hulking over you like a fucking behemoth as he watches you assessingly. You try your best to look confident, but you have a feeling that you just look desperately hungry.

He reaches up and hooks his fingers into the fabric of his mask and pulls it back down to cover his still slick-shiny mouth and jaw, and you’re gripped with sudden overwhelming panic and dismay that he’s changed his mind, that he’s about to leave you here wet and empty and wanting. In that moment, you throw your dignity into the wind.

“Please,” You beg pathetically, wriggling a little bit against your sweat-damp bedding in an effort to grind yourself against him. “Please, please, it’s fine, I swear, you don’t need one–”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Ghost grinds out, his voice rough and a little hoarse. “How can a virgin be such a fuckin’ slut?”

Some part of you wonders if you should be offended by that, but instead a frisson of heat runs down your spine. You know you’re not a slut – you’ve never searched for any sexual attention, and you’ve never even experienced someone else’s touch – but goddamn you want to be a slut for your lieutenant right now.

Despite his harsh words, when Ghost hooks your legs over his hips and aligns himself with you, he’s gentle. He’s acting like you’re something fragile; he’s so big that your legs are spread wide around his waist, his shoulders so broad that he’s blocking out the dim light from your lamp, and yet his touch is light against you as though he’s afraid to break you.

He’s still gripping his cock hard, and he slides the tip of it against your slick heat. You have a brief moment of alarm; even through the haze of arousal, you can recognise that this is going to be a tight fit. You breathe deeply, then begin to wiggle your hips in an effort to take him inside you.

He hisses, then one of his big hands grabs at your hip. “Fuck, stay still.”

“Put it in.” You beg, your voice coming out thick and stupid-sounding. “Fuck, please, c’mon, c’mon–”

“Kid,” Ghost bites out through clenched teeth, his voice low and gritty. “Need you to shut the fuck up for me.”

You manage to bite down on your lip, but you can’t stop yourself from pouting mopily at him with wide, wet eyes. You don’t understand why he’s making you wait – can’t he see how mean he’s being? You’re so fucking wet, so empty as you clench down on nothing, and your clit is so desperate for any kind of stimulation that it’s throbbing needily. The head of his cock catches at your opening, dipping in for a second before resuming its maddening slide up and down.

Ghost is still watching you closely, his brown eyes flickering from where the head of his cock drags through your sodden folds up to your pleading pouting expression. You can only imagine what kind of a sight you make, because his chest growls with a choked sort of groan.

“I know,” He murmurs, almost mockingly soft with you. “I know, you want it. Gotta give it to you slowly.”

You want to tell him that he doesn’t have to give it to you slowly, that he can go as fast and hard as he wants to, but some sense of self-preservation shuts you up. Instead, you nod clumsily as he rubs his cock over the slick folds of your cunt, lubing himself up with your own arousal. The feeling of his cock dragging over you, iron hard and velvety soft, so close to where you want it, is enough to have your head spinning dizzily.

You want to beg again, but you’re still trying to follow his order to be silent. You shift restlessly, biting back a whimper when he taps his cock thoughtfully against your clit.

Finally, he decides to put you out of your misery. 

The thick crown of his cock pushes against the tight ring of muscle at the entrance of your cunt, and the gasp you let out is positively punched out of you. He goes slow, just like he promised, but you can still hardly believe it. He goes in and in and in, and yet he’s somehow not even halfway inside. 

“Fuck,” You wheeze, punctuated by a strange little yowl. “Oh god, wait–”

You feel stuffed just from the first few inches, drunk already on the quiet little grunts he’s making. The stretch and the sting and the pressure inside you is glorious, so tight that you can barely even flex around him and you can’t even decide if it’s good or if it’s too much. Your eyes are hot and wet as overwhelmed tears begin to overflow, and you find yourself arching in a weak attempt to flex away from him and the devastating stretch.

God, he’s massive. You knew he would be, of course, but his size seems so much more significant when you’re being impaled on the end of his cock. Fuck, you can feel your vision go blurry as your eyes fill with overwhelmed tears. You’re mortified when a sob is ripped from your chest, harsh and thick.

“Shh, shh.” Ghost coos, his deep voice syrupy thick as he leans over you, the enormous bulk of him caging you into the mattress until your whole world consists only of him. “Just a little bit more.”

“Fuck,” You choke out, trying to arch away again but failing because he’s so big that there’s nowhere to go. “It’s not gonna fit!”

“Shh, lovie,” He rumbles, ducking his face down so that the rough cotton of his mask is pressed against the sweaty skin of your neck. “Relax’n let me in.”

“I– ‘m trying–” You whine, clutching at his biceps. “Jesus–”

You blink your eyes open, vision blurry from the tears clumping your lashes together, only to be met with the sight of Ghost’s deep brown eyes staring at you from beneath the black mask. He’s looming above you, his gaze made all the more intense by the fact that it’s the only part of his face you can really see.

“All that messin’ around with those plastic cocks, but you’re still this tight for me,” He says, his voice so deep that you feel it reverberate into your bones. “Deep breath.”

The breath you inhale at his instruction is rough and ragged, and he snorts a low breathless laugh in response.

When he finally drives his cock all the way in with one smooth stroke, all the breath is driven from your lungs. It feels as though his cock has been pressed all the way up into your chest, and the noise you make when you squirm on it is utterly pathetic. 

Ghost’s hands are like steel clamps when they close around the plump flesh of your thighs, holding them up and pressing them back until they’re pressed against your belly. He looms over you, still almost entirely clothed as sweat beads over his thickly muscled neck. It’s like getting pinned down by a mountain, and you whimper as you’re speared open and prone by the weight of Ghost pressing down upon you.

He hasn’t even started to move yet, but you still feel overfull and raw.

“Too big,” You mumble, struggling to catch your breath. You choke on a sob and feel your eyes burn with unshed tears as your back arches. “Ghost–!”

“Shh.” He grunts. “Call me Simon when I fuck you.”

That… that does something to you. Molten heat rockets up your spine and pools in your belly, and you swear your pussy floods. It’s stupid, how being granted permission to call your lieutenant by his first name is somehow so much hotter than anything else he’s done so far.

“Simon,” You try it out. It comes out a little shaky, your voice little more than a weak whisper, but you swear you can see his eyes sharpen. 

Apparently having come to the decision that you’ve adjusted enough, Ghost pulls his hips back only to drive back in. 

“Oh!” You yelp, hips jumping, but there’s nowhere to go. 

All you can do is lie there as he slides out, out, out, slow and careful and long, and then his hips snap forward and he impales you, pressing all the way into him. He does it again, and again, and you try to bite down on your tongue, try to not sound so pathetically wrecked, but you can’t. It’s like Ghost is puncturing your lungs and every time he fucks into you, you let out the most pathetic little mewling ah ah ah sounds.

You’re not quite prepared for how different this feels; it’s nothing like your stupid plastic dildo. Ghost’s cock is bigger, but it’s also hotter and with more give than you expected, and you’ve never been able to fuck yourself like this. Your plastic toys could never compare to the sensation of being pinned by your giant of a lieutenant as he ruts into you.

Ghost reaches up and roughly pushes his mask up so his mouth is exposed again before he leans in deeper, almost folding you cleanly in half, stretching in to claim your mouth in a kiss that’s not quite a kiss, but rather a fierce mash of lips and tongue as his rhythm picks up, riding you down into the mattress until you realised the screaming noise isn’t coming from either one of you, but the cheap standard issue bed frame.

All you can do is gasp with each deep, raw fuck. There are tears tracking lazily down your cheeks, having overflowed from your burning eyes, and you honestly think your lungs might collapse. You’re bent like a fucking pretzel, in a way that’s making the muscles in your thighs scream, as Ghost pounds into you. 

He’s fucking relentless, but also shockingly aware of you beneath him. He doesn’t put too much pressure on you when he holds you, he never goes hard enough to hurt, and he knows just the right amount of weight to pin you down without being too much.

Your pussy is sloppy around him, wet squishing noises getting louder and louder as he finds more rhythm against your tight walls. Your whole world of awareness has been narrowed down to Ghost and Ghost only; his fingers digging into your thighs, your name in his mouth, his sweltering body pressing against yours. 

He’s holding back, you can tell by the way his voice is caught in his throat. He’s keeping all his dangerous muscles at bay as he pulls out and presses in again. Rough, fast, but not enough to break you, just enough to make you scream until you bury your face to the side and try to cover your mouth with your arm.

“Yeah, you needed this,” Ghost grunts, his uncovered mouth nipping at the hinge of your jaw. “This’s why you were so fuckin’ distracted earlier, hm? You thinkin’ about how much you needed to cream around a real cock?”

“Uh huh, yeah,” You slur out, not even sure what you’re agreeing with. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth, every nerve in your body raw and sparking. You must sound so pathetic, but Ghost seems to like it.

“Ain’t gonna be distracted anymore, are ya?” He rumbles, laving his tongue over your jaw in a way that feels filthy. “Just needed your little pussy filled, that’s all.”

You cry out for him because you can’t help it, delight bubbling in your throat every time he plunges into you. He keeps his pace for a bit, all rushed and blazing, transfixed on watching you suck him in, leaving slick trails along his shaft. But gradually he gets bolder, more desperate, big hands squeezing from your thighs to your hips.

You get lost in the feeling of him in your belly, searing and harsh, fat tip rolling against the spongy spot inside of you until you feel like you might snap. You feel him in your ears, your head pounding with every snap of his hips. You swear you even feel him in your toes, lightning zaps of pleasure down your nerves.

Then he leans back, lifting his weight off of you so you can breathe properly. He leaves his hand on your collarbones like a placeholder, his palm spread over the base of your throat like a reminder, a way to keep your attention on him. 

“Fuck,” He grits out, “That’s it, doll.”

You’re vaguely aware of the fact that Ghost’s gaze has shifted, no longer focused on your face but now instead fixed firmly between your legs as he watches the thick shaft of his cock sink into you. He obviously likes how you feel inside; you can hear him cursing and grunting quietly as his free hand grips your hip for leverage. 

With his mask rumpled up around his nose, you’re gifted with an incredible view of the way his teeth are sunk into his lower lip. Each time he sinks his cock into you again, he makes a raspy little groan, eyes fluttering briefly shut. It’s so painfully endearing that your heart quivers in your chest.

Your legs burn from being spread around his thick waist — any attempt for you to lock them around his back is useless, your legs slipping everytime his ass flexes with his thrusts. Every hasty drive of his hips has the ridge of his cock sliding against the spongy spread of your walls, making you feel more stuffed every time he ruts into you. With every sudden movement you feel the entirety of his fat cock; the veins are throbbing, skin heated and silken within you. Part of you marvels how you’re even able to fit him inside you.

“Never seen you look like this,” he grunts. “All fucked-out and perfect.”

Ghost leans in again, grips your legs so he can rearrange them over his shoulders, and you think you might die. The angle is different and somehow, impossibly, Ghost is fucking into you even deeper. You think you might actually be crying. There’s no question as to whether you’re drooling.

Your hands move to his arms, nails sinking into the hard muscles of his triceps as you cling on for dear life. He doesn’t even seem to notice the sting of your nails scratching him; or perhaps it only urges him on, because his movements take on an edge of desperation.

“Gorgeous girl,” He grits out, jaw clenched. “Squeezin’ so tight. Fuck. Gonna make you cream.”

 You had forgotten about his promise to make you come, too lost in the hazy pleasure of his cock. But now it seems as though he’s been seized by the compulsion to fuck you to the edge; he reaches a hand down so that his thumb can join the fray, and it startles you into moaning breathlessly aloud. 

His thumb is merciless against your clit. You’re vulnerable to his touch, clit spread and on display from the stretch of his thick cock inside of you, and he takes full advantage. His fingers are thick and blistering hot as he rubs at you, and you choke as your toes curl.

“Simon–” You manage to eke out before you lose the weak thread of your thoughts, scattering into nothing as he stimulates the stiff bead of your clit. 

He grunts to show that he’s heard you, but he doesn’t seem any more capable of words than you are as he rocks into the cradle of your hips. You’re practically blinded by your wet eyes, blinking frantically to try and clear your vision as you reach out clumsily to throw your arms around Ghost’s blisteringly hot neck.

It feels as though your skin is stretched too tight over your body, hot and prickly and too much. You’re trembling, your breaths coming in shaky gasps as agonising pressure builds in your lower belly. 

“Fuck, love.” Ghost says, his voice little more than a snarl. “You gonna come?”

No, You think hazily. No, you never come. But even as you think it, part of you recognises that it’s never felt like this before. Your stomach tightens, toes curling, your lungs burning, your eyes rolling. You hardly even know what’s happening.

You recognise that something is building, but it almost seems secondary to the way that Ghost is rutting into you like a man possessed, hitting that spongey spot in the back of your pussy that you’ve never managed to reach yourself and making your legs spasm every time even as his thick thumb rubs frantic circles around the bump of your clit.

“Fuck, fuck–” You wheeze, bucking your hips against him.

It doesn’t grow and dissipate in the way you’re used to. Rather, it creeps up on you almost without you noticing, until you’re whimpering and clinging to Ghost like he’s a lifeline. Your bottom lip trembles as you sob weakly, practically on the brink of diving into an oncoming tidal wave of desire. Then that coil in your stomach snaps like a rubber band, sudden and sharp as a slap to the face. 

Your back arches, your vision whites out, and you cum so hard that the world stops, your ears ring, your body goes limp. Your cunts sucks tight around him, pulsing, feeling every inch of him. It feels so sweet, that white-hot buzzing pleasure rushing over you and wiping your brain completely clean. 

You’re a little delirious from being stuffed with such a fat cock; every thrust just prolongs your pleasure, like his penetration keeps you from squeezing your very first orgasm out right away. It’s mindless ecstasy, your nails burrowing into the skin of his biceps as you desperately clutch at him for some kind of leverage. Ghost doesn’t falter, his hips continuing to work into you, wringing your orgasm out until you feel as though your brain is melting.

You sob – an actual, genuine, wet-sounding sob as your chest heaves for air and your eyes burn with overwhelmed, rapturous tears. Your head is spinning even as your climax subsides, leaving you limp-limbed and weak as Ghost continues rocking into you.

“Look so lovely when you come, sweetheart,” Ghost grunts into your ear, his bulky chest weighing you down as you clutch feebly at his shoulders. “God, that’s a sight. All for me, yeah?”

His praise only makes it worse, makes your eyes sting until there’s tears down your cheeks and stars behind your eyelids. He sounds so smug, but you can’t deny that he has reason to be. He’s the first man to ever touch you, first man to ever fuck you, the first person to ever tip you over the edge and wring an orgasm out of you. Fuck, you think your brain might have been reduced to mush permanently; you wonder wildly if you’ll ever be the same after this.

Despite the sting of Ghost’s punishing thrusts into your already oversensitive cunt, your body sings for him. The rhythm of his hips is getting gradually sloppier, as though he doesn’t care as much for precision now that he’s succeeded in making you come. Soft, guttural little grunts fall from his mouth, and his arms wrap around your waist to reposition you so that he can fuck quick and shallow. It’s almost tender, as though he’s aware of your growing sensitivity as you mewl under him.

There’s a profound, instinctual pleasure in seeing Ghost lose himself in your embrace. His dark eyes are heavy-lidded and his mask is still all rucked up, revealing the way his mouth is lolled softly open as he pants. You find yourself wishing feverishly that he had taken off his clothes too, because you think you would give anything to watch the roiling muscles of his chest and shoulders as he ruts into you.

Then just when you think you’re beginning to recover from the shattering, mind-numbing oversensitivity, Ghost comes inside of you.

He stops rutting to ride out his orgasm, his cock throbbing, pulsing, spurting inside you until you feel fuller than you’ve ever felt. And he comes a lot. 

You’re stuffed so tightly with his cock that his cum has nowhere to go, and ends up leaking thickly from where your cunt grips around him, messy and hot and spilling over your thighs and his. The sound he makes is breathless, all open-mouth and head lolled back as he groans, blissed out as he finds release in your cunt. 

The minutes afterwards are a blur. 

You close your eyes for what feels like only a second, but the next time you blink your eyes open you find yourself feeling miserably, uncomfortably empty and sticky as all that oozy cum leaks out of you. You somehow missed Ghost pulling out of you, and your thoughts are muzzy and embarrassingly slow.

For a moment, you think you’re alone. You’re becoming more aware of yourself, and you realise that you’re shivering weakly alone in your sweat-damp sheets. Where did Ghost go? Part of you, still a little hazy, wonders if he had left you alone as soon as he had come, and you feel your lower lip tremble at the thought. 

God, you feel pathetic. You shift feebly on the sheets, and suck in a sharp breath when you feel the ache inside you, proof that you’re going to feel the shadow of Ghost’s cock for days. You feel drunk off the afterglow, yet you’re swiftly becoming more and more aware of yourself and all the aches and pains that are coming to the fore now.

It feels like you’re too big for your body, and you’re clumsy when you try to sit up. Pushing yourself up makes a whole new set of aches light up, and you let out a quiet keening grumble.

You’re so caught up with trying to ground yourself that you jolt in surprise when big, paw-like hands land on you, pushing you back down onto the bed. “Shh, hey, lay down.” Ghost says, the rough edges of his accent softened. To your bewilderment, he has a damp cloth in his hand; he went to the bathroom, you realise hazily.

Maybe it’s just because you feel raw after your experience with him, pulsing like an open nerve, but you sniffle and blink and then suddenly there are tears dripping down your face.

“Thought you left.” You mumble, trying not to sound like a needy little idiot.

Ghost glances up at you, unblinkingly. His mask is fixed firmly back in place, and he looks annoyingly put-together; it’s an embarrassingly stark contrast to the way you’re still nude and shivery and teary-eyed.

“No.” He says simply.

The damp cloth is warm when it makes contact with your skin, and you relax as he drags it along your sweaty back and over your legs. He’s a little rough about it, but you don’t think it’s on purpose. Gentleness doesn’t come naturally to Simon Riley, and yet you can feel that he’s trying and that makes a warm glow settle in your stomach, replacing the cold anxiety that had settled in when you thought that he had left you alone.

When the cloth reaches the tender skin of your pussy, you hiss and try to pull away. It all feels too sensitive, and you feel your face crumple up as he wipes away the mess of slick and cum between your thighs. He gentles his touch as much as he can, but you still mewl at the electric zaps of oversensitivity that jolt up your spine.

When Ghost pauses and pulls the cloth away from you, you blink your eyes awake. Your vision is still all wet and blurry from tears, but you can still see the shape of Ghost as he stares down at you. You can imagine you look nothing short of ruined right now, even after having been cleaned up, and Ghost’s stare is burning.

You wonder if he’s about to leave now – you can recognise this whole thing had gotten out of hand, and you just about manage to stifle the panic at the creeping realisation that you’ve just fucked your superior officer. Ghost must have realised at this point that the two of you had just ripped through all those fraternisation rules, though it’s always been difficult to tell what he’s thinking. But you trust him – you have to, in your line of work. You have to trust that he’ll handle things.

Ghost tosses aside the cloth, and his big overbearing body climbs back into bed beside you. It’s a standard-issue bunk, and yet it feels comically tiny when Ghost has been added to the mix. He’s surprisingly agile, even despite his big size, and you barely have time to realise that he’s joining you in bed before he’s wrapped a thick arm around your middle, hauling you closer.

You’d love to act chill and cool about the fact that he’s now essentially cuddling you, but you miss the mark by a long mile. You take a breath, and allow yourself to relax into his big burly chest. He’s still fully clothed, and the rough texture of his jeans against your tender bare skin makes you shiver lightly from oversensitivity.

Your hips are sore from being stretched so wide, your joints weak and watery, and you’re perfectly content to close your eyes and forcibly ignore all your concerns about fraternisation or how you’re going to face Ghost in training. It’s a problem for another time.

“You still alive?” Ghost grunts, and his palm coasts down over your back to settle at your ass, his fingers squeezing absent-mindedly into the soft flesh there.

He sounds amused, which makes you grumble in irritation. He takes up so much space, his big body filling up all the free space on the bed and making you feel so fucking small as he holds you so that your back is pressed against his stomach.

“I dunno,” You mumble, words a little garbled. “Think… think you might have fucked me stupid, Lt.”

Lying like this, with his front pressed against your back, you can feel his laugh rumble into you. He’s touchy too in a way that surprises you; his hands are constantly moving, swiping over your sides and groping at any part of you that’s squishy-soft.

“Think I might have,” He agrees, and you can hear the smirk in his voice even if you can’t see it. “But I think you needed it, sweetheart. You were practically cryin’ out for it all day.”

You feel your face heat at the insinuation that he had noticed the arousal you thought you had hidden so well. But you still feel so fuzzy inside, and you can’t manage to drum up any genuine reaction.

Ghost’s roaming hand slips down between your legs, and you hold your breath as he reaches your swollen, tender pussy. His fingers are so big, but he’s aware of his strength and keeps his touch light, cupping rather than groping, his calloused palm catching on your puffy clit.

“Told you a real cock would be better,” He rumbles, and you feel the soft material of his mask rubbing against the back of your sweaty neck. “You’ve got a fussy little cunt – ‘s only gonna be satisfied by the real thing.”

You’d love to jab back at him, but the feeling of him rough palm against your oversensitive clit has your thoughts fizzing out into nothingness. All you can do is let out a quiet little whimper, and rock your hips into his touch. To your utter bewilderment, you feel your arousal, which you had previously considered entirely sated, pulse back to life.

As if Ghost can feel your cunt throb beneath his hand, he snickers. “Yeah. Fussy and greedy.”

He leans down, and you feel his lips brush against the back of your neck through the cotton of his balaclava. You quiver, and part your legs without conscious thought to give his thick fingers more room to work. Despite your exhaustion, and your soreness, and your sensitivity, you find yourself wanting. You wonder, with an edge of hysteria, if your body has somehow managed to rewire itself to only accept pleasure from your commanding officer’s hand.

“Ghost– Simon–” You breathe, your hips jumping as you grind into his palm.

“Yeah,” He says again, as though he knows exactly what you need and want. “One little orgasm wasn’t enough, was it?”

“No.” You choke out, throwing your head back so that it’s resting against Ghost’s broad chest. “No, ‘t wasn’t.”

You can hardly believe that your body is winding up for more, but Ghost’s touch is searing hot against your tender skin, and you can already taste the pleasure he’s going to bring you. This time, without the edge of urgency, you think you might even enjoy it more.

“Gimme five minutes,” He drawls, his voice low and muffled in your ear. “And I’ll give you your second.”

[yiyipartnerincrime]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ PRETTY BOY 🧸ྀི — putting makeup on keeho <3 ( wc 386 )

ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ! inspired by this. and piwon’s new bangers. and also his hair this era bc im so in love w brown haired keeho<3

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ @kstrucknet

the sound of music playing softly blurred into brown noise, as you focused on your task. keeho’s hands were resting on your hips, drawing circles in a soothing notion.

you saw one of the sanrio clips slip a bit, so you put the brush you were using between your teeth and went to fix it. gently fixing his hair, you adjusted the clip again.

keeho’s eyes were focused on you. chin slightly propped up since you were holding it, lips parted.

“now a little bit of blush…” you hummed and reached for the blush, swapping your tools.

the pink dust decorated his cheeks. you dabbed some on his chin and nose as well, the soft brush tickling his skin.

you leaned back, appreciating your work. you thought keeho would decline when you asked to put makeup on him. but he agreed gladly and even offered (insisted, even) himself you to sit on his lap.

“i think you’re forgetting something” he spoke up. your boyfriend was suspiciously quiet throughout the whole time, so you got startled a bit.

“uh… am i?” you frowned. foundation, eye makeup, mascara, blush… highlight? no… maybe…

“lip tint, duh?” keeho smiled gently. with a giggle, you nodded.

you got to work, leaning closer again. your hair tickled his cheek but he didn’t mind. the fuzzy applicator poked his lips gently, enriching their color. slight red bloomed and you quickly went to blend it with your finger.

you missed the way he swallowed hardly.

“mhm, done” you announced and looked up. keeho’s eyes were solely focused on your lips.

you involuntarily smiled, your finger still resting on his bottom lip.

“my pretty boy” you murmured and he finally met your eyes.

maybe he overestimated himself. the moment you sat on his lap, he was gone for. you, pampering him… being so close… it made his heart flutter. his mind was filled with thoughts about you. he didn’t spoke much: he was just admiring you the whole time.

“can i kiss you?” it slipped out of his mouth before he could think about it. you just nodded.

your fingers shifted, still keeping his chin up. locking lips with him, carefully not to ruin the makeup, you felt him sigh with relief.

he was waiting for it since the moment you sat on his lap.

m.list <3

taglist. @primoppang ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @slytherinshua ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,,

@mon2sunjinsuver ,, @litepowee ,, @l3visbby ,, @bbangbies ,, @jvkeslvr

@loserlvrss

[yiyipartnerincrime]

⭑.ᐟ　SPOON-FED　( 이경민 )

genre sickfic , kyungmin x fem!reader   cw fever symptoms described , food mention , not proofread   wc 644   request yes   note can't believe it's taken me this long to write for my bias (besides the ot6 hcs) but i am so happy he finally has a fic of his own!!   net @kstrucknet

Your head was pounding and it felt like every muscle in your body was aching at once. You could barely gather the strength to open your eyes, but the calling voice of your boyfriend was urging you to. 

“I brought soup. Come on, Y/n. You should eat something,” he mumbled, tapping on your shoulder gently. You groaned, squinting to adjust to the sight of your room again. Kyungmin hovered over you, doey wonder-filled eyes peering at your exhausted figure with concern and love. You could smell the aroma of garlic from a bowl of warm soup he had set on your bedside table, although it was anything but appetizing to your overwhelmed senses. 

“My mom made it when she heard you had a fever. Just a few bites, okay?” Kyungmin offered, the corner of his lips pushing into a smile when you made a move to sit up. You clutched your head, willing the pounding to go away, although it was of little use. 

“Don’t wanna eat— feel nauseous,” you murmured, fully blinking your eyes open. Kyungmin frowned.

“Just one bite,” he insisted, singing out the words in an attempt to make you smile. “Just one?”

You grumbled, opening your mouth slightly. Kyungmin took the hint immediately with a grin and grabbed the spoon. He was careful when feeding you, blowing on the soup first and holding his other hand under the spoon in case anything dripped. He watched you swallow, waiting carefully for your reaction. You let out a heavy breath, but after a few seconds, opened your mouth again.

“More?” 

A curt nod from you gave you another spoonful, carefully cooled down by your boyfriend once again. 

“Hyungs said they hope you get better soon. Hanjin was really worried,” Kyungmin smiled. All of the members were fond of you. They could see how well you treated Kyungmin, and how in love he was with you. There were never any problems to speak of, none that the older members were concerned about. 

Your relationship was built on the curious and inexperienced feelings of a first love. You both were figuring things out with no prior experience, so you knew how important it was to prioritize communication and caution. Even if you sometimes forgot. Even when messy feelings came out after stupid arguments or hours spent not talking. What was most important was, you always came back to each other. And you never doubted whether Kyungmin cared about you. 

You could feel it in the small actions, the gentle glances, and the excited texts. It was practically overwhelming you right now, with the way he was so adorably making sure that you ate all the soup in the bowl. Sometimes, words weren’t needed between you too. You let the silence fill the room, focusing all your energy on the many ways your senses were being filled. Sensations that you normally wouldn’t give a second thought to.

The texture of Kyungmin’s skin and his slightly parted pink lips. Drawing your eyes a little higher you caught his dark brown eyes still swimming with affection. The steam coming off the soup bowl in his hand had mostly cooled down, but there were still small mists coming off of it. The metal spoon he held in his hand felt warm when it reached your tongue, and the soup bursted with comforting flavours with each bite you took.

With each spoonful of soup and each throwaway comment from Kyungmin, each glance that lasted a bit longer than normal and each frown that your boyfriend was so quick to make disappear, you slowly started to feel a bit better. Your body still ached and waves of nausea still hit you every few minutes, but your heart had felt warmer ever since Kyungmin arrived, and he was quickly making everything infinitely more bearable, even if he didn’t know it.

tws taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @seunghancore,, @sobun1est,, @talkingsaxy,, @50-husbands,, @yudaies,, @imyuna-06,, @mjupis,, @stannwjnss,, @nonononranghaee,, @fr4ncehere,, @dohynjae,, @cupidslovearrows,, @i03jae,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @tmrwsuns

[yiyipartnerincrime]

No Pain, No Gain — ljn

pairing. gym-rat!jeno x aider!reader genre. fluff, (kinda)friends-to-lovers, a dash of hurt/comfort, slice-of-life wc. 4.3k summary. Jeno’s well aware that he looks like an idiot in front of you, but what else could he do when just the sight of you makes him feel like a kid with a schoolboy crush?; or in which, Jeno’s been coming to your office with the tiniest of scratches just so he has an excuse to see you warnings. mentions of minor injuries (fake & real) and some bleeding (nothing super detailed but it’s still there), I sorta wrote this as if it were like a sitcom, cliche scenario an. clearing my wips! yet another fic set in the most random place u can possibly think of and it’s bc I (unhealthily) romanticize everything (×-×)—I started writing this during my gym rat (mouse?) era in 2023 but never finished it til now oops dk if its any good,,, enjoy!!

“I can’t move my thumb.”

You use your finger to smooth down the sports tape over its first layer, gently grabbing the younger boy’s wrist to inspect your work, “That’s the point, Chenle.” 

“How am I supposed to play basketball with this,” Chenle pouts, bringing his taped thumb and wrist to show you as if you weren’t the one who just did it. His posture grows worse at the realization of his small injury and now he’s slumped on the bed. 

You sigh and repeat yourself, “That’s the point. You need to rest it or else you can get an injury worse than this. I recommend maybe a week? But I’m not a doctor.” 

You start cleaning your station up, fully expecting Chenle to understand and leave. But instead, he remains seated on the medical table, pouting. You know he’s trying to get you to change your mind, but seeing that he reported his wrist feeling tight and stiff, you know that it’s sprained and playing with it could make things worse.

“Chenle, I’m being serious,” you groan, “You need to rest it or you can’t play basketball for the rest of your life.” You were obviously exaggerating, raising your brows for even more emphasis. If he won’t listen to you by simply telling him, you might as well scare him into listening to you.

“Rest of my life?” He frowns, looking down at wrist, “I… I guess a week doesn’t seem too long… Thanks Y/N.” 

You smile, relieved that he’s choosing to listen to your advice, “I’ll see you next week then?” 

He nods and gathers his duffel bag and his sweater, dragging himself out the door of the first aid room. 

You turn away from the door, ready to busy yourself with some housekeeping items when you hear a knock at the door. It’s quiet, and you almost think that you were imagining the sound, but when you turn to face the door, you’re met with the vibrant gaze of Lee Jeno, accompanied by a sheepish smile. 

Ah… Lee  Jeno—of course.

“Almost thought you weren’t going to show up today,” you joke, “What happened now?” 

To anyone unfamiliar with the two of you, it might come across as if you weren't exactly doing your job well, seemingly rushing through treatments even when faced with potentially serious injuries. However, the guy standing in the doorway right now has been delivering the most poorest excuses for injuries you've ever heard.

Sure, perhaps a couple of questionable 'injuries' wouldn't bother you much, because maybe the person was just overly cautious about their well-being. But when Jeno strolled into your office recently with the tiniest scratch on his left calf, you couldn't help but suspect that something was definitely up. 

“I need ice,” Jeno side-steps into your office and pulls the corners of his lips higher on his cheeks, “Please?” 

“Next time, just jog over to the nearby McDonald’s and get ice there,” you say jokingly. This was his nth time in the past month asking for ice. You wonder if he’s just been using it to put into his water or if this dude just has some kink involving ice. 

You only question Jeno’s recent tendency to visit your office because, ever since you started working at the gym, he's been a regular. Hell, his physique alone is proof to his long-standing commitment to the gym. It just doesn't add up that Jeno, with his apparent gym ‘seniority’, would be falling victim to injuries so frequently.

“Here you go,” you hand him a small, transparent bag that was partially filled with ice, “Anything else?” 

Jeno’s irises fall to the right corners of his eyes in brief thought, “More… ice?”

You groan to conceal your amusement and move closer to Jeno, “Goodbye, Jeno. See you again another day!” You gently place your hands to his elbows, spinning him around and out your door.  

“No, wait I—“

“See you!” You wave, leaving Jeno no choice but to actually take his leave. 

Your coworker Jaemin sees the interaction from the front counter, and seeing that there weren’t any gym goers coming into the facility, he waves you over. 

"Everything alright?" he asks, his gaze flicking briefly from the computer screen to you.

You glance at his screen and notice a game of minesweeper unfolding. Suppressing a snicker, you retort, "Yeah, same reason as last week." Swiftly, you click on an empty tile on his minesweeper grid, revealing the mine locations.

“I’m trying to help you and you do this,” Jaemin clicks his tongue against his teeth and diverts back to the situation, “It’s not in a creepy way, is it?” 

You give yourself a moment to think everything through, “I’m not sensing anything weird or creepy with it, if I’m being honest. He’s going about it… in a cute way?” 

Jaemin lets out a hysteric laugh and it echoes throughout the gym, “A cute way?” 

"There's no other way to put it," you casually shrug. Leaning against the desk, you absentmindedly flip through the management binders laid out before you.

Jaemin's brows knit, his curiosity piqued. "Cute, how?"

“I don’t know.” You’re lying. You know damn well what you meant. 

Every time Jeno decides to pull one of his ‘stunts’, he’s at your door, eyes all glossy and resembling a hopeful puppy. And when you choose to pretend not to notice him, he doesn't hesitate to clear his throat (rather obnoxiously) or hum out a soft, "anyone home?" even though you're clearly rummaging in your cupboards for more supplies.

Jaemin reads right through your feigned innocence, eyes narrowing, “Sure you don’t.”

“Well, it’s not something I can explain,” you groan, “Just take my word for it.”

“Okay… cute… does that mean you’re enjoying all this?” Jaemin’s eyes wiggle your way and you’re glad that no one’s around to see or hear this. 

You scoff, “Enjoying what?” 

"Come on, Y/N. Let's not play naive," Jaemin smirks, "Jeno is practically inventing reasons to see you.” Jaemin pats your head like you would a child, which you dodge almost immediately, “Which is honestly disappointing. A guy like Jeno could probably think of something way better but he resorted to something so basic.” 

You glare at Jaemin, your annoyance evident, “I hate that you’re probably right.” Because what else could the reason be? Jeno couldn’t be that concerned for his well-being. And you distinctly recall questioning your other coworker, Xiaojun, about whether Jeno tends to show up frequently on your days off. His response? A shocking no.

“I always am,” Jaemin brushes non-existent dust off of his shoulder, “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” At times like these, you have the memory of a goldfish.

“If you were enjoying it,” Jaemin clarifies, "You did call it cute, and cute usually equals enjoyment."

There were a couple ways you could go about Jaemin’s question. Was he asking if you were reciprocating this attraction Jeno seemingly had for you? Or maybe he wanted to know if you found amusement in the ongoing situation?

Regardless, your cheeks betray you by warming at the question and the thought of your answer sliding off the tip of your tongue.

“I’d be lying if I said no.”

—

It’s no surprise when Jeno shows up to your office two days later with the same smile plastered on his face. 

He’s standing right outside of your office, waiting for you to welcome him in. When you do, he enters the room slowly, greeting you as he moves toward the medical bed situated at the far corner and away from the entrance. 

Jeno watches as you rake through a pile of disorganized supplies, “How are you?” You weren’t in search of anything specific, but you were trying to busy yourself now that Jeno was in the room with no clear purpose. 

“I'm all right," you reply casually, your voice calm. "You?” You quickly glance up at him and almost crumble to your knees. Today, Jeno is sporting a black muscle tee and grey sweatshorts, and though you've never really taken notice of his outfits before, you secretly (and shamefully) remind yourself to start doing so. 

“I’m okay,” Jeno hums, “I was wondering if I could get a heat pack?” 

You take a good look at him and narrow your eyes, “It doesn’t look like you need one.” But regardless, you make your way toward the heat packs sitting in a cupboard by the fridge. You simply wanted to hear what his reason was this time. 

“My quads are really stiff today,” Jeno replies, subtly gesturing to his legs, “I could barely get through leg day with them.” 

“Well, this should work,” you say. You pop the pack and wrap a towel around it, “There you go. See you!” 

“Can I stay here for a bit?” You don’t see the way Jeno pouts. You’re too busy making your way to your box full of miscellaneous things. He presses the pack against the upper side of his thigh, remaining seated on the bed, “I’ll leave when the heat pack is finished.” 

Jaemin’s voice echoes in your head, "Jeno is practically inventing reasons to see you.” And you can now see that it was painfully obvious. 

“Of course,” you say, “Take as long as you need.” 

You move on to organizing the supplies, trying your best not to mind the pair of eyes that were burning holes into the side of your head. 

“So…” Jeno starts, “How was your weekend?” 

“You don’t need to make small talk you know,” you say, pulling out three pairs of medical scissors, “You could take a nap or something.” With your back turned to him, you go to put the tools away, “I don’t mind.”

Jeno swings his legs in the air and slumps, “Yeah, but I—uh—do want to make small talk.” He’s half-assedly holding the heat pack to the side of his thigh, growing annoyed that it wasn’t staying in a specific place. He resorts to pinning it under his thigh. 

“Which I also don’t mind,” you say, biting back a smile, “My weekend was okay… stayed home and relaxed. Nothing super special. You?” 

You stop and turn to look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the man who was now leaning back against the wall. The position looks uncomfortable, yet Jeno appears to be content. 

“Similar to yours,” he replies, “Except Hyuck forced me to play a few games online with him. It was fun, actually! But don’t tell him that.” 

You let out a snort. You’re familiar with Donghyuck, recalling how he and Jeno had made a deal that if Jeno managed to bring him to the gym for a few workouts, then he had to play some of his PC games in return. 

“How’s he doing anyways?” You question, “I haven’t seen him in a while.” 

Jeno’s brows furrow for a sliver of a second before they sit back to where they had originally been, “Last leg day killed him, so he’s given up until he recovers.” 

“Ah,” you giggle, “Can’t keep up with you, I’m guessing?” 

Jeno shakes his head, bangs creating a blanket over his eyes. He sweeps them aside, “Not really. I don’t really go hard on leg days. I’m more of a back and biceps type of person.” 

Your eyes defy you as they scan Jeno’s arms. You blame him. His statement was practically an invitation to look at his upper limbs as if you needed some kind of evidence, “I believe you.” It comes out a lot more flirty than you intended and you want to sprint out of the room before you make one more wrong move. 

“O-oh,” Jeno stammers. It was a sight seeing Jeno grow shy, using his hands to hide arms. And although he was hoping to conceal them, the man forgets that doing so only means he had to flex his arms, “Thanks?” 

You’re not sure how to reply, resorting to rummaging through the same box. You find some empty rolls of tape and you toss them in the trash. How do you even go about this conversation? Say ‘you’re welcome’? Weird. Ask him about his routine? No, it wasn’t like you were looking into building your arms. Ask if you could feel his arms? 

Shut up, brain, be fucking for real right now.

“Y/N?” 

“Hm?” You look up and Jeno’s looking back at you expectedly.

“Sorry, I zoned out a little there,” you sheepishly confess, playing with one of the box’s flaps, “Did you say something?” 

“I… uh, nevermind, it doesn’t matter,” Jeno clears his throat, “It was just about—um—something. But it can wait another day.” He smiles and it just about reaches his eyes. 

“Wait, no, tell me,” you frown. 

“It’s…” Jeno’s eyes flicker back and forth, contemplating if he really should go through with his question. He wants to—he really does—but his words fail him, teeth biting at his bottom lip. 

“It’s really nothing, ha-ha!” You watch as his gaze drops to the heat pack suffocating underneath his thigh. He uses the back of his hand to feel it. It’s still very warm, but regardless, he uses it as an excuse. “I’ll just take my leave… Um, I guess I’ll see you around?” Jeno slips off the bed, tossing the pack into the trash before he moves past you. 

“Wait, Jeno…” You make another attempt to stop him, guilt slowly creeping up on you, curiosity accompanying it because you should’ve been listening. 

For once, you wished he stayed just a bit longer. 

—

It’s been almost a week and a half since Jeno last visited your office. 

But who’s counting?

You check once, twice, thrice over your shoulder for Jaemin’s presence, nodding to yourself when you’re sure that your coworker wasn’t there to see the down-bad bullshit you were about to pull. 

Pulling up the gym’s database, you quickly type Jeno’s name into the search bar. While it loads, which feels so so painfully long, your fingers tap against the edge of the desk. You can’t believe you’re doing this.

“Hm.” 

Once Jeno’s profile finally appears on the screen, you follow his row to the Date Last Active column, seeing that he was at the gym this morning, two hours before your shift. 

A low whistle knocks you out of your trance and you jump, almost knocking the keyboard off the desktop. 

“Fucking hell, Jaemin!” You swing at his shoulder at a strength you knew damn well he wouldn’t even feel, “You think you’re funny sneaking up on me like that?” 

“Yes,” Jaemin shrugs, “Misusing the database I see…” His eyes narrow at you, brow raising. Then, he smirks and pokes at your rib, “Stalking your boyfriend.”

“Shut up,” you quickly exit the application and pull up Jaemin’s minesweeper game, “He’s not my boyfriend… Acting like you don’t do the same shit with other gym goers…” 

“I don’t see why you can’t just walk up to him and talk to him,” Jaemin sighs, “He’s still here, you know.” 

“He is?” 

“Awww your eyes lit up!” Jaemin teases, diabolically sticking a finger in your face. 

You threaten him again, which Jaemin completely disregards out of spite.

“But tell me why he’s been coming to the gym more often when you’re not here,” Jaemin, like you, was quite familiar with Jeno’s routines, “Did you do something that would force the poor guy to change his routine all of a sudden? Sometimes he wakes up at ass o’clock to get his workout done.”

Your mind reels back to your last interaction. Playing back each and every second and overanalyzing each and every word that left your mouth that afternoon. Yeah, you probably did but you don’t want to think that you’ve scared Jeno away. 

“I don’t think so?” 

“‘I don’t think so?’” Jaemin mocks, “Writing ‘liar’ on your forehead would be more subtle than whatever the hell that was.” He pauses his game and decides to fix all his attention onto you, “Now spill.”

“I really don’t know, okay?” you groan, “Last time I spoke to him, I zoned out and I missed what he was saying and then he left and he didn’t even choose to repeat it or anything.” 

Jaemin narrows his eyes at you, almost as if he’s lost all hope in his very good friend and coworker, “Y/N, did you not just graduate with a master’s?” 

Your brows meet, “Huh? What do you mean?”

He mutters a dumbass under his breath, which completely flies past your head. “Nothing.” Jaemin smirks subtly, turning away to leave in hopes that you don’t ask any further questions.

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

Jaemin gets flashbacks to his mom, “Uhhhhhhh, there?” The man points to nowhere in particular before taking off. 

“Na Jaemin!” You call out. Your voice echoes through the gym and you groan, slumping against the desk before accepting defeat—because what did Jaemin mean? Was he calling you stupid or something?

Not even five minutes pass when you hear Jaemin’s voice boom over the speakers, “Y/N, you’re needed in your office. Y/N, you’re needed in your office.” 

You look over to Jaemin’s office and shoot him a look that could kill. And again, Jaemin ignores your threat, grinning menacingly before he waves cause he knows he’s pissing you off. You’ve never grown used to this man’s attitude, but it doesn’t mean you don’t adore it. 

Logging off the computer, you let out a huff and pad your way past the exercise machines and into your office. And from all that you were expecting, you sure as hell weren’t expecting to find a very worn out Jeno, the hem of his tank sprinkled in faint drops of blood. 

“Jeno?” You don’t even try to mask your worry, fast-walking straight to him before you guide (practically tugging) him to the medical bed, “What happened? Are you okay?” 

An annoying and almost spiteful grin shyly appears on Jeno’s lips before he turns his palms up for you to see. His hands were covered in blisters, some popped and others brand new. They looked extremely painful to even look at.

“Fuck,” you mutter, “Didn’t I say not to overwork yourself that one time?” You turn your back to Jeno and begin gathering all the supplies you need to treat his blisters. You’re rambling under your breath, words unrecognizable from where you’ve sat Jeno down. 

Your heart’s beating out of your chest, mostly because this is the first time you’ve seen Jeno in a while. But to add his injuries on top of that? You’re certainly not sure how you’re keeping composure. 

Meanwhile, Jeno really can’t do much but watch you move from one corner of the room to the other. He wants to get up and help, but by the way an eleven forms in between your brows, he’s reluctant to even say anything. 

It’s funny because despite how aggressive you’re handling all the supplies, the second you make contact with his wrist, your demeanor changes, suddenly shifting to be more gentler. You hold his hands as if you were holding a newborn, delicately rotating them to understand what had to be treated.

“If it hurts, tell me,” you say quietly, “Actually don’t. I’m mad at you right now.” 

Jeno’s head tilts to the side like a confused puppy. Then he finally says, “Mad at me?” 

“Yes,” you grab a sheet of gauze and begin wiping away at Jeno’s palm, dabbing carefully when it comes to the blisters, “I’m mad at you.”

“Why?” 

“This is why you need a break.” You ignore his question, grab new gauze and continue wiping away the new and old blood that’s accumulated in his palms. “Jeno, I know you like it here, but your body needs rest, too.” 

A response sits at the tip of Jeno’s tongue and he’s not sure whether or not he should tell you. The last time he decided to take a step out of his comfort zone, you didn’t even hear him. 

Does he want to try that again? 

You spray his palms with disinfectant before applying some ointment to help them heal faster. At this point, you hadn’t done as much as looked up to make eye contact with the man. 

“But..” Big step. “But this is the only place that I get to see you.”

What the fuck? 

You hope Jeno doesn’t notice the way you freeze for a burning second before you try to play it off by grabbing long bandages. It’s a good thing he can’t see the way your heart is beating erratically—and you’re hoping he doesn’t hear it, too. 

“You can literally see me wherever you want if you just asked,” you say nonchalantly, voice quiet, “But instead you resort to…” You stop yourself from speaking any further, unsure if you would even want Jeno knowing that you had suspicions of him pulling fake injuries out of his ass to make excuses to see you. 

“I’m not even sure if you’d even agree to it,” Jeno confesses, “I like… I really like talking to you but—“ 

“But what?” You slowly begin wrapping the bandage around his wrist, making your way up to his palm. 

Jeno can’t help but whisper, “You don’t seem to like me as much as I wished.” 

You hold back a giggle. Jeno’s always so accidentally cute and he doesn’t even know it. It’s literally pissing you off that a man you’re fake-mad at is doing absolutely nothing to earn your affection, yet here he was, doing just that. “You don’t know that.”

“I do know that,” Jeno counters. 

“No, you don’t,” you ping-pong back. The bandage crosses between his fingers and you manage to finish wrapping the bandage around his palm. 

“I do.”

“Did you ask me?” You gulp, because at this point you’re afraid where this conversation was going. 

“Well, do you like me?” 

You move onto his other hand, grabbing another roll of the long bandage. You could feel the atmosphere in the room begin to shift and now you’re beginning to sweat in your light sweater. 

“I do.” 

Jeno clears his throat, “In the way I like you?” You groan. Of course he’d say that. It was a valid follow up question, simply because your answer could very much cover that broad spectrum of like. 

You ask, “How do you like me?” 

Jeno takes a moment to think about his answer, watching as you start replicating your work from his other hand, “I honestly… think it’s obvious how I like you.” “Mmm,” you hum. At this point you’re teasing him on purpose, “How so?” 

“I make myself look like a fool when it comes to you,” Jeno huffs, “Ice? Heat packs? Who am I kidding…” Jeno scoots back in his seat and you follow, practically falling between his knees from the way he’s sitting. “Every time I come here looking for you, that’s when I gain the confidence to finally ask you out… well not always out but maybe for your number or just simply talk to you or something. I wanted to be friends and then more if it went well…” 

Your movements slow, attention failing to even do a decent job at bandaging. 

“But, when I finally reach this room and see you? It’s like I lose all that confidence and it’s stuffed in the bag with the ice you give me,” Jeno explains. “I’m even lucky enough that I can finish my sentences around you…”

You blink at his injured palm and the realization dawns on you. So this was what Jaemin was hinting at, “And that last time… you asked me out and—”

“And you didn’t hear me,” Jeno finishes, “And I couldn’t for the life of me repeat what I asked because my confidence plummeted and then the fear of rejection kicked in.” 

Your hands have since halted, cradling Jeno’s hand as you try to calculate your next move. It’s now clear as day that Jeno has feelings for you, and you’ve slowly been coming to terms with yourself that you care a little too much about Jeno than a normal person should. 

“Ask me now.”

“What?” Jeno practically jumps, startled and confused. 

You drop the bandage roll and lightly tighten your grip around his hand. Looking up, you find that Jeno’s gaze has already been sitting and waiting for your own to meet his. You clarify, “Ask me what you asked then, now. This time, I’m listening.”

The reassurance from you lifts some weight off of Jeno’s shoulders, ones he didn’t know even existed. Then, he fixes his composure, moistens his lips and finally says, “Would you–um–like to go out for dinner with me?”

“My answer then and now are the same,” you smile down at your feet, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, “I would really love to.”

Eyebrows reaching for his hairline, Jeno’s eyes widened, “Wait, really?” 

“Really,” You nod. And although you try to look anywhere else in the room, Jeno’s eyes capture your eyes once again, holding them there for a few skips of your heartbeat. 

You clear your throat and let out a breathy laugh, “Haha so um… let me just—“ You hastily pick up the bandage roll and return to your work. 

It doesn’t take much longer before you finish, concealing and protecting his injuries under the bandages. “Now that you’ve got me, promise me you won’t overwork yourself like this?” 

“I’ve… got you?” Jeno’s cheeks heat up at your choice of words, the shift between the both of you being so evident now that he’s experiencing a weird case of whiplash. 

“Shut up,” you mumble, “Just promise me. I don’t wanna have to keep worrying about you getting hurt.” 

Jeno laughs, completely enamoured at your own flustered state. 

“Yeah, yeah… I promise.” 

[yiyipartnerincrime]

genre fluff , sickfic, gwangil x fem!reader   cw cold/flu symptoms , food mention   wc 374   request yes   note missing gwangil hours 25/8 oml my baby :(   net @kstrucknet

16:24 . . . “Did you take acetaminophen?” 

All you got was a weak nod in response from Gwangil who was wrapped under three blankets, cheek pressed against a pillow. You felt his forehead again, warmth immediately spreading to your palm. His temperature had been high all day, and you were worried. He rarely got sick, but whenever a fever hit him, it always took a while for him to recover fully. 

Your fingers trailed higher, pushing his hair away from his face and smoothing the messy curls that had formed from sleeping all day. “What about dinner? Think you can stomach some soup?” 

“Maybe something brothy,” he croaked out a whisper.

“Alright,” you hummed. “As long as you eat something.”

“What about you? Work today?” Gwangil asked, eyes squinting open. You rubbed his cheek with your thumb, eyes holding his tired gaze. 

“Same as usual. I’m more worried about you, though. You never get over the flu very quickly.”

“It can’t last forever,” he mumbled, closing his eyes again. 

“Go back to sleep before dinner. I’ll make the soup,” you proposed. You moved to stand up, but Gwangil’s hand caught your wrist, keeping your palm on his cheek. 

“Five minutes. Just until I fall back asleep,” he murmured. 

You smiled, amused. Your boyfriend was always vocal about what he wanted, whether it was the menu for dinner or plans for the day. When it came to physical affection, you both initiated equally and rarely got shy with each other. Perhaps it was due to dating for so long now; you practically knew each other inside out now. There was no secret Gwangil could hide from you. You could always tell exactly what he was feeling just by glancing at his face. 

Right now, you could tell he had missed you. Spending the entire day home alone, even if he had been asleep for the majority of it, was never his ideal plan. He could never be away from you for too long without getting that heavy feeling in his chest; one that reminded him just how much he relied on your presence every day. A few minutes of your fingers combing through his hair was more than enough to satisfy the ache he had felt all day.

lucy taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @evalevaeva,, @weird-bookworm,, @seunghancore,, @chenleszone,, @chewryy,, @hursheys,, @loserlvrss,, @lexeees,, @kangtaehyunzzz

[yiyipartnerincrime]

people who are against annotating or writing in books will never understand the pure joy and satisfaction i get from writing "girl what" or "she's so me" or other unintelligible useless comments at the side of the page like if you put my tumblr reblog tags in real life

[yiyipartnerincrime]

── just the two of us, moonstruck ☾ (l.hs)

๑ After Heeseung finally breaks off his manipulative relationship, he storms out of the house late at night without an umbrella as it’s pouring rain, then running into you. He’s never been happier after he experiences what real love is with you.

a/n: this is actually so sad but I hope you enjoy it! Heeseung’s ex goes by the name Karina | wc: 2.6k | warning: not proofread! toxic relationship, angst, manipulation, minor flirting | song: moonstruck - enhypen 🎵

—

"Break up with me?!"

Karina sneered, her voice trembling with emotion. Her gaze bore into Heeseung, her words laced with anger.

The raw intensity of her expression conveyed the depth of her pain, begging him to reconsider.

“Why are you even acting surprised? You knew this was coming.” Heeseung’s response was cold and void of any sympathy. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t expect it.”

Karina's eyes widened, frustration etched on her face as she spoke, “All I did was treat you well like the loving girlfriend I am!”

Her voice wavered with hurt, her arms crossing defensively in front of her chest.

The accusation stung, her resentment evident as she tried to convey the effort she had put into their relationship.

“Loving girlfriend? You call manipulating me, constantly gaslighting me, and never giving me space ‘loving?’” his voice rising with each word.

“You were trying too hard to be ‘loving.’ I felt suffocated and trapped.” Heeseung’s voice grew more forceful. “It was like you were constantly hovering over me, trying to control every aspect of my life. I couldn’t breathe!”

Karina's lower lip trembled, her face flushed with anger.

"Is that all I did?!" Her voice escalated in volume. "I just wanted to be close to you! Is that a crime!?"

Heeseung furrowed his brow, his frustration evident.

"It was more than that," he retorted. "You smothered me. You didn't trust me. You made me question every interaction, every decision. You controlled everything. It was like I lost myself in the relationship."

As Karina was about to speak, Heeseung interrupted, his voice firm, "We're over, Karina."

The finality in his tone left no room for negotiation, the harsh reality hitting Karina like a wave as Heeseung stormed out of her apartment.

It was pouring rain as Heeseung stepped outside without an umbrella. His shoes splashed in the puddles, his face drenched as he walked away, feeling a mix of relief and sadness. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, the rain a fittingly melancholic companion to his heartbreak.

Heeseung found himself drawn to the nearby river, the moon shining brightly overhead.

Lost in thought, he reached the riverbank and gazed at the water's surface, reflecting the celestial light.

The gentle lapping of the waves was soothing, but the pang of heartache was still ever-present.

It was well past midnight. The once bustling streets lay silent, the moon casting its silvery glow on the empty cobblestones.

Most of the city was asleep, except for the occasional insomniac or late-night worker.

The rain continued to shower down, creating a melancholic atmosphere as Heeseung stood there, soaking wet, his gaze fixed on the shimmering river.

The silence was broken only by the soft sounds of raindrops hitting the water's surface and the occasional distant sound of a passing car.

It was as if the world had come to a pause for Heeseung, his emotions swirling like the eddies in the river.

Heeseung took a deep, shaky breath as a rush of emotions washed over him. It was like the rain was washing away the remnants of his relationship, leaving behind only the memory of the moon's ethereal beauty and the cold, comforting presence of the night.

Heeseung couldn't help but dwell on the moments leading up to the breakup, replaying the harsh words exchanged. The words he'd said to Karina haunted him, but deep down, he knew they were true. He needed space, freedom, a chance to rediscover himself without the stifling grip of a controlling partner.

As the rain continued to fall, Heeseung ran a hand through his wet hair, his gaze still fixed on the shimmering water. It was then that he noticed you standing silently behind him, quietly holding an umbrella over his head.

"You’re going to get sick if you keep standing in the rain, sir," you remarked, offering a friendly reminder to the man drenched in the pouring rain. Concern etched on your face, you chuckled lightly at the scene before you.

Heeseung startled, quickly turning around to see you standing there. A mixture of surprise and relief crossed his features as he recognized your kind gesture.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess I got lost in thought..." he admitted sheepishly.

He took in your appearance for a moment, taking notice of your kind expression. There was something comforting about having someone show genuine concern.

Your concern grew as you stepped closer, shielding both of you from the rain with your umbrella. "Are you lost?" you inquired softly, your gaze filled with genuine concern.

Heeseung shook his head in response, his eyes meeting yours.

"No, not lost...just trying to clear my head," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

His drenched hair clung to his forehead as he ran a hand through it again, trying to regain his composure.

With you standing close, Heeseung felt a strange sense of comfort, despite the circumstances. The umbrella provided a welcome shelter and the act of sharing it with a stranger was oddly comforting.

His mind was still swirling with the events leading up to this moment, but the presence of someone caring enough to stand in the rain with him made his heart feel a little less heavy.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked as the words slipped from your lips. The tilt of your head indicated your genuine interest, an invitation to share what burdened him.

Heeseung hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering with contemplation. The weight of everything he'd been through felt raw and vulnerable.

"It's just...my relationship. It ended tonight," he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with the lingering pain of the breakup.

You nodded understandingly, your heart going out to him.

"Breakups are tough," you responded, your voice soft and compassionate. "But sometimes, they lead us to better things."

You could see the heaviness in his expression, the way his shoulders slumped slightly under the weight of his heartache.

"Do you have anywhere to go?" you asked with a hint of concern.

Heeseung shook his head, his gaze remaining fixed on the water.

"No, not really. I don't really feel like going back to my apartment right now."

There was a trace of sadness in his voice, as if he knew he should go back, but the thought of being alone in his empty, silence-filled home didn't appeal to him at all.

You studied his face for a moment, his wet hair clinging to his forehead, and the rain running down his face. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that tugged at your heartstrings.

"Would you like to come to mine? Just for the night," you suddenly offered, surprising yourself as much as him.

Heeseung's eyes widened in surprise, clearly taken aback by your unexpected invitation. He looked at you, disbelief and a hint of gratitude etched across his face.

"Really?" he asked, his voice soft. The rain continued to fall, the sound of droplets hitting the umbrella growing louder.

You nodded, a reassuring smile on your lips.

"Yeah, really. I have a spare room at my place. You can stay there tonight. Beats being out here in the rain."

Heeseung seemed both grateful and hesitant, the weight of his emotions still heavy in his eyes.

"I...I don't want to be a bother," he muttered, clearly torn between accepting your offer and not wanting to impose on you.

You shook your head, your smile gentle and understanding.

"You won't be a bother. I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it." You moved closer, the umbrella sheltering both of you from the relentless rain. "Come on, it's pouring. You're already soaked."

Heeseung looked at you for a moment, seemingly weighing the proposition. When he finally nodded, it was with a mixture of relief and appreciation.

"Okay. I'll come with you," he said, his voice still tinged with the raw remnants of the night's heartbreak.

With that, you both braved the rain, walking to your apartment. The rhythmic tapping of the rain on the umbrella accompanied your steps, the darkness surrounding you only occasionally broken by streetlights along the way.

Heeseung followed silently next to you, the weight of his emotions still heavy on his shoulders. He found comfort in your presence, though, a stranger who had shown such kindness to him in a moment of vulnerability.

"What's your name, sir?" You asked, breaking the silence with a gentle question. The rhythmic sound of your footsteps hitting the rain-soaked puddles echoed in the air.

Heeseung turned to look at you, realizing he hadn't introduced himself. He gave you a small, slightly embarrassed smile.

"Oh, right. I'm Heeseung. And just call me by my name, please. The 'sir' thing makes me feel old."

A soft laugh escaped your lips, his remark putting you at ease.

"Alright, Heeseung it is," you responded, the sound of his name rolling off your tongue comfortably.

Heeseung looked at you, curiousity in his eyes.

"And what's your name?" he asked, genuinely wanting to know the name of the person who saved him from standing in the rain.

You smiled, feeling a warmth in your heart that he cared to ask.

"I'm Yn," you introduced, the simplicity of your name contrasting with the depth of your actions.

"Yn," Heeseung repeated, the unfamiliar name rolling off his tongue with a gentle lilt.

He found comfort in the way it sounded, like a soft melody that made his heart feel a little less heavy.

The rain continued to fall around you both as you reached your apartment building. Heeseung followed you into the lobby, feeling a mix of gratitude and relief at the thought of being out of the rain and surrounded by warmth.

You pulled out your keys, unlocking the door to your apartment and ushering Heeseung inside. The warmth of the apartment immediately enveloped them, offering a stark contrast to the cold, damp exterior.

Heeseung walked in, feeling the transition from the rainy atmosphere outside to the comforting shelter inside. He looked around the apartment, noticing the cozy, homey vibe, and he found himself relaxing a bit.

You gestured towards a door down the hallway. "You can hang your jacket in there." You pointed to the door next to it. "The bathroom's there. I'll get you a dry change of clean clothes that my older brother left behind. Make yourself at home, alright?"

Heeseung nodded, grateful for your hospitality.

"Thank you so much, Yn. I really appreciate this," he said heartfelt, his voice sincere.

He followed your directions, hanging up his damp jacket and taking off his shoes before heading into the bathroom.

As you headed to the bedroom to find something dry for Heeseung to wear, Heeseung entered the bathroom, the sound of the rain outside providing a calming white noise.

The warm glow from the bathroom light created a soothing atmosphere as he stepped inside. He turned on the shower and began washing the cold rain off, feeling a sense of relaxation wash over him.

He let the warm water run down his body, the sound of the shower mixing with his own thoughts.

He found himself reflecting on the events of the evening, the breakup, the rain, and your sudden presence in his life.

Heeseung stayed in the shower for a bit longer than usual, finding comfort in the warmth and solitude.

When he finally stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist, he felt refreshed and a little more calm.

Heeseung walked out of the bathroom, finding a fresh set of clothes laid out for him. He quickly changed into them, appreciating the simple gesture more than you could possibly know.

The clothes felt soft against his skin, the scent of fabric softener a comforting whiff of familiarity. Heeseung ran a hand through his damp hair and stepped out of the room, feeling a bit more at ease now.

As he re-entered the main living area, he saw you making hot tea. You glanced over your shoulder and smiled, seeing that he looked much more comfortable in the dry clothes.

"I hope those clothes fit okay," you stated, a hint of concern in your voice.

"And I made some tea. Chamomile, to help you relax," you said as you offered a teacup to him.

You urged gently, your words tinged with concern, "After you drink this, you should go to sleep. It's almost 2 AM."

The late hour and the worry in your words conveyed your genuine concern for his well-being.

Heeseung looked at you, a mix of exhaustion and gratitude in his eyes.

"You're right," he admitted, taking the teacup from you. The warmth of the cup felt pleasant against his cold hands.

"I don't think I could stay awake for much longer anyway," he said, a tired sigh escaping his lips.

Heeseung, feeling the weight of exhaustion, takes a sip of the chamomile tea you had made for him.

The warmth of the cup and the soothing fragrance of the tea comforted him, and he set it down on the table.

"Thank you," he said with gratitude, his voice sincere and heartfelt. "For everything. Letting me stay over, providing me with dry clothes... You've been incredibly kind, Yn."

You chuckled lightly, revealing the soft spot in your heart. "I guess I just have a soft spot for cute lonely souls who happen to be soaked by the rain past midnight," you teased, observing him delicately as he sipped his tea.

A hint of color rose to Heeseung's cheeks as he realized your teasing remark. He let out a small, embarrassed laugh, not used to such unexpected compliments.

"I guess that means I'm the luckiest, then," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of playfulness.

The warmth of the apartment, the comfort of the clothes you had provided, and the soothing tea in his hand made him feel at ease.

Despite the emotional turmoil of the night, there was a sense of peace settling in his heart, thanks to your compassionate presence.

His voice grew solemn, gratitude evident as he spoke, "But really—thank you, y/n. I felt something I haven’t felt from a long time, and I think you’re a really good person…" The weight of his words hung in the air, his genuine appreciation for you becoming apparent.

You felt your heart warm, a mix of emotions welling up within you.

"You don't have to thank me," you responded softly, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "I'm just glad I was there to help you when you needed it."

There was a moment of silent understanding between you both, the weight of his words settling in.

The late hour, the weary exhaustion, and the vulnerability of the situation created a fragile connection, an invisible bond that seemed to grow stronger the longer you shared this quiet moment.

As the silence between you two stretched on, Heeseung broke it with a question that hinted at his growing curiosity about you.

"To be honest, I don't really want our night to end here," he confessed, his voice quiet but sincere.

"I know we just met, but I'd really like to get to know you better."

The vulnerability in his voice echoed in the room. Heeseung had been through an emotional rollercoaster of a night, and in this moment of vulnerability and weary exhaustion, he was opening up to you, a stranger who had shown him nothing but kindness.

The desire for connection, for something beyond the shared moment of late-night solace, was evident in his words.

Heeseung hoped that you wouldn't dismiss his invitation, that you would give him a chance to learn more about you.

You met his gaze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"I'd like that, Heeseung," you responded, your voice carrying a note of warm honesty.

"I don't mind getting to know you better either."

thx for reading