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lonelypep · 8 months

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every smash bros character ranked by how good of a cook i think they’d be.

82: piranha plant

eating this dish will kill you instantly. turns out he spit some poison in there while no one was looking. and yeah, that sucks, but if you even accepted a meal from this guy i think you have bigger problems

81: ridley.

let’s be real, if you let this guy into the kitchen, you made a huge mistake. it’s like john mulaney’s horse in a hospital sketch: you never know what he’s gonna do next. you’re too focused on getting him out.

80: king k rool.

king k rool is many things. a king, a pirate, a scientist. but he is not a cook. he’ll try, but he has literally no clue what he’s even doing in the kitchen.

79: yoshi

yoshi will give you a dish and you’ll be like “what the fuck is this” and he’ll talk about how it was made from the finest newborns of his home planet. i’m deciding to ignore it but it’s really nagging at me.

78: sonic

sonic shouldn’t be on this list. because he wouldn’t make you any food. he’ll go to the local sonic and get a burger in about 3 minutes. it sucks. disqualified.

77: pac man

what can i say. it tastes like literal plastic. i don’t even wanna know how he made it. i’ll give it back to him but the nice thing about pac man is he wouldn’t give a shit.

76: bowser jr.

fuck this guy. he rage quit at making a grilled cheese. now there’s a literal canonball in the stove. now no one else can use it!! this is what happens when you spoil kids.

75: pikachu/pichu

these two are in the same category since they’d make the same thing. they’d get store bought french fries and fry them with lighting outside. it’s consistent, it works, just not really filling. and they don’t know how to make anything else.

74. wario

don’t get me wrong: he knows what he’s doing. he’s the burger king of smash. he’s this low because the burger is the most unhealthy shit you’ll ever have. eating it gave you chronic diarrhea, gastrointestinal issues, and permanently damaged your taste buds. but god fucking damn was it a good burger.

73. hero

he gave you a single piece of bread with butter on it. it’s not bad but…really dude?

72: olimar

he didn’t make you a bad meal, in fact it was one of the best here. but that’s because he didn’t make you something. it was the pikmin and he’s trying to pass it off as his own and the pikmin don’t know because they don’t speak english. 0/10: not fucking cool dude.

71: kazuya

honestly? i don’t trust this guy. i was too intimidated to even ask his name. from what i can gather no one even invited him to the party he just showed up and made a mediocre meal. what’s weird: someone came into the kitchen and claimed this guy killed their whole family. we never saw that guy again. needless to say, kazuya wasn’t invited to the afterparty.

70: link (botw)

don’t get me wrong here, link is a five star chef. he’s just really unsanitary. apparently he cut the meat and vegetables with the same sword he killed calamity ganon with. i don’t wanna taste that guy!! have you seen him?? not to mention he pulled the meal out of his pants. i don’t even know how it fit in there.

69: inkling

she made a pancake and i thought it was good! but i absolutely can’t condone this. inkling left so much fucking weird slime and shit all over my house. and got really competitive when she heard i was getting meals from everyone else. i hope they’re all ok.

68: ROB

it was so processed. the most processed food i’ve ever had in my entire life. it’s not his fault, rob is a great guy. but this tasted like literally nothing.

67: ice climbers

when they told me they were making dessert, i trusted them. but i let someone else taste test first. my best friend was sent to the hospital because of tongue frostbite. didn’t even know that was a thing. i made the ice climbers pay for it (they’re fucking loaded)

66: villager

he made isabelle do it. and she made something great! but i’m not giving this cretin credit for having the money to afford a five star chef. you don’t deserve it because you sold a shit ton of tarantulas villager!!

65: lucario.

dude got really mad and destroyed my kitchen. he’s REALLY lucky he got the burger PERFECTLY cooked.

64: male byleth.

like this dude knows how to cook. he can barely make chicken nuggets. he has to eat in the school cafeteria simply because he never learned how to cook a simple meal. but he’s a really nice guy. total himbo. love him.

63: ryu

i asked this guy what he likes to eat. big mistake. he then went on to say that his training regiment doesn’t condone copious indulgence (his words) and he lives off of nothing but protein shakes. you do you i guess.

62-61: fox/falco

these two went into the kitchen and came out with weird alien food. i didn’t eat it but everyone else seemed to enjoy it

60: greninja

when he first came out i was so excited. he came out with the most finely sliced food i had ever seen in my entire life. but it was soooo watered down. everything tasted like celery. how do you make crab taste like celery?? how??!

59-58: simon/richter

these guys both made the same exact fish recipe, came out at the same time, and proceeded to fight each other. i didn’t get to try any 😭

57-49: every fire emblem character.

genuinely, i can’t tell these guys apart. or their food choices. honestly, my bad. i’m sure they’re good. but where do i even start.

48: sheik

she doesn’t know how to cook. she kidnapped someone else. normally i wouldn’t put someone like that this high but a. i have gender envy b. it’s for the greater good (or so she said)

47: cloud

dude made a great sandwich but he kept screaming random noises while he did. personally, i’m just glad he managed not to destroy the kitchen. that’s a first here.

46: captain falcon

he promised he’d pick up some pizza but got into a car crash on the way there. eventually he got there after the car crash was all sorted out, but got into ANOTHER on the way back. i’m honestly kind of impressed

45: steve

steve could cook an absolutely fucking KILLER meal. he’ll even offer to do it for free. but you shouldn’t let him under any circumstances. he took 13 hours gathering materials and while the wait was, arguably, worth it, i never want to experience it again. (side note: we asked captain falcon to get some pizza while waiting which led to the aforementioned entry)

44: sora

sora doesn’t know how to cook but he’s by far the biggest name at this party. everyone fucking loves him. he’s friends with GOOFY. this dude hangs out with GOOFY. this guys has hung out with GOOFY AND jack sparrow. bad food but i could listen to this guy talk for hours about his story. i’m sure i’ll understand it all.

43-40: pokémon trainer

this guys organization is fucking atrocious. if he can actually get his shit together he’ll cook up some nice vegetarian meals, but that’s a big if.

HONORABLE MENTION: sans mii gunner

sans undertale is a world renowned, famous chef. his recipes are simple, but cooked with such love, care, and finess it turns a simple cheeseburger into a masterpiece. sans undertale would easily top this list. sans mii gunner is not sans undertale. he bought the real sans’ cookbook and thinks he’s some kind of cooking genius. and sure he’s got the recipes but none of the skill to actually make it.

39-38: samus/zero suit samus

hooray! we’re out of bad cook options now. samus is a great cook, but she’s so used to her alien delicacies she doesn’t know how to cook on earth anymore. shame, but i trust her to produce something edible.

37: shulk

he is really good at the grill. unfortunately, he refused to put a shirt on and made everyone a little uncomfy. that being said, he showed me the beach boys and i had never listened to them before. so he gets points.

36-35: pit/dark pit

these guys don’t know how to cook but the flew into the sky and killed some mythical bird for everyone to eat. i couldn’t have any, i’m pescatarian, but everyone else loved it.

34: bayonnetta

she opened a portal to a waffle house and a bunch of demons came flying out. she didn’t make anything, but honestly, absolutely legendary experience that was.

33: duck hunt

you’d think a dog wouldn’t bring anything meaningful. this would be false. that is the freshest duck i’ve ever seen in my entire life. (didn’t eat it: pescatarian)

32: king dedede

he made his legendary homemade mashed potatoes. everyone loved them. so creamy… weirdly perfect. too bad i hate the monarchy. sorry bud.

31: meta knight

meta knight is a great cook and should be higher. but i don’t want him to be. because he’s so fucking pretentious. he sliced all the food in front of everyone and wouldn’t shut up about radiohead. hate this guy.

30-29: daisy/peach

these two put all their private chefs together to make something for everyone. great catering, great food, but they didn’t technically make it. love them.

28: mewtwo

as if mewtwo wouldn’t just read someone’s mind and cook something. but it’s not mewtwo’s food…so…. sorry dude you cheated.

27: dark samus

she really surprised me here. she cooked up the most exquisite alien delicacies i’ve ever tasted in my entire life. should be higher. but unfortunately, i had to get a space parasite removed from my system by regular samus. honestly though… it was worth it.

26: ganon

he was rude to everyone about his cooking skills and wouldn’t stop bragging. asshole am i right? but surprised everyone by grilling his god damn heart out. he’s a bad try hard but like go off i guess.

25: isabelle

she’s trying her absolute fucking best and she deserves the world here. amazing cook, we need to save her from the island.

24: little mac

dude went so hard. brought new york pizza ALL THE WAY FROM NEW YORK. ok, not literally, but he made a damn good pizza

23: snake

full disclosure: snake doesn’t know how to cook. also no one knows he’s an agent. but he has to cook to blend in so you BEST BELIEVE this man is going to COOK like his life depends on it.

22-20: young link, ness, and lucas

all these guys are incredibly mature for their age. surprised everyone at this party. i had deep and philosophical conversations with all of them about appreciating life. i fucking cried. oh and they made everyone sandwiches, and even took my pescatarianism into account.

19: rosalina

she brought weird space ice cream and i felt my mind expanding as i ate it. love her.

18: mr game and watch

he feels like everyone’s dad! and he’s one of those cooks who cooks in front of everyone. dude flung his meals onto everyone’s plates expertly. love him.

17: joker

originally much lower on this list, joker showed up at my house and attempted to make a grilled cheese and made the worst thing i’ve ever taste. then he said something about gru from despicable me and stood in the corner for an hour. originally i had him towards the bottom but then he doordashed five gigantic burgers, ate all of them in one sitting, and then made me an expensive curry that tasted fantastic. dude went hard.

it was at this point i realized i made a mistake with the numbers. like hell if i’m going to fix the whole thing.

22: zelda

she made some weird food but damn was it pretty to look at! crystals, magic power, i mean good vibes all around here.

21-20: pyra and mythra

i feel like i should put them here since they’re confirmed to be good cooks in the game. but between you and me, i didn’t invite them. i’d consider some entries before this to be better cooks but at this point i’ve been working on this list for 8 hours i do not wanna go back and fix things please i mean this whole list is a joke no one should take this seriously

19: banjo and kazooie

these guys can fucking cook. they’ve been living on their own for a while so it makes sense but it still surprises me. they made a really big stew and even brought free puzzle games.

18: wolf

GRILL MASTER. dude knows what he’s doing on that thing. i’ve never seen better spatula work. holy shit.

17: kirby

kirby came in with some weird blonde hair and made some FANTASTIC ribs (that i didn’t have bc i’m pescatarian). weirdly, gordon ramsey went missing the same day…. i’m sure it means nothing.

16: mario

dude made some absolutely spectacular spaghetti. but he kept talking about how great he is and it really off put some people. kinda weird dude.

15: dr mario. dude brought 50 apples to the potluck. guess he doesn’t wanna see anyone in the office. and he didn’t because we ate them all. take that.

14: min min

she brought some soup dumplings which a lot of people hadn’t had! love her. literally fantastic. she had a whole arm for cooking. that’s what we call efficient.

13: ken

he’s kenough. he is amazing at barbecue. he can cook things with his hands, juggle, also he’s just a fun presence. (i made him make fake meat burgers for me)

12: jigglypuff

she showed up with so many pastries. like so many. not only that, but they were decorative!! she put so much work into that. love her.

11: luigi

he tried to make spaghetti like his brother but a literal fucking meteor slammed into his pot and cracked it. tough luck. then he offered to pay and i refused, but went out and got me some really expensive spaghetti anyways! he’s such a nice guy!! shouldn’t be this high… but i love this guy so much. he’s trying his hardest and i respect that.

10: toon link

toon link didn’t actually make anything. but his mom came and made everyone a salad. and honestly! his mom is some great company. she had so many interesting stories about his childhood. honestly she added so much to the function

9: terry

he is the BARBECUE MASTER!!!! literally what the hell how is he so good! everyone at the party kinda stereotyped him but he’s really really progressive with his views which you wouldn’t think for a big barbecue muscle guy in a baseball cap but everyone loved this guy.

8: mega man

the MASTER CHEF!! literally. he was on master chef. he uses thin round blades to slice vegetables, heats things perfectly, has an instance knowledge of spices, just damn. this guy knows what he’s doing.

7-6: bowser and donkey kong

common misconception: everyone thinks these two would have no idea how to cook. but these are FAMILY GUYS HERE!! they’re providing for absolutely gigantic families, these fuckers know how to make a sandwich and they did. initially they started off making separate sandwiches but they have a really similar recipe and decided to work together. and i really respect that. also turns out peach is just bowser’s kids’ babysitter.

5: palutena.

everyone expected her to show up with some absolutely mystical food. naturally, she showed up with the literal ambrosia of the gods. holy shit. unfortunately, she didn’t put as much effort into it as she could’ve.

4: sephiroth.

ok this guy didn’t really cook anything amazing. but his sheer fucking commitment to the vibe is literally legendary. this man has a long as sword he cut 10 veggies at a time with. he heat them with magic world ending fire. when he was done in the kitchen he surrounded himself with fire and gazed menacingly at me. his sheer commitment to the edge lord aesthetic is truly exemplary.

3: incineroar.

THE GRILLING GOAT!! this man is a grill master. he was prepared to grill ANYTHING. and i mean anything. fish, veggies, meat, fucking grilled cheese. love this guy.

2: wii fit trainer

she made the most well balanced and healthy salad i’ve ever had. and she made it taste extraordinary. she can be a little intense about fitness but i’ve never had a healthier meal in my life. it immediately lowered my extremely high cholesterol.

1. diddy kong

he’s about ten. he made you a pb&j. he had homework to do, but he made you a pb&j. he didn’t have to. he wasn’t asked to. he just wanted to make you a pb&j. he could’ve done anything else but he made you a pb&j. what heartless monster wouldn’t accept it.

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imaginethathaikyuu · 8 months

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Em, you probably don't know this, but I actually have a huge weakness for streamer!Kenma. This might be kinda basic but what if streamer!Kenma and streamer!reader are both super popular, and everyone is always begging them to stream together, but what everyone DOESN'T know is that they're secretly dating and are afraid that if they stream together everyone will figure it out :') but it's just a thought so yeah no pressure. I hope you do get some inspo for streamer!Kenma though 💗 ily!

kris i love u and i wrote this just for u <333 it feels like me and u are playing ping pong with the writing brain cell recently. i love it we're so back

streamer!kenma x streamer!reader

featuring: secret relationship, kenma teaches u how to play chess on stream, loving banter, little bits of chess talk. i tried not to put too much streamer talk in this so it was actually readable and not cringe. gender neutral reader word count: 1882

Kenma was just about to end his stream when he noticed your name being typed in the chat. Someone linked a clip of you from your stream - which was currently live - so he clicked it.

A text to speech message read out loud, “Are you going to be in Noya’s next event?” and as you were focusing on your gameplay, you took a second to reply.

“Am I… No, I don’t think so.”

Kenma laughed while you struggled your way through playing MineCraft.

“I was invited but - chat, I don’t want to start any drama but I kind of don’t want to play in it if Kenma’s playing, and someone told me he was invited.”

Kenma barked a laugh, a loud noise that was rarely heard from him, as you shrugged and struggled to hide your smile.

“There, I said it! If it starts drama, so be it!” You put your hands up in defense, laughing at yourself.

The clip ended, so he immediately opened your stream, and you were still talking about him.

He couldn’t hide his smile if he tried - he only hoped none of his viewers noticed the fondness in his eyes.

The two of you had been dating for at least a year, and it was the best kept secret of his career.

There was a joke online about the two of you not liking each other. It all started when you were openly avoiding him in a game lobby with other streamers - from there, it grew into a bit that you committed to full throttle.

Everyone knew you and Kenma were friends in real life. You shared a friend group, and often streamed with the same people. Online, however, you made a spectacle of not liking him.

Kenma found it hilarious, and so did your chat.

“Do you guys know he cheats in like, every game he plays?”

“That’s not true!” He was laughing and rolling his eyes at the same time. “Oh my god.”

He typed his words in your chat, and he watched the messages flood with his name.

Your eyes widened a little when you read, “Is he in chat? Kenma, go away. This stream isn’t for you.”

He typed a simple, “no,” and you scoffed at it.

“Every time I mention your name you show up - I know you love the drama.”

A few seconds later a text to speech message read, “he’s such a theater kid,” and at the sound of your laughter, he closed your stream.

“I’m not a theater kid.” He sank a little in his chair, watching his chat being filled with emotes. “I literally played sports in high school!”

It was only a few days later when he was sent another clip from your stream, this time from a text to speech donation.

“Kenma, I think you need to see this.”

He clicked the link and saw you were once again playing MineCraft.

It was a long clip - in the game, you jumped off your boat into the ocean and started swimming to the bottom. Everyone in your chat was telling you not to, but you didn’t listen.

“I’m not going to die. Why would I die? This is the best run I’ve had. I’m not going to die.”

That’s when he realized you were playing the hardcore version of the game, meaning if you died, the game was over.

He watched as you swam down into a huge ravine, and he had a feeling he knew what would happen as your character’s air bubbles were slowly popping.

“Do you want to make a bet? If I die here I will do anything you want. Anything. Because I’m not going to die!”

As you said that, your character started taking damage. And you tried swimming back up to the surface of the water, but you weren’t fast enough. You almost made it, and then - game over!

Your head was in your hands as the chat on screen spammed, “stream with Kenma!”

Three days later, you were forced to take your punishment.

Your viewers had been asking you to stream with Kenma for a long time, and you always avoided it with a joke - never revealing the real reason you didn’t want to go live with him.

It wasn’t the end of the world if your relationship became public, but you knew things would be much easier in private. It wasn’t something you were trying to hide, but you weren’t posting it proudly, either.

You decided on streaming Kenma teaching you how to play chess. He’d been playing a lot online, and you hoped it wouldn’t take longer than an hour. You were too nervous to go any longer than that.

Kenma was late to answering your call. When he finally answered, you immediately started berating him.

“Have you ever been on time?”

“I was just seeing how long you’d wait for me,” he said.

“If you never showed up, I would have gotten out of doing this.”

He pulled up your stream just so he could look at you - even though he’d seen you just a few minutes ago. You were just down the hall, but nobody watching knew that.

“Have you been watching my stream this whole time?”

He grinned, “No, I’ve never watched your stream.”

“Then why are you always in my chat?”

You sat with your legs crossed, playing with the necklace you always wore - the one he bought for you just a few months ago. He loved seeing you wear it.

“Because you’re always talking about me, like you’re obsessed with me or something.”

“Can we get to the game? You’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

Kenma wasn’t a good teacher - far from it - but he tried his best. After teaching you the names of all the pieces and how they moved, you were ready to play a game that he’d guide you through. You played white, he played black.

“Can you just teach me the best opening in the game? I don’t need to know anything complicated.”

“...Okay.”

He took a second to decide. Once he made up his mind, he started giving his instructions.

“The first move is pawn to f3.”

“What does that mean?”

“Do you see the pawns?”

You laughed, because the way he said it sounded like he was talking to a kid. “Yes, I see the pawns!”

“Move the one on the F file up one square.” After a second you made your move, and it was his turn: pawn to e6. “Now pawn to g4.”

“What’s this opening called?”

He didn’t reply, instead, he was distracted by his chat. By now, everyone had already figured out what he was doing, and the messages they were sending made him laugh.

“Kenma?”

“It’s called the Fool’s Mate,” he said.

“Why?”

He had to push his microphone away from his face so you wouldn’t hear him laugh, but he pulled it back to say, “I think this is why.”

He made his next move: queen to h4. And a window popped up on his screen, You Won!

“What the fuck!”

“Good game.”

“Kenma, what the fuck!”

“You made it too easy.”

“Kenma.” You were whining his name, sinking into your chair. “This is why I don’t like you.”

“Everyone knew I would beat you, I just sped things up.”

“That’s not true!”

“You’re always such a sore loser,” he mumbled.

“You’re always a cheater.”

Twenty minutes later, you were in the middle of a real game - if Kenma telling you which moves to make could be considered real. And both of you had successful streams so far, your viewers none the wiser to the truth of your relationship.

It was easy, he realized, and fun. He hated how funny you were, because you could make him laugh more than anyone, and he was sure he seemed completely lovesick.

“I think you should move the bishop,” Kenma suggested when you took more than two minutes to offer your next move.

“Uh…”

“The bishop.”

“I don’t remember which one that is!”

Kenma waited for you to figure it out, and then you moved your queen.

And he was truly disappointed, because that was the one move you shouldn’t have made. He couldn’t even laugh.

“You just sacrificed your queen.”

“I don’t even know what that means!”

“Babe - that was a total blunder!” His queen captured yours, and he realized this may have been a complete waste of time. “You lost your most important piece!”

“I thought that was the bishop, Ken!”

He sighed, acting as dramatic as possible. “You haven’t learned a thing. It’s basically game over, now,” and he scanned the chess board on his screen, looking for the quickest way to end the game.

He looked over at his chat to see it was being spammed with question marks, and then his phone vibrated with a message from you.

It read, “you just let the cat out of the bag.”

“Oh,” he said. He laughed, because he only just realized what he said - the nickname had slipped before he could catch himself - and something awkward started to settle. But he shrugged it off. “Oops.”

He started texting you back until you said, “are you disappointed in me, babe?”

“Oh my god.” He sat his phone down, ignoring your message completely. “Stop flirting with me.”

“You said it first!”

“It was an accident!”

You texted him again. “Should we just tell them?”

He typed back, “I think so.”

“Okay, wait,” you said. “Everyone go look at Kenma’s stream. He’s going to do something really cool while I go to the bathroom.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He opened your stream in another tab and watched you get up from your seat.

Everyone in your chat and his was confused - as was he.

Then, his door opened, and you walked in.

“What are you doing?” he laughed.

“I wanted to come say hi.” You walked over to him, grabbing the back of his chair and turning it back and forth just to bother him. “Wait, are you streaming?”

He scoffed, but it was all affectionate. “You’re so dumb.”

You looked down at his screen and waved, “hi chat!” and then noticed he had your stream on his second monitor. “You’re watching my stream!”

“Yeah, I’m a fan,” he joked.

He knew the chat would be filled with questions and reactions, but he didn’t care at all. He found this entire thing hilarious, and judging by the smirk on your face, you did too.

When you finally got back to your room, you sat down as if nothing had even happened.

“Okay, can you teach me what a Queen’s Gambit is?”

“No, because you can’t even tell me which piece is the queen.”

Later that night when you had both ended your livestreams, both of you made your own posts on twitter acknowledging the announcement you’d made. Kenma posted a photo of you with his cat in your lap - the one that had been his phone wallpaper since he’d taken it. You posted the first selfie you’d taken together - both without captions, because there was no explanation required.

And if you kept acting like you hated Kenma during your stream, he’d be the only one allowed to call your bluff.

send a request for a drabble and i might write it :)

#(posting at 7 am cuz im just excited to post.)#i love u kris <3 thank u for the writing inspiration #this was actually so fun to write #and i wouldnt have written it if u hadnt asked me to lmao #i love it!#ive missed writing like this ;-;#everything i write is so COMPLICATED but its so fun to just write something SIMPLE!!!!!!#kenma kuzome #kenma kozume x reader #kenma kozume x you #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #fluff #haikyuu oneshot

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taylorsv3rsion13 · 11 months

Text

we never go out of style || c.f.

A/N : hi! this is gonna be a series so there will be links to other chapters when i complete them!

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

words : 4.1k

synopsis : things were always rocky for conrad and you. after the whole break up, will everything be the same the year later? or will it all turn to shit.

I hated him. Hated him with all the hate I had in my body. He made me hate Cousins as well.

Every year, my mom would send me away off to Cousins beach where I would stay with her best friend Susannah and her two sons, Conrad and Jeremiah Fisher. I had easily bonded with the two of them, and then gotten in a relationship with Conrad. The Conklins would be there as well. Belly and Steven.

Conrad and Steven were 17, while Jeremiah, and I were all 16(turning 17 soon), but I was older than him by a few months, and Belly was 15, turning 16 soon.

He fucked it all up. He couldn't commit to one relationship, and we all knew that, yet he told me he would and I believed him.

Again, my mom sent me to them for the summer. I thought she wouldn't knowing the whole debacle that had happened the year prior.

"Mom, I really don't think it's a good thing if I go." I said to her as I sat at the kitchen counter.

"C'mon Y/N, Susannah misses you, and I'm sure Belly would like to see you as well." My mom said.

I groaned in annoyance.

I loved seeing everyone in Cousins, don't get me wrong. When I was there it felt like all of my worries were away. But now after the breakup, I just thought of everything that could go wrong this summer.

The plane ride was six hours to Cousins from California and it took 30 minutes to get from the airport to the Fishers house. The whole time my mind raced on what would happen as soon as I stepped through the doors.

"Hi, I'm home." I said awkwardly loudly as I stepped through the door that was unlocked.

It was normal for the doors to be unlocked. Everyone knew each other in Cousins, and everyone basically was only there for the summer.

Throughout the house I heard a mixture of footsteps and gasps, people saying, "Y/N?", "Y/N is here?"

The first people to approach was Susannah and Laurel, coming out of the kitchen with a beautiful floral maxi dress.

"Oh my god, look at you! You've always been beautiful, but honey, look at you" Susannah said as she grabbed ahold of my cheeks before giving me a hug.

"I think I like the same" I chuckled.

"You do not look the same... You're growing up. You're in bloom."

Savannah had a way to say things. I loved it about her.

She let go as Laurel squeezed through, hugging me.

"Why didn't you tell us you were coming early?" Laurel asked.

I laughed a little, "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Y/N!" I heard an excited voice say.

I watched as Jeremiah's body came sliding down the railing. He was in a white wife beater tank top and a pair of bright tropical shorts.

"Jere!" I exclaimed, opening my arms for him to run into.

Jeremiah and Conrad were brothers, but they couldn't be more different. Jeremiah was this energetic outgoing person, while Conrad was... well, he was Conrad...

"How have you been Y/N/N?" He asked as we both let go.

"A lot better, and you Mr. Fisher?" I asked jokingly.

From behind Susannah and Laurel, I could see long brown hair.

"Belly?" I questioned.

"Oh my god, Y/N!" She squealed, running up to me.

"You're absolutely so beautiful." I stated.

"No you are." She said back. We could've gone on and on about who was more beautiful, that was until he came.

I looked up and was met with Conrad's bright blue fucking eyes. He stared straight at me from the top of the stairs.

Conrad took a breath, "Hi, Y/N."

"Hi, Conrad..." I responded.

"Yo, Conrad! Y/N is here!" I heard Steven's voice from upstairs.

All of us laughed a little as we saw Steven make his way to the banister. His face was full of surprise as he saw me.

"She's actually here!" He said, running down to greet me.

All of us kids went outside to the pool. Belly wore a cute purple bikini as I wore a blue one.

The house was for us, and our moms. Not for our dads. My mom rarely showed up. She only showed up for important events because she had a lot of work, but there were some years where she stayed.

"You're absolutely stunning." I said to Belly as we rested by the wall in the pool.

She laughed, "I look the exact same as last year."

"No. You look so much different!" I said to her.

"Well, look at you! you have new hair, new body, new attitude!" She said excitedly. "Do I have to get broken up with for this glow up?"

We both laughed at her statement.

"Should we mess with the boys a little?" Belly asked.

"Yeah, I think we should." I said, a smile growing on my face. "Ow! Jeremiah! Help! I think I sprained my ankle!" I yelled to the curly headed boy.

He came to me as soon as he could, sticking out his hand as I stuck out mine.

"Sorry." I said, a smile on my face. I watched as his face faltered though, as he realized what had happened.

I yanked the poor boy into the water, fully clothed.

He came up, splashing at the water.

"Y/N!" He yelled.

I got out of the pool. "I'm gonna head inside for a bit." I said to the group.

"Hi, sweetie." Susannah said as I closed the glass door.

"Hi!" I said to Susannah and Laurel as I sat at the island in the middle of the kitchen.

God I loved the kitchen. It was a beautiful green and white. I loved this house in general though, it was a gorgeous house.

"She's so beautiful." I watched Susannah mouth to Laurel.

"I know." Laurel mouthed back.

I only laughed at the two. I loved their relationship. I honestly wish I had a relationship like that when I got older.

"You should call you mom and tell her you got here okay." Susannah said as she finished chopping up the fruit.

"Oh, yes you're right. I told her I would call her and I got distracted." I laughed.

I finished calling her and returned to Susannah and Laurel.

"Is she coming for the Fourth?" Susannah asked.

"Yes, she would never miss it for anything."

"Oh, Y/N, I finished getting your room set up, if you wanna go unpack now, you can." Susannah said, giving me a smile.

I gave her a smile back, "Thank you, Susannah, I love you."

"Love you too!" She responded.

"I love you, Laurel!" I said, adding a laugh. I heard her and Susannah laugh before she responded as well.

I loved my room at the Fisher's. It had beautiful white walls with high ceilings. As well as a gorgeous large window. My bed was perfectly made as well, and I had white sheets with dark blue flowers.

Most of the accents on the walls were dark blue as well. I could tell Susannah had done some work on my room since the last time I was here.

I began unpacking while looking at everything I had left from last summer. A stuffed white polar bear was on my bed and it had a little navy blue bow tie. Oh god how the memories flooded.

A knock at my door brought me back, "Come in!" I shouted.

"Come on! Let's go to the beach before dinner... please. " Belly said as she bounced onto my bed.

"I still have a bunch to unpack, Bells." I said to the girl, "And don't you have to go with your mom to Whale of a Tale?"

"I'll just skip it." She said, her face with a large smile. "Pleaseeeee."

"Okay, okay! We can go." I said to her.

She squealed excitedly, "Okay! I'll meet you down!"

I laughed quietly as I grabbed a new swimsuit. This one was a blue and white bikini and I loved it.

I saw Susannah and Laurel down in the kitchen.

"Laurel, I'm so sorry I'm stealing Belly, but we were gonna go swimming and I know you have Whale of a Tale today bu-" I rambled.

"It's okay, I'll go with her." Susannah said, a large smile forming on her face.

"You want to race?" I asked Belly as we stood in the sand.

"No, I can't possibly keep up with you, you're always running, I see on your stories." She joked.

Before I knew it, the girl had sprinted, dropping her towel and flip flops.

"Cheater!" I shouted and laughed as I too dropped my things, running to go after her.

"Steven, I swear to god, look at that phone one more time and it's going in the screen basket." Laurel said as we ate dinner.

Belly and I looked at each other before laughing.

I was crammed in between Jeremiah and Conrad, and it was interesting. I avoided Conrad as much as I could.

"It's just, we want to see your beautiful faces." Susannah said as she smiled at all of us which made Belly and I laugh even harder.

Steven continued to go on his phone, doing god knows what. I watched as Jeremiah snatched it from across the table and threw it in the basket that was on the other side of the room.

"Dude, are you kidding me?" Steven said in disbelief.

Jeremiah on the other hand was cheering for himself, "Boom, Nailed it!"

"We get it, you've been working out." Steven said.

"Someones jealous about Jere having a nicer body..." Belly and I said in sync.

Conrad hadn't said anything at all during dinner, and I knew people could feel the tension.

"Aren't you leaving for training camp soon?" I asked Conrad, turning to him.

Susannah cut in, "Uh... he quit football."

All of us looked at Conrad in shock. He was good at football and not only that, but he was going to do college football.

"He can always change his mind though." Susannah said, as she grabbed a bread roll.

"I'm not changing my mind." Conrad said, no emotion whatsoever. "I'll just sit on the bench anyways."

"Well, if you're not playing football anymore, what are you gonna do all summer?" Laurel asked.

Steven shot up in surprise, "Oh, dude, you can work at the club with me and Jere."

Conrad shook his head no though.

"Wait, you guys are working this summer?" Laurel asked in disbelief.

Jeremiah began talking, "Yeah, I'm lifeguarding and Steven's working in the snack shop."

Something seemed to spark in Susannah as well as she began rummaging through things.

"Oh Y/N and Belly! I almost forgot. I have a surprise for the two of you."

Two envelopes were in Susannah's hands. One addressed to Belly and the other addressed to me.

"What.. uhm. What is that?" Laurel stuttered.

"I got them both invitations to be a debutante." Susannah said proudly

There were a bunch of comments being made about the whole debutante ball and about Belly, but I zoned it all out, staring at the invitation.

"Y/N." Susannah's voice said, bringing me out of my state.

"Hm?" I asked.

She motioned to the envelope.

"Oh, yeah, I'll think about it..."

I walked up the stairs to the hall with all of the kids rooms. God, you could hear Steven belting to As the World Caves In.

I don't know how I was gonna do anything with him singing so loudly, so I grabbed a red bikini and changed into it, grabbing a towel and heading outside.

Of course, Conrad was sitting out there, but instead his feet were dipped in the water and he had a joint in his mouth.

I felt his gaze on me as I put my towel down and jumped into the cold water. I stayed under for two minutes before going back up for air.

"Wasn't sure if you were trying to drown yourself or not." Conrad said blatantly.

"Glad to see you wouldn't help even if I was." I said to the brunette sarcastically. "And I thought you said smoking pot was bad for you."

"Never said that." He stated.

"Pass." I said, motioning towards the joint in between his fingers.

"No." He laughed.

I rolled my eyes at him. And I still hated him.

"Hey, are you actually thinking about doing the debutante thing?" Conrad asked after a few minutes.

"Don't know, don't know why you would care either." I shot back at him.

"Why are you acting so different?" Conrad scoffed.

"You should be asking yourself that same thing." I said to the boy.

"Y/N, I know you." Conrad tried to say.

"Yeah? Do you?"

Before he could respond a scream was heard with the glass door being slid open.

"First bonfire of the summer!" Jeremiah's voice screamed. I heard Steven laugh and another set of footsteps.

"Can I come too?" It was Belly.

"Wait, I wanna go." I added in.

The boys looked at Belly and I.

"Uh no." Steven said.

I mean it, Steven is the most dramatic boy I have ever met.

"The moms are getting everything set up for your movie night." Jeremiah said to Belly and I.

The boys said their various goodbyes before running off.

Belly had grabbed my towel for me to dry off and the two of us went inside.

"Brownies are going in!" We heard Susannah say.

"Got put the DVD in please." Laurel said to us.

"I actually have a headache, I think I'm just gonna go to sleep early. It's been a busy travel day." I said to Laurel and Susannah.

"Aw, alright, honey. Goodnight, love you." Susannah said as she kissed my forehead. I gave Laurel a hug before walking up the stairs.

I turned around though, making eye contact with Belly and winking at her. She nodded in response. We had an idea.

As soon as I heard Belly's door close, I ran to her room with an assortment of clothing.

"Hi Taylor!" I said to the blonde on the phone.

"Hi Y/N!" She responded.

I changed in the corner of Belly's room as her and Taylor were discussing their new drama. They always added me in on new things going in which I appreciated.

"Oh my god, Taylor, Y/N's outfit is so cute." Belly said as she dragged me in the camera frame.

I was wearing a green flowy tube top that was sheer at the stomach and had a floral design with orange and pink colors. As well as a short white mini skirt.

"Belly, what's that pink thing in your bag?" I asked, pointing to a hot pink strap.

"That's the surprise!" Taylor shouted through the phone.

Belly pulled it out, revealing a short hot pink dress.

"Oh my god." Belly and I said in unison.

Belly laughed, "No way in hell. And won't you be able to see my underwear in that?"

"Wear a thong." I suggested.

Belly had gone into this rant about how unhygienic thongs are how they're basically flossing your butthole which Taylor and I laughed at.

Belly and I somehow sneaked past the moms as they watched their movie. I'm surprised they never saw us walk past them, but there was a mix of crying and laughter while watching the movie.

We walked to the beach, which was actually quite long considering the beach was our backyard, but they were further down.

As we made it closer, we could see a bonfire and here loud music.

"I'm gonna kill Taylor." Belly mumbled to me which made me laugh.

"Yo, gas station girl!" A man called out. We both turned our attention and he looked at least 20...

"You've gotten yourself a treat." I said, winking at her before walking away.

"Where you coming from?" The guy asked. I'll just say it. He was a weirdo.

"We just came from another party." I said, breaking in. Belly looked like she was gonna pass out.

"Sweet. Hey, take my beer." He said as he kept pushing his beer onto Belly.

She kept rejecting the beer, but he continued to insist.

"Got a boyfriend back home? Either of you?" He asked

I watched and spotted Steven in the crowd, but Belly seemed to have gotten to his name first.

"Steven!" She called out.

"What are you guys doing here?" He asked, looking at us. His eyes stayed on Belly for longer though, "And what the fuck are you wearing?"

Sadly, the gas station guy jumped in, "I invited her. So who the fuck are you?"

"I'm her brother and she's 15 you pedo." Steven snapped.

Belly stammered, "I-I'm almost 16."

I shot her a glare, knowing we were already in deep trouble.

I watched as Belly and Steven got into their little argument as he moved her away. God this was gonna be an embarrassing night.

She had tripped over something, I'm not even sure what, and fell and ate dirt...

I ran towards the poor girl who just fought back at my arms.

"Belly, it's me." I said to her calming her down.

I looked over to see Conrad standing with a girl who looked at Belly and I. Well everyone looked at Belly and I, but not as long as Conrad did.

"I thought you hated the Red Sox." I said to the brunette as. He had a Red Sox baseball cap on.

"Who are you?" The girl next to him asked.

"Who are you?" I asked her.

"Nicole, Conrad and I went to the deb ball last summer."

It felt like someone had stabbed me throughout my whole body. Like I was heartbroken again.

"Didn't you say that deb balls are bullshit and debs are sheep?" I asked Conrad.

"I didn't..." Conrad said, but I knew he wanted me to shut up.

"I hate you so much. Go fuck someone." I said to Conrad before walking off. Belly had already walked off before.

"You're an asshole, Y/N." Conrad shouted back.

I sat in the sand close to the water. Belly sat with me as well.

"I hate them, they're absolutely dicks." I said to her, throwing a rock into the water.

She didn't say anything, only hummed in response.

I watched out of the corner of my eye a boy tapping Belly's shoulder, "Flavia?

"Hi?" Belly questioned as she looked at me and him.

"It's me, Sextus."

"What did you just say to us?" I asked.

He stammered, "no, no, no, Sex-tus. From your seventh grade Latin Convention" He pointed to Belly.

I looked at Belly raising an eyebrow, seeing if this guy was normal. She nodded slowly.

I got up from the sand, brushing it off and walking to the other side of the campfire with not much light. I wanted to give Belly her night.

The water was cold as it reached my ankles. It was cold out and I could tell that I should've brought a jacket.

There was a lot of noise and rants coming from behind, but I didn't look, not until I saw Conrad's figure.

fuck. what did he get himself into.

I walked closer to the fight as someone had pushed Conrad and I was hit in the head with his elbow.

"Fuck." I grunted as I put a hand to my forehead.

"Are you okay?" I felt Jeremiah's arms around me.

"Cops! Cops!" I heard people yell.

Jeremiah had opened the door to his car for me, "You okay to buckle yourself up?"

"Yeah." I responded, holding ice to my head that they had used in a cooler.

"Okay, because Conrad's a big baby when he's drunk." Jeremiah muttered.

I saw Belly walking with the same guy, he didn't seem rude or anything, but we needed to get home.

"Belly, come on get in the car!" I yelled out to her.

"Cam can get me a ride home, right, Cam?" Belly asked the guy next to her.

He nodded eagerly "Yes, yes I can."

Jeremiah stepped into the conversation, "No, you're not getting into a car with someone you just met."

Cam held out his hand, "I'm Cam. Cameron."

"Your name is Cam Cameron?" I asked jokingly.

"No, it's j-just Cam, but we actually know each other from the Latin convention in 7th grade." He explained.

"Okay, no offense, but no, Belly, get in the car." Jeremiah ordered.

Cam, scratched the back of his head, "Um you should probably get into the car... but the whaling boat that I'm interning on leaves the dock at dawn every morning, so I was wondering you'd wanna come." He stuttered over some of his words, obviously flustered.

Belly laughed a little, "Uh yeah, yes. I mean how else will you get your hoodie back?"

It was absolutely so cute how flustered the two were with one another.

Jeremiah started the engine and then turned it off, "Fuck, Steven! Belly come with me, and Y/N, watch Conrad, we'll be right back."

He shut the door and with that I was left with a drunk passed out Conrad.

I felt as he touched my hair, "Your hair is always like a little kids, it's always a bit messy." Conrad said in awe.

I grabbed my hair back, putting it on my chest.

A knock on the window and a flashlight shown on my eyes made me already want to kill myself even more.

"Have you kids been drinking?" An officer asked. And at that moment. I knew we all fucked up.

"Officers, thank you for bringing them all home. I promise you it won't happen again."

The officers were let out and I never thought I would see Laurel angry, ever.

"How could you guys be so irresponsible?" Laurel asked as she looked at all of us.

Steven talked first, "Mom, it's not that big of a deal, it was a mistake. And the cops were looking to break up the bonfire either way."

"You don't think this is a big deal, Steven? The cops picked you guys up for underage drinking, that's a pretty big deal, Steven."

Laurel scoffed at us, "Were you guys smoking?"

"What?" Conrad asked loudly.

"Keep your voice down, Susannah's asleep on the couch." Laurel scolded.

"Just so you know Laurel, I didn't drink tonight... I was the DD, I swear." Jeremiah said, raising his hands up in defense.

She ignored his comment though, turning straight to Conrad.

"You're the oldest, what the hell has gotten into you recently?" She questioned them.

I had never been so scared in my life.

"And you two, since when did you guys ever leave the house without telling anyone? And what the hell are you wearing, Belly?"

"It's Taylor's. And why aren't Y/N and I allowed to go out?" Belly asked.

"It isn't that you guys aren't allowed to go out, of course you are, but you didn't tell us. How didi you guys even get there?"

"We walked..." I mumbled.

The rest of the five minutes we spent yelling quietly and arguing with one another.

Laurel sighed, "Just go to bed you guys."

She held back Conrad and I, "I know you both are going through things and you can always talk to me, but please, tell me what's going on."

"Nothing." I said before he could even answer. I moved past her hand, walking upstairs off to my room.

The silence in my room was interrupted not long after with a knock. I sighed as I opened the door. Conrad stood there, which I didn't expect at all.

"Hi." I said.

It was awkward... "You know you're gonna have a black eye tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, and it's already tomorrow." I responded.

He nodded awkwardly, beginning to walk over to his room.

"Hey, do you remember anything that happened last night?" I asked. "Never mind, you were pretty wasted."

"I always remember everything when I drink."

I sat on the beach and I just kept replaying the events of the night before. God it made it seem like I liked Conrad Fisher again, which I didn't. Because I couldn't.

Speaking of Conrad, he had come behind me, smoking a joint.

"Let me have a puff." I said to him.

"No."

"Why?"

"My mom and Laurel would actually murder me."

"Fine. Since I can't smoke, then you can't either." I stated.

Conrad sighed, "Why do you even care?"

"It's bad for you. Just because we broke up doesn't mean I won't look for your best interest."

"Hey, let's go pick up some of the good muffins before everybody else gets up."

I just stared at Conrad.

"This summers going to be different. I'm sorry." I said to him, walking off towards the house.

#conrad fisher #tsitp season 1 #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty #jeremiah fisher #belly conklin #steven conklin #taylor jewel #conrad fisher x reader #conrad x y/n #summer

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

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

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag.

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had.

God, you’d never have friends like that again.

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen.

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up.

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment.

A city now filled with killers.

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil.

Not good.

Shit. Karver, where did you go!?

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US.

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air.

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed.

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy.

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.”

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been.

So that was where you came in.

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.”

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty.

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back.

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips.

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple.

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses.

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing.

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured.

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper.

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same.

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come.

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder?

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death.

Your mark has been met.

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow.

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze.

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman.

The Reaper.

Oh, what would they think of you now?

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times.

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all.

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries.

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete.

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling.

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set.

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group.

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play.

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching.

“Hm,” their command affirms.

Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–”

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different.

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances.

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow.

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit.

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys.

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant.

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat.

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate.

Price grunts under his breath.

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask.

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?”

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over.

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves.

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion.

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’.

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand.

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all.

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.”

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell.

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate.

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.”

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer.

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?”

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book.

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit.

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over.

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted.

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm.

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before.

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows.

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture.

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.”

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head.

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant.

The room is more silent than Ghost is.

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.”

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow.

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.”

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time.

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered.

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague.

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim.

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes.

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal.

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.”

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders.

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now!

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.”

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do.

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping.

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself.

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission.

And Ghost.

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks.

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt.

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work?

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky.

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch.

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens. He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.”

“Sir!”

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been.

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back.

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself.

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest.

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly.

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily.

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time.

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen.

But there were ups to this constant downward slope.

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market.

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.”

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks.

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters.

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky.

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull.

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean.

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me.

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt.

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant.

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice.

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked.

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point.

If I had known…you frown.

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.”

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it.

Like blood lining the street.

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you.

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you.

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver.

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins.

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch.

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days.

Your Captain scurries after.

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type.

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude.

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle.

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case.

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth.

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement.

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?”

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.”

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms.

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?”

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat.

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves.

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report.

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued.

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom.

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat.

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race?

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute.

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted?

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound.

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.”

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit?

“Now that’s dark.”

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights.

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore.

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you.

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?”

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how.

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left.

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely.

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath.

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets.

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles.

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare.

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious.

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.”

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh.

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow.

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way.

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around.

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you.

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around.

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led.

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–”

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it.

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after.

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you.

Boxed in.

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it.

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you.

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it.

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you.

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps.

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious.

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah!

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!”

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs.

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement.

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.”

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant.

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that.

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow.

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee.

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time.

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter.

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant.

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now.

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip?

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side.

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate.

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years.

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated.

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks.

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet.

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should.

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors.

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth.

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong.

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you?

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choke-me-joey · 1 year

Text

Eddie Munson x fem metalhead cheerleader

Summary: Based on this - how Eddie met his not so typical cheerleader girlfriend and a little exploration of their relationship.

Content warning: 18+ content minors DNI, smoking, underage drinking, drug use, swearing, flirting, smut.

AN: there is a scene in this based on a ✨️video✨️ i had sent to me by a beautiful anon and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. If you want the link you can find it on my page or message me and I'll try to send it!

📢 TAG LIST IS NOW FULL 📢

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

Chapter 4

The following Tuesday, after practice and your homework, you'd driven over to The Hideout to see the famous Corroded Coffin play to their crowd of regular drunks. You parked your car in the lot, getting out and straightening out your cropped Iron Maiden shirt. You'd paired it with some shorts and fishnets, as well as your Docs and your jacket which, courtesy of Eddie, now had a WASP pin resting proudly on the lapel.

You made your way into the, quite honestly, dump of a bar, impressed that you didn't even need a fake ID to get in. You grinned when you saw Corroded Coffin setting up on the small stage and made a beeline for your friends and your....Eddie.

"What's up, rockstars?" You smile, giving Eddie a cheeky pinch to the butt as he was bent over with his back to you sorting out his peddle. He angled his head to look at you, and nearly keeled over at the sight of your outfit. He recovered, standing up to hug you.

"Now this just isn't fair, sweetheart, gonna be playing our set with a fucking boner," he groans into you ear, making you giggle. He subtly kissed your head.

"Holy shit you actually came!" Gareth said, grinning at you from behind his drum kit. "Eddie said you might not make it because of practice."

"Like I'd miss the infamous Corroded Coffin live in concert," you gesture to the homemade banner behind them. "I'm excited!"

"You're probably the only one in the audience who is," Jeff laughs, glancing over the few people who had come to the bar to watch them play.

"Well, just remember who your biggest fan was in the early days, yeah?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Eddie winks at you and you have to wrestle down the urge to kiss him, not knowing how he felt about your...whatever this was between you being made super public yet. You instead settle on shooting him a wink and going to get yourself a drink whilst they finished setting up, patiently waiting for their set to start.

You were surprised when the bartender handed you a beer, apparently Eddie had sorted you with a drink before you'd gotten there, and again that meant nobody was checking your ID. You said nothing, taking your beer and sitting at a table close to the stage where you had a good view and Eddie could definitely see you.

The band start their set and you're completely blown away. Not only are they actually pretty damn good, the way Eddie carries himself on stage is incredible. He's confident, charismatic, nothing new there, but he eludes this sexy rockstar attitude that makes your pussy clench as you watch him. He plays with an energy that should be for 80,000 people not just 0.01% of that.

You watch his skilled fingers running up and down the frets, effortlessly playing chords without even glancing down. And when he sang, god your heart skipped a beat. His voice was the perfect mix of soft melodic singing and raw yells and shouts. They played a mix of covers and their own songs, their musical influences clear in those original pieces. Your favourite so far had been their rendition of Paranoid by Black Sabbath, and a song called Shallow Grave of their own. You had screamed and shouted and applauded, probably too enthusiastically really, but you didn't care. They were good, and Eddie was hot.

As the notes of another original song, Strangers in the Dark, came to an end, Eddie spoke into the microphone.

"We're going to change things up a little bit now folks, with a new cover dedicated to a very special person who happens to be our number one fan. This one's for you, airhead." He shot you a smirk and you grinned back at him, your cheeks flushing. "Sing along if you know it, maybe even dance a little if you're drunk enough."

The opening notes of Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks, but with a Corroded Coffin touch, began to play and your jaw dropped. You fucking loved this song, and your mind and heart race when you remember you had told Eddie that, probably about 3 weeks ago when you'd first started speaking properly, only mentioned it briefly when he'd seen the tape of Bella Donna sticking out of your bag.

He'd...learnt this, for you? Made his band learn this for you without even knowing if you'd ever come to one of his shows?

It's a good thing you were sat down because your knees felt stupidly weak.

"Just like the white wing dove, sings a song sounds like she's singing, ooh, ooh, ooh," Eddie croons; his voice could have brought tears to your eyes. He wasn't playing guitar for this, cupping the mic in his hands in a way that should have been illegal.

You sit in your seat, singing along, watching as a few drunks get up to dance, mostly middle aged women who look as if Stevie Nicks is their lord and saviour.

"Come on honey, your boyfriend is singing this for you! You gotta dance!" One of the Stevie-ites grabs your hand and tries to pull you up to dance.

"Oh, I cant-" you start, feeling a little embarassed. Ridiculous really, seeing as you were in front of two entire high schools nearly every week dancing and cartwheeling and splitting. Why the fuck was dancing in front of Eddie making you shy?!

You catch Eddie's eye as you're dragged onto the small dance area in front of the stage, the woman lets go of your hand to do her own Stevie style twirl, and you laugh, doing the same when she encourages you to do so. You glance up at Eddie and he grins back at you, still singing away as he pulls you up onto the small stage, twirling you around. You stay next to him, wrapped in his arms as the band finishes the song. When the last note plays, Eddie grabs you and you kisses you hard on the lips and you wrap your arms around his neck, the small crowd whooping and cat calling as you break apart, both of you panting and grinning like fools.

"You're amazing," Eddie says breathlessly, looking into your eyes.

"Me?! I'm not the one who just turned Stevie Nicks into a bad ass metal anthem! You gotta record that, you...you're incredible!" You pant, your face starting to hurt with how much you're smiling. You run one finger down his chest whilst looking up at him through your lashes. "How much longer is the set, rock star?"

Eddie swallows hard.

"Uh, th-three songs."

"Perfect, I'll be waiting by your van when you've packed up." You shoot him a sexy smirk, pecking his lips once more and hopping off the stage to watch the rest of the set.

True to your words you were waiting, leant up against the side of Eddie's van as he finished loading up his equipment.

"So, I've been thinking, that bed you've got in there?" You gesture to the back of the van. "Super fucking comfortable, perfect for laying down after a successful show, don't you think?"

"While every fibre of my being is going to hate me for saying this, Y/N-"

"Who said anything about sex?" You cut him off and he looks at you, confusion etched on his face. "Just wanna show you how appreciative I am that you learned a song for me, very cute by the way."

"Well, I have been known to be pretty cute," Eddie grins, letting you pull him into the back of the van, kicking the door shut. He grunts, letting out a breathless laugh as you push him onto his back and straddle him, pushing his shirt up his stomach. "Hey, you know you don't have to do anything you don't want to, right?"

"What about if I want to?" You smile, rocking your hips experimentally against him. Eddie groans, fingers biting into your hips. You lean down and kiss him, tongue immediately finding his. Eddie's hands travel from your hips to your ass, squeezing it softly at first, then harder as your kisses grows deeper and more desperate. You pull away from the kiss, sitting back on your heels and your hands hover over his belt buckle. "Can I?"

"Yeah, yes, shit, you can do anything you want to me right now, sweetheart." Eddie groans as you undo his belt, your hand ghosting over the bulge in his jeans. Once his jeans are also undone, he helps you by lifting his hips so you can pull his jeans and boxers down to his mid thigh. You can't help the gasp that leaves your mouth as his cock springs free, slapping his lower stomach.

"Holy...what the fuck, Eddie?!" You laugh, unable to process what you're seeing. He's big. And not just big, but thick too. Uncut, with a delicious thick vein running along the underside of his cock. His balls are - is it weird to say perfect?- big and round and your mouth salivates at the sight. Would you even be able to wrap your hand around him? Swallow him down? Would your cunt stretch enough to accommodate him? Your brain buzzed with arousal.

"Not really something I go around showing off," Eddie chuckles, hissing as you attempt to wrap your hand around him, slowly stroking him. You pull back his foreskin to expose the head of his cock, the same beautiful shade of reddy purple as his lips, and you watch in fascination as a small bead of precum blurts out and over your fingers. "Shit, Y/N, your hand feels so fucking good."

"I haven't even done anything yet," you giggle, moving a tiny bit faster, your other hand gently cupping his balls. You make sure he's looking at you before you let a glob of spit fall from your mouth onto the head of his cock, using it to lube his shaft for your hand to glide easier along it. Eddie fucking whimpers, whimpers, at that, his head dropping back onto the pillow beneath him.

"Fuck, babe, you're fucking...you're a dream."

"A wet one, I hope?"

"You're...everything. God the amount of times I've thought about this, about you...Jesus, how are you fucking real?" Eddie sighs as you work your hand over his cock faster, the mix of your spit and his precum making it easier. "Can I...fuck, can you take your shirt off? And...and put my jacket on?"

He prayed silently that you'd agree, it was all he'd been able to think about for about 3 weeks. You smile, nodding, taking off your shirt. Eddie almost blows his load there and then. Not only were you braless, but you also had your fucking nipples pierced, the two silver bars winking at him in the dim lights streaming in from the car park. You send him a knowing smirk briefly letting go of his cock to grab his previously discarded jacket and slip your arms into it, the leather cool and somewhat a little sticky against your damp skin.

"How do I look?" Your voice is low and sultry, laced with arousal. The throb between your legs is almost unbearable now, and you grind your crotch against his leg for some relief.

"Like every wet dream I've had since I was 13," Eddie groans as you spit on his cock again. "Shit, never thought you'd be so..."

"So what?" You challenge with a smirk, one eyebrow cocked as you continue to jerk him off.

"Jesus, so fucking...filthy." Eddie gasps as you run your other thumb over the slit of his cock, gathering some precum on the digit and sucking it into your mouth. You exaggerate a moan, this was purely for him right now but he did taste really fucking good. "Shit, gonna cum soon, don't stop baby."

"Not going to Eds, want you to make a mess all over me." You push the jacket off of your tits so he can clearly see them. Your free hand pinches one of your nipples, making you moan and grind down onto him again, a whimper leaving your mouth.

"Jesus fuck!" Eddie grunts, his cock twitching in your hand as he cums, streaking your tits, stomach and a little bit of his own jacket with thick white ropes. You stroke him through it, letting go of his thick cock when he starts to hiss in discomfort. "Fuck, princess, easy, easy," he lets a breathless laugh as you scoop up some of his cum off your tits with your finger, popping it into your mouth and sucking it off. "Jesus H Christ."

"I prefer Y/N." You grin, letting out a squeal as Eddie pins you down onto the floor of the van, kissing you hard. His hand wanders to the button of your shorts. "Hey, don't worry about me, handsome. This was all for you."

"You sure? I want to." Eddie's eyes flick to yours and you smile.

"I know, and believe me I really want you to but I have to get home, school night and all that." You sigh and Eddie groans, dropping his head to your shoulder. "My fingers will just have to do tonight."

Eddie groans even louder.

"Shit, Y/N, that isn't fair."

"Relax, Eds, my parents are away this weekend, so I'll have that big, empty house all to myself. You wanna come over and protect poor little old me?" You put on a fake pout. Eddie smirks.

"And by protect you mean-"

"Fuck my brains out until I can't fucking walk and make me scream so loud the neighbours will know your name? Yeah, that's what I meant." You giggle, pecking his lips softly.

"Oh, I'll be there baby, I'll protect you so hard, don't you worry."

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#iswaw #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie smut #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things eddie munson #eddie munson x you #stranger things smut

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pablotorresgf · 11 months

Text

no te contaron mal- Pablo Gavi (english version)

after an argument, pablo let’s his actions speak louder than his words.

warnings: curse words,cheating, asshole! gavi, gaslighting. no happy ending

#notes: i’m a little rusty with my writing, feedback is appreciated. please like & reblogㅤᵕ̈ (lowercase intended)

you were sat on your couch trying to shut the world around you. you couldn’t stand it anymore, you couldn’t stand not being able to voice your thoughts around your boyfriend without an argument spurring up afterwards. a relationship was supposed to be built up with trust and communication, you always told yourself that but you never knew when it disappeared in your relationship.

after a while you opened your eyes and let out a sigh. your eyes adjusted to the light, looking around you were trying to locate your phone. feeling somewhat calmed down you unlocked your phone and opened the messages app, you clicked on the pinned conversation and a photo of Pablo and you for your year anniversary adorned the contact information. you sent him two text; one asking where he was, the other reminding him to be careful, no matter how mad you were at him you could never wish for him to be in danger. swiping out the conversation you opened up your best friends messages, your eyes skimmed the last texts you had sent her, paragraphs of you telling her about the argument Pablo and you had. averting your eyes to the bottom of your texts you saw that she read them but never answered. weird

the digital clock on the coffee table read 2:56 am and you decided to get yourself ready for bed. heading upstairs you entered the bathroom and focused on getting the mascara clumps from under your eyes off your face and brushing your teeth. leaving the bathroom you made the bed and decided to try to go to sleep now knowing if you’ll be able to while Pablo wasn’t home.

the next morning you woke up and patted down the spot next to you. empty. you opened your eyes while trying to adjust to the light around your room, you sat up and reached for your phone on the nightstand. your notification bar showing you a bunch of notifications some from your friends, others from your siblings, a handful from twitter, and from your best friend. opening your siblings text first you saw all of them sending you pitiful texts and a lot of links to post, and articles. clicking on the links pictures of your best friend leaving a house party in a disheveled state hand in hand with your Pablo. you were in disbelief and denial, there had to be a reasonable explanation on why your best friend and your boyfriend were leaving a house party hand and hand and looking like that, but as you opened your best friends messages, you knew all the allegations and rumors were true. rows and rows of sorrys, and he said you guys weren’t together were displayed on your screen. you scoffed and left her on read, she wasn’t worth a reply from you not now and especially fucking never.

hearing a door closing you head shot up, hearing footsteps approaching your room and the door opening you were face to face with your cheater of a boyfriend.

“you better have a good ass explanation for this Pablo, or god hopes i don’t fucking knock some fucking sense into you, you prick.” you yelled out exasperated.

“i’m pretty sure y/b/n already texted you what happened, and you saw all those articles, there’s nothing for me to explain.” he replied nonchalantly.

“what the fuck Pablo, how can you just stand there so calmly, we’ve been together for over a god damn year and you go throw all away and with my fucking best friend, you’re a coward! how did it even happen, why the fuck did it even happen?” you yelled in need of answers

“i wasn’t thinking right, and she sent me a text telling me that there was a house party and that if i wanted to go and i accepted. i got there and we were just talking and then we kissed, it turned into more than that and she guided me into this room. the urge and curiosity got the best of me i just wanted to see what it was like if me and her… you know.” He was going to continue before you cut him off

“no i don’t fucking know Pablo because never has it crossed my mind to go fuck your best friend, never! did you always think of her like that or what?”

“ no y/n i didn’t but she was all over me and i was drunk out of my mind and she was there and you weren’t. you weren’t there with me so it’s your fault i got drunk, you were the reason i was drinking if you had just not caused the argument none of this would’ve happened! at least i didn’t do it with multiple girls it was just her that’s all. it meant nothing and you know that.” he finished off

“oh! do i really know that? and what do you want me to do to get on my knees and thank you that it was only her? huh! it would’ve hurt less if it was some random fucking girl but no you wanted to sleep with my best friend someone i’ve known for years!” you yelled back while getting off the bed in search of a bag and your necessities. you didn’t even pay to mind Pablo following you around you just wanted to grab your shit and leave.

“what are you doing?” he said while grabbing the bag from your hands. you looked at him like if he was stupid and snatched your bag back. he continued to pester you until you burst.

“you’re fucking delusional if you think i’m staying with a cheater that fucked my best friend!”

“but i still love you.”

that made you laugh. you genuinely laughed in his face and looked at him to see if he was seriously you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. he didn’t love you, his actions spoke way louder than his words.

“i’ll rather be dead than love a disgusting person like you.”

#pablo gavi x reader #soccer imagine #fc barcelona #football imagine #spotify #pablo gavi angst

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halsins-herbal-underpants · 2 months

Text

Red - Wyll/Astarion prompt piece (sfw)

This is for @cozykomala who sent me my first prompt ever! After a fight, person A is covered in blood. Person B freaks out "omg are you ok!?" Person A is like "it's not my blood, but it's nice to know you care so much." Person B now has feelings they need to deal with.

AO3 Link

Wyll is used to seeing red. He saw it in the hellish flames of the demons he fought and killed for Mizora. He sees it when he gathers the courage to look in the mirror and his Hells-touched eye stares back. And he sees it with his companions, as they fight their way through goblins and gnolls and githyenki creches into lands touched by shadow.

Red on their enemies, red on his friends, red in his eyes, sometimes. But Wyll can't recall ever seeing this much red on any of them before.

"Astarion!? By the gods, are you all right?"

Wyll runs up the steps of the huge surgical theater towards the vampire, sliding his rapier back into its scabbard. They'd been fighting a mad shadow-claimed doctor and his whispering nurses, Wyll's attempt at parlay failing to convince the dead women to turn on their teacher. It was a tough battle, Gale and Shadowheart both nearly out of spells, but Wyll had lost track of Astarion; the last sight of him he'd caught was the spawn disappearing behind three screeching ghostly figures slashing their rusty surgical tools wildly at his face.

Now he was hobbling out of the shadows almost completely drenched in blood; it covered the leather bands of his drow-styled armor and sank into the crevices. It splashed over his face, his ears, and turned his moon-silver hair to crimson. He was even leaving bloody footprints behind in his wake as he stumbled forward. Wyll felt his heart leap into his throat, nearly choking him as he ran towards the rogue, catching Astarion by the elbow in case he was about to crumple to the ground.

The vampire blinked at him a moment with eyes that matched his bloody visage and then slowly cracked a smile. "Wyll," he said calmly in greeting, as if he didn't look like a slaughterhouse floor.

"Gods man, are you hurt? Where? Shadowheart, I don't think she -- s-she said she was out of--" Wyll's voice cracked and he grabbed at his pack. "I have a superior potion! We can at least stabilize you until we--by Helm's grace, Astarion I had no idea, I'm so sorry, I should have helped!"

"Wyll--" Astarion started, but was interrupted by the Blade shoving a potion at him, his voice laced with acute concern.

"Drink this, please. We have to tend to your wounds...where does it hurt the most? I have to say, with that much blood loss I have no idea how you're standing, it's been so long since you fed."

"Wyll!" Astarion tried to interrupt, his brows raising. The Blade turned, hand up to his mouth as he shouted at the other two while they picked through the dead for loot.

"SHADOWHEART, WE NEED--" Suddenly Astarion's hand was on Wyll's mouth, muffling whatever else he was about to demand. Shadowheart glanced up for a second, but then shrugged and went back to the bodies. Wyll's eyes widened and flicked to Astarion, who had the strangest smile on his face.

"Wyll. I'm fine." His smile widened, showing fangs. "It's not my blood."

Wyll blinked, brows furrowing. Astarion nodded his head towards the balcony, where three bodies were just visible beyond the railing, lying still.

"Mmhph!"

Astarion removed his hand with a soft chuckle. "Mmh, sorry. But yes, darling, I am perfectly all right. Not a scratch on me." He patted himself to prove it and Wyll visibly relaxed.

"Oh. I...I may have been hasty," the warlock admitted, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. He paused and then mumbled, embarrassed. "...May I have my potion back, please?"

"Certainly." Astarion handed it back, a wide smirk on his lips that made Wyll's face feel hot. "Save it for the next time you fear for my unlife." He snickered and Wyll had to turn his head, something far too perceptive in that shimmering ruby gaze. Too dangerous to meet with his own.

"But thank you for your concern, sweet Blade," Astarion murred, stepping past him -- but then paused to half-turn back. A hand lifted to lightly grace Wyll's jaw, thumb sliding over his ridged cheek briefly. "I didn't know you cared so much."

He stepped away with a flourish as Wyll's cheeks burned and started walking back to the theater floor. "By the by," he called back airily over his shoulder. "I always love you in red." He gestured at his face and laughed, before turning to head down the stairs, loudly demanding the others had better not take everything for themselves.

Wyll flushed even darker, touching hands to his heated face and felt his heart still beating quickly in his chest. His fingers traced the ridge of his cheek, following the line Astarion's thumb made. His stomach felt fluttery as his mind's eye conjured the image again, over and over. As if wanting to burn it into his memory.

He swallowed hard and looked down at the far pale figure as it argued with their companions, his chest warming almost as much as his face. Those eyes, looking at him so knowingly, flashed in his mind. Red, warm...and waiting.

Shit.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #bloodpact #wyllstarion #wyll ravengard #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 wyll

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faithinus · 1 year

Note

Hi! Do you take requests? I was wondering if you could write something about how Joe would react if your relationship got leaked to the public? No pressure I just really loved "Eyes Open" and want more :)

Woooo! My first request :))) I took many liberties with interpreting this prompt, but I hope you enjoy it!

[Wrong Man]

Joe Quinn x Fem!Reader 🤍 Feat. Jamie Campbell Bower

Disclaimer: nothing too serious here. As always, let me know if I have missed something.

Word count: 3.2K

———————————————————

OH MY GOD YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS.

Whenever your best friend texts you in all caps, it’s followed by one of three things: a video of a hilarious pop culture moment, the revelation that some couple from your hometown deleted their photos together, or a whole lot of trouble.

She sent a series of links rapidly firing one after the other. The image previews loaded, and much to your surprise, they were all photos of Jamie Campbell Bower.

He was with some woman wearing the same coat you owned. Nice taste.

You inhaled sharply. “Some woman” was you.

Okay, this time it’s probably a whole lot of trouble.

The first link opened a website that looked like a TMZ knockoff. The article was titled in a large, bold font “JAMIE CAMPBELL BOWER IN PUBLIC WITH MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND”

Your stomach flipped. No, no, no, no.

Seeing yourself in tabloids was an odd, dissociative experience. The woman was you, but it didn’t feel like she was you. The fact that you were referenced in a headline violently clashed with your self-perception. These things happen to celebrities all the time, but you were no celebrity.

The photos barely even captured your side profile. It could have been any woman on the planet for all off-brand TMZ cared. It felt like if you just pretended hard enough, you could convince yourself that she was a stranger.

But that was your coat. And your shoes. And your nose, and your chin, and...

The camera must have been pointed directly at your face. More than anything, you were annoyed at how unobservant you had been that evening. Why did you not notice the camera?

Oh, I dunno, maybe because you two were walking through a busy parking lot.

It would have been incredibly easy for the photographer to hide behind or inside a car and drive off like nothing ever happened. Jamie was smiling in every photo. Your mouth was half open. There was no doubt that you were laughing. It was just two days ago, so you remembered exactly what you had been speaking about. No one could have guessed how non-romantic it was.

-- “Did you know you aren’t supposed to feed bread to the ducks?” You looked out at the edge of a lake, referencing a little boy throwing his crust into the water.

“Isn’t that just a myth?” Jamie asked.

“No, I think it makes them explode or something,” you shrugged. At least, that’s what your mom told you growing up. Don’t feed the ducks bread or their tummies will burst!

“Explode?” Jamie asked going wide-eyed. “You’ve got to be joking. It’s bread, not dynamite. They don’t just combust!”

“Like in their pants, explode, not generally explode!” you whined.

“They don’t wear pants.”

“You get the point!” You threw your head back and laughed, giving in to Jamie’s reasoning.

He opened the door to the restaurant for you and took one last glance at the young duck feeder by the water. “Poor little guys,” he sighed dramatically.

Joe stood up from the table when he saw you enter. He was giddy with relief, and the eager grin plastered on his face confirmed it.

“Speaking of little guys, there’s yours. Enjoy!” Jamie quipped, prodding you towards Joe’s side of the room. --

Joe made a reservation for a small group of friends at a gorgeous restaurant overlooking the water. Jamie just so happened to park at the same time as you.

Shame on you and Jamie for running late. The photographer either missed the on-time arrivals or purposefully ignored them to make it look like a dinner for two.

You hadn’t even been holding hands! Not once did you make physical contact with each other. How crazy would someone have to be to think you were a couple based on only these photos?

Apparently, a lot of people were exactly that kind of crazy.

Bold, clickbaity titles did their job. The article was distributed all over every social media platform. The author wove odd descriptions into the story, making it sound like something out of a tween magazine.

Apparently “the star and the mystery girl” were “looking loved up” for a “romantic dinner date”.

What a lovely way to report a discussion about bird poo.

Your mind flashed back to all the times you paid the valet double, used a restaurant's back door, and jaunted through their five-star kitchen just to have a private dinner date. It always felt odd, but you did it to avoid this exact outcome of a media storm. And for what?

The media storm happened anyway, just not with the man you expected. Becoming Jamie Campbell Bower’s girlfriend was never on Joe Quinn’s girlfriend’s agenda.

The headline was burned in the forefront of your mind. God that sounded so weird. You closed your eyes and sent up a silent wish that you would never have to hear someone call you “Jamie’s mystery girl” out loud.

What would Joe think of all this? Had he already seen?

You checked the time. He was due home any minute.

Poor Joey probably had the news broken to him by a publicist mid-meeting. You could see it now:

“Yes, Joseph. We are all set with arrangements for the gala. By the way, your girlfriend is rumored to be dating Jamie Campbell Bower.”

Not like he would believe it. He’s not that dense.

Your identity was bound to be revealed to the masses, and when that happened, Joe would be the worrier. He has a tendency to get overwhelmed by exposure, and when Joe gets overwhelmed, you worry about him in return.

You and Joe mutually agreed to avoid public interactions when you first started dating. Current events made it clear that, if you chose to reveal your relationship status, scrutiny would follow.

At the time, Joe’s female co-stars were being ripped apart solely due to guilt by association. They would give him a hug or a light arm squeeze and all of a sudden they were “fame chasers” and “too obsessed with him”. God forbid a woman be the initiator of social interaction. They were seen as forward and flirtatious at best. Slutty and delusional mostly.

Each woman went through the same vicious cycle. They had every word they said picked apart and analyzed until they slunk away into radio silence. Ironically, they received another round of backlash for not being readily available.

People shoo them away and say “Go away! but not too far away! We still need you for public consumption!”

Public consumption. That was his fear. If there was one thing Joe hoped you wouldn't become, it was a product.

Not to mention the guilt that made Joe feel like a villain. He was forced to witness social media rip his friends to shreds, watching them shrink into smaller versions of themselves. Ultimately, Joe felt responsible for the confidence they lost.

So, it was only a few weeks into your relationship before he expressed his concerns about people finding your contact information, where you work, or your home address. Even without the added pressure, Joe loves privacy.

We are talking about the same man who has an Instagram account, yet doesn’t have the app on his phone. Joe loved the luxury of having social media without really having it. Being in the position to pay someone to curate every post for him and monitor his mentions was like a dream come true.

He captured life’s best moments and kept them in a private photo album away from prying eyes. The things media outlets would pay the most to see never reach the internet. Of course, some photos receive the high honor of being sent around a family group chat. Joseph Quinn is not above sending your siblings an embarrassing photo of you.

After someone successfully tracked down Joe’s room number, you also started making hotel reservations under a fake name. Thank god they didn't show up. However, the man did call the front desk and give them a performance of a lifetime. It was convincing enough to get him transferred to Joe’s room landline.

Now, every reservation was booked under “Eddie Hugo”. (The name began as a bad joke, but was quickly recognized as the perfect codename to pay homage to both the late hero and the French writer best known for Les Miserables.)

For the purpose of special events, you were a member of Joe’s “publicity team”. Full access to green rooms and backstage areas was granted by a simple pass hanging around your neck that read “TALENT MANAGEMENT”.

It sounds deceitful, but you loved those nights. You had front row seats to all the action without trading away any anonymity.

Joe’s team knew your true identity, and much to your surprise, no one outside his inner circle ever questioned it. They probably should have after Joe cheekily assured you, within earshot of a journalist, that you were “welcome to manage his talents anytime”.

How you’ve managed to keep everything under wraps for this long? You have no idea.

To be clear, there was a distinct difference between keeping a relationship private and keeping it a secret. Joe told everyone in his life about you. He bragged about your promotion for weeks after it happened. Joe’s father knew every minute detail of “how fabulous” you were at your job, probably against his will. Joe was so proud of your accomplishments even when you discounted them... especially when you discounted them.

Joe’s best friends had no choice but to memorize your birth date due to his tendency to rev up for it weeks in advance. He ran gift ideas by them the month prior. Then, he reminded everyone not to forget about later that month (or next week or tomorrow), because he had "big plans for her birthday."

They knew. He never let them forget.

But these were all real people in his life that he knew wouldn't leak personal information about you and become an “inside source” to some tabloid later on. They were a safe social bubble.

Now your privacy imploded in a way you never expected.

The sound of someone fumbling with keys outside brought you back to earth. The lock rattled and turned forcefully.

You leaned forward over the kitchen counter so that the front door was in your line of sight. Joe marched through the foyer towards your bedroom. He breezed past you without making eye contact. His lips were pressed together, eyes laser-focused on your bedroom door.

Not a great sign, but you can’t say you expected him to float in all cheery either.

“What’s your dress size?”

The question caught you off guard. Your eyes searched for headphones in his ears or a phone in his hand.

Nope. He was definitely talking to you.

Joe swung open the bedroom door and kept stomping towards the closet. “You still have that long one in here? The one you wore to Poppy’s wedding?”

His tone was urgent, but genuinely curious. It dawned on you that he wasn’t mad. The man was just concentrated on some sort of mission.

“Yes, but Joe... why-”

“Aha!”

You were interrupted by the sound of hangers clanging against each other and the rustling of fabric.

Joe popped back into view, proudly holding the pastel, floor-length dress you had worn as a member of the wedding party. He held it against his body and smirked, satisfied. Joe almost seemed like he wanted it for himself.

“Why do you need my dress?” you laughed lightly. Whatever game Joe was playing was somewhat of a relief. You didn’t even care that he was making a mess of your closet. It was a badly needed distraction.

“We are going to a red carpet,” Joe stated matter-of-factly.

“We?” you asked, horrified. And just like that, this was no longer a distraction. You became hyper aware of the elephant in the room.

Joe tossed the dress on your bed and waltzed out into the kitchen. He offered you his open palm and that playful smile that made him impossible to turn down.

You accepted.

“You and me, darling. I talked to Christie and you have an invite.” His fingers laced through yours and gave a squeeze.

Ah, yes. Christie. In charge of all things events and appearances.

You wanted to ask him if now was really the best time to have a hundred (more) photos taken of you, because surely these are not ideal circumstances for a red carpet debut. Instead, you opted for a simple “why am I invited?”

“Fine. You weren’t named per say. But, I get a plus one.” Joe pulled you into his chest swiftly. You gave into the hug and settled your chin on his shoulder.

“You always get a plus one. You just never use it,” you dismissed.

You listened as Joe proceeded to explain that this time was different. It was a big awards show and all your friends would be there. You could sit with Maya, and her friend you met the other week, and Jamie, and -

Jamie.

He really must not know.

Secretly, you were waiting for the day you could step out into public and show each other off without caring about the repercussions. But your future trajectory had just been altered and you could see it clearly: You would walk the carpet with Joe, people would recognize you, and soon enough you would be accused of sleeping with every actor on a Netflix series. Joe would never go for it.

“Come as my girlfriend this time,” he spoke against your temple, just above a whisper.

Shit.

The way he called you his girlfriend made your stomach flutter. You bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold down a reaction.

“What do you think?” Joe pulled away just enough to see your face. He hesitated, eyes scanning your uneasy expression. “What are you looking at me like that for?”

You didn't want to say no and deny him all this newfound excitement, but you knew Joe would change his mind the minute he saw the headlines. Ripping off the band-aid is always better, but why did it feel like you were about to tell a child Santa isn't real?

“Joe...” you looked at the floor. “I just think now is the-”

“Perfect time?”

Your head snapped back up at him. No, Joe. What the fuck?

The look of shock on your face perfectly echoed your thoughts. For a second, you saw a smile creeping up Joe’s cheeks, but he quickly swiped a hand over his mouth and jaw.

You had it all wrong. He was amused. Of course he already knew.

You exhaled a deep release of tension you didn’t realize you were holding in. The relief of not having to drop the tabloid bomb on Joe was so sweet.

Joe took your relaxation as a signal to pull you close again. This time it was the gentle we-will-be-alright kind of hug. You stayed like that long enough to hear each other’s breathing.

“ ’Course I saw the internet. Kinda unavoidable, right?” Joe pressed his lips above your collarbone. “The PR reps kept saying something along the lines of ‘Don’t take her out in public. It’s too soon. They’ll recognize her. Let it blow over first.’ or something like that.”

You stepped back and opened your mouth to interject, to remind him that they were probably right.

“But-” his fingers grabbed at your hips, begging for pause. “If they tell us to hide from it, even the more reason not to. It will be the perfect way to give a middle finger to the gossip columns,” he added. “I can say ‘fuck you. Nice try. This one’s mine.’”

This one’s mine. Heart squeeze.

Joe released his hold on your torso only to lean back on the kitchen counter. He paused to let his words hang in the air, looking content with the hope of a counterattack.

“Admit it," he hummed. "It would be fun to knock the wind out of them."

Despite his confident tone, you caught Joe searching your face, hoping he wouldn't see a hint of doubt. You stood in silence, still running through all the potential outcomes in your mind.

“This whole ordeal made me realize that I’m sick of bending to everyone else's will,” he continued. “Those paps think they beat you to your own debut! Don’t let them have that. We can still step out on our own terms.” Joe tossed his arms out wide, gesturing at the home you now shared. “This isn’t new and fragile anymore. We are solid. It’s the right time...” he trailed off.

Joe was interrupted by a phone ping. He pulled the device from his pants pocket and flipped the screen around to show you the notification.

New text message from: Dad

“...and I want to brag about you to somebody other than my dad for once.”

Joe finally earned an unrestrained laugh from you and noticeably relaxed at the sound. His dad was a pure soul who never claimed to mind hearing any of Joe's stories. But one could argue that Joe needed to talk someone else's ear off for a change.

You collected yourself and gave Joe a serious stare. “On one condition.”

“Yes?”

“I’m not wearing a bridesmaid dress to a red carpet.”

Joe held his hands up in defense. “’ Course not! You think so little of me. I was just trying to get your size.”

“Joe,” you shook your head disappointedly. A classic manly error. “Two things about women’s clothing: every brand fits differently and nothing nice ever fits perfectly off the rack.”

Joe, now recognizing his mistake, shot up and scurried over to the kitchen cabinets. He rummaged through shelves and drawers, tossing spare pens and plastic bags aside.

“Joe-”

“Do we have a tape measure?”

“Not a flexible one, no. But-”

“Let me call someone," he mumbled. You watched as he scrolled through contacts in his phone and sent off several quick messages.

"I’ll schedule someone to come to take your measurements. Should I go ahead and invite the stylist? I suppose we should both be in Dior." He stalled pensively. "Is wearing different designers a breach of etiquette?”

As if you had the expertise to answer that.

Normally, Joe went with the flow. He let designers put him in whatever they wanted as long as he was comfortable. By stressing over an article of clothing, he was showing a whole new side of himself.

“Joe. I didn’t mean it like that. It isn’t that big of a deal.”

He looked up at you with a jokingly dumbfounded expression and blinked a few times. “That big of a deal?" Joe jabbed a finger in your direction. "Watch yourself. That's my girlfriend you are talking about.”

You drifted over to Joe and gave him a playful nudge. “Your girlfriend? That’s nice to hear," you said smugly. "For a second I thought I was ‘Jamie Campbell Bower’s mystery woman’...”

Joe rolled his eyes and held up a hand as if to ward off more jokes. “Don’t get me started with Jamie.”

You laughed, realizing that Joe hadn’t brought up Jamie once in the entire conversation. “Why? Does he think he stole your woman?”

"Worse," he muttered. "Been in my ear all day about how you stole him from me."

[]

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfic #joe quinn x reader #joe quinn fanfic #fluff #faithinus writing

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lokisgoodgirl · 2 years

Text

The Clandestine Council: Clandestine F*cks [Avenger! Loki x Fem.Reader] 18+

Part of the Clandestine F*cks Collection [Link] A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: (19) Loki calls an emergency meeting with you, Wanda & Thor in a place that holds a special (hot) memory. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Language. Smut. Megan. (w/c 3.2k)

You could smell the kit room before you saw it. A tang of leather armour and old sweat hung thick in the adjacent corridor, buried deep in the maze of Stark Tower. There were no fancy gadgets in the kit room. A glorified closet where dirty combat suits were flung after missions, discarded belts, boots, socks and cuffs littering the floor beneath the wooden benches that surrounded the walls.

It was also where Loki had rocked your world for the very first time. A dozen or more cloaks and tunics hung haphazardly inside the door, a testament that ‘I’ll get that later’ extended to superheroes too. Wanda had one folded over her arm as she looked up, watching as you crept in and shut the door. Three pairs of eyes rested on you as an awkward silence hung in the air, each attendee of the impromptu council waiting for another to speak first.

Wanda cleared her throat. “So, you guys are fucking, and no one can know” she said pointedly, clearly wishing she was still in bed. Loki’s brow furrowed, raising a finger. “Actually-” “Sorry-” Wanda continued, scrunching up her face sarcastically, “you guys are in lurve, and no one can know.” Loki huffed. Your stomach twisted as you anticipated the coming storm. Thor was shuffling on his feet, still trying to wrap his head around the complexities, while Wanda’s mission-bruised face angled towards your lover. His eyes were burning. “This isn’t new information, Laufeyson. Y/N told me weeks ago.” she drawled, rolling her eyes towards you. “I just don’t see what all the cloak and dagger of this..’council’ is about.”

“I didn’t tell her…” you muttered, gaze flickering to Loki. Wanda rolled her eyes again. “Oh yes, that’s right Laufeyson. Apologies. I saw you balls deep in my best friend backstage at the Expo. How could I forget.” Thor’s eyes widened, spinning a half circle towards his brother. “Balls-what?!”

Loki shook his head. “There has been a change to the nature of our need for secrecy since your departure to Sokovia, Maximoff. Rogers informed me of a clause added to the by-laws which state that new additions to our little team cannot have intimate relations with another for one year." He paused, as Wanda looked at him incredulously. Thor rubbed his eyes as Loki sighed, continuing. "Discovery now means I void my conditions here and will be imprisoned in Asgard for all eternity.” A moment of silence coated his closing words before Wanda whooped with laughter, covering her mouth too late to conceal the raucous sound. “I don’t think it’s that funny, actually.” Loki hissed, as Thor nodded. “Indeed, this is most serious, Lady Maximoff. We must be vigilant on their behalf.” Wanda’s choked laughter ebbed as your lips twitched. Her amusement was infectious. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry but...it is kind of ridiculous.” She wiped a tear of mirth from her eye as Loki frowned, pursing his lips. Wanda sighed, regaining her composure and turning to Thor. “So how did you find out?” The god’s gaze fell to the floor, kicking a discarded sock to the side. “I found a haphazardly discarded note, and that is all I wish to say.”

“Um, no…” Wanda drawled, wide eyes casting between you and Loki as she sidled closer to Thor. “Tell me. We’re all in this together, right? Y/N didn’t have time to tell me the gory details of this whole situation before they sent me off at a minute’s notice so puh-lease tell me. I am starved. It’s payment for my silence.” A pink blush was rising in Thor’s cheeks as he recalled the contents of the note, desperate not to meet his brother’s eyes. “There was talk of...commanding. Submission, you know...that sort of thing.” Wanda wriggled her eyebrows towards you. She raised them higher as she saw a subtle nod of your head towards Loki, still glaring at his brother.

Wanda's eyes lit up. “Really?” she murmured, clearly impressed. “Loki...Laufeyson.” “What?” he snapped, his eyes still burning into his brother’s reddened cheeks. Wanda shrugged, sitting down on the bench behind her and neatly folding the cloak on her lap.

“Oh, nothing. I just didn’t have you down as the submissive type, that’s all.” She smirked, enjoying the warning look on your face as Loki’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “I can assure you, Maximoff” he began smugly, making you cringe, “that there is barely an element of your daily life in the past five months that has not been touched by our insatiable, primal lust for one another.” Thor grimaced, wrinkling his nose. Loki paced towards Wanda across the tiny room as she regarded him with innocent expectation, playing him like a fiddle. “...the safe house while you slept, the conference room, the diner while you stuffed your mouth with inferior sausage, the underground car park, the hood of Roger’s car..even against the windows of Stark’s precious panorama. I have brought your friend to rampant ecstasy that you can only fantasise of in each and every one. Multiple times. So do not presume that-” You had begun tugging Loki’s shirt halfway through his impassioned monologue, a sharp final yank signalling him to shut the fuck up. “I take it back. You’re the king, clearly.” Wanda hummed, smoothing the cape in her lap.

“I am a king...” Loki huffed, straightening his tie. Thor cleared his throat. “If we have concluded talking about my brother’s magic phallus…?” he grunted, a thin sheen of sweat forming on his brow.

Loki snorted derisively. “No magic, dear brother. Only expertise.” “Enough!” you hissed, running your eyes around the three members of your council. “Here’s the situation. We have just under five months until this rule becomes irrelevant. Until then, Loki and I will be cautious…” Thor and Wanda looked knowingly at each other. You rolled your eyes. “OK more cautious. We would appreciate if you could support us in that. So, no jokes in public, no comments. No slips in drunken conversations with Natasha…” you said, staring at Wanda as she feigned shock. There was a pause as you slipped your hand into Loki’s.

It felt divine, sharing your affection. A warm blanket wrapped around your heart against the cold winds of secrecy. “And...if it makes a difference. You two were the ones we would have told first, before Rogers...well, you know. We just wanted you to know that before-”

Knock Knock Loki snatched his hand from yours, all four bodies spinning towards the door of the kit room which had begun edging slowly open. Thor’s bulging arm flew to rest on the wall, a picture of forced causality as Megan from Operations popped her head through the gap. “Oh heyyy” she whined suspiciously, “I didn’t know you guys were all here.” Your stomach twisted.

“Lokes, can I speak to you for a mo? It’s important.” She winked, before disappearing from view. “Did I miss something?” Wanda murmured, as Thor shrugged. Your eyes met Loki’s; the silent conversation clear as he nodded softly. “I’ll be right back.” he said.

You watched him leave with a gnawing in your belly, the soft click of the re-enforced door vibrating in your eardrums. Wanda rubbed your arm. She didn’t know the context, but she could feel your anxiety. She looked around the room, new curiosity in her eyes. “Why did Loki want us to meet here? Surely there’s somewhere else...it’s not really his scene.” You looked away from the unforgivingly quiet doorway, silently thanking your best friend for the distraction. “He probably thinks it’s funny. This is where we first...you know..” She nodded with a wink, as Thor’s brow creased. “...Yes? Pray, continue.” he intonated, folding his arms. “Fucked.” Wanda turned to Thor in disbelief, “Jeesh, you really are stupid.” she grumbled. You listened to them bicker as your mind wandered to the first time. The first clandestine fuck of many that would come to rule your every waking moment. Between sarcastic barbs and thinly veiled innuendos, your acquaintance with Loki had grown slowly after his arrival. He was cold, distant...and yet intoxicatingly alluring in his disdain. You found yourself dropping your gloves an awful lot in this kit room after field training, enjoying the visceral feeling of his roaming gaze across your curves as you bent over. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Agent…” he had purred as you had unfurled to your full height clutching your wayward glove, “...the way you display yourself for me.” The memory made you shiver. His leather trousers hanging loose around his hips, the ties undone. The lines of his bare, muscled abdomen clenching as he kicked off his heavy boots.

The way his sultry voice had penetrated your core deeper than any lacklustre cock ever had. It had been layered with something new, a tinge of vulnerability that betrayed pure need beneath the haughty words. “Whatever do you mean?” you had said coyly, unbuckling the holster from your thigh as he closed the space between you.

He had stood close to you. Far too close to make denial anything less than awkward. He had known the possibilities of that were nil. You could smell the heat from his skin, the thin lace of cologne gripping the damp hair that hung loose around his cheekbones. His lips had pursed, gaze lowered as your fingers pulled the zip of your combat suit slowly down, revealing the curve of your cleavage. You remembered how he had groaned quietly at the sight, knowing that the thought of this exact scenario had crossed his mind many times with his large palm gripping his leaking cock in the confines of his rooms.

How many times had he cum over the thought of you wrapped around his length? Moaning his name as he pleasured you? The thought had made you dizzy. “I can think of many games we can play together, Agent” he had murmured, his fingers clasping over yours to hasten the descent of your zip, “but this impetuous denial is not one of them.” His lips had crashed to yours, pushing you back against the wall of coats in a mess of tongue and teeth. Unspent passions had overflowed into the air, low grunts and desperate moans mixing between you as the arms of your suit were deftly peeled away. Breathlessly you had pulled apart, stripping yourselves of the lower portions of your inconvenient clothing. You would never forget the awe that rose in your belly seeing Loki’s naked body in all its glory for the first time. The way he stood so confidently in the middle of the tiny, filthy room. His enormous cock as hard as the muscles that rippled across that taunt frame from his ankles to his jaw. He had kicked his trousers aside, those intense eyes blown wide with lust tracing over your body, memorising every inch as he licked his lips. “Agent, you are simply…” he had started, opting instead to take several steps towards you and grasp your ass firmly, pulling your pelvis tight against his hips. There had been no foreplay. Unless you counted the six weeks of teasing every damn day as you scoped each other from afar. Every stolen touch a teasing promise. Loki slammed into you, burying himself to the hilt inside your soaking pussy as you gasped. He was huge. “F-fuck me, Loki” you had stuttered, as he began to do exactly that. The two of you were merciless, your nails scratching down his back as he had growled his approval; powering his cock deeper inside you with every otherworldly thrust. For a moment, you thought it would split you in two. Searing pleasure soared upwards to the tips of your fingers as he forced your hands above your head. He held your wrists with one immovable fist, the other sliding to wrap one of your thighs against his waist. “Is this what you wanted Agent?” he moaned wantonly in your ear as he thrust into you, steadying himself against the coat-hooks as growls of pleasure rumbled in his throat. “More” you gasped, arching your back.

The thick softness of a fine cloak fluttered against your ass as Loki of Asgard fucked you against the mess of tangled kit straggled across the wall. He chuckled. “More, Agent? Greedy girl.” In the blink of an eye, he spun you to face the adjacent wall. Dozens of boots hung carelessly on a rack built against the brick. You fell forward, knocking several to the floor as you gripped the wooden hooks they exposed. “Fuckkk” you had groaned, eloquence leaving you as your teammate’s cock rammed into you from behind. It was even deeper from this angle, his hand pressing on your lower back as he bottomed out with a guttural groan. “Gods, darling…” he moaned, “y-you feel incredible, I-godss...”

You remembered how pride swelled at his pleasure, the needy satisfaction of knowing how he craved your mortal body. The walls of your pussy clenched, making Loki’s knees buckle. He fell forward, the taunt skin of his stomach smacking against your back. Gripping your hands holding on to the boot hooks, Loki rutted into you again and again as he panted like an animal. A primal carnival of pure lust as he took his fill above your rising moans of pleasure. “Give it to me, Laufeyson..I want your h-hot cum dripping down my l-legs” you whimpered, as another set of combat boots were shaken to the floor. A low growl came from behind you, somewhere between a snort and a chuckle as Loki rose up, his hands cupping your hipbones.

He pulled you flush against him with a jolt, making your eyes roll back. “Ladies first, darling” he muttered, rolling his hips, making you whine with need at the new sensation. You had never felt anything like it. The ridges of his length massaged you in places you didn’t know existed, pockets of pleasure lighting up like fireflies, thundering through your veins. “Loki...Lokiii...I’m gonna…” you whispered breathlessly while his fingers tightened their grip against your skin. “Yield to me, Agent…” he had murmured knowingly, growling as the walls of your cunt began to ripple mercilessly around his thick cock. Wanda's fingers snapping in front of your eyes broke you from your nostalgic trance.

Your touch had been tracing the nubs of the wooden boot rack, the memories as clear as spring water.

“Earth to Y/N” Wanda said sharply, as you got your bearings. “Sorry…” you muttered, casting your eyes towards the closed door. – Loki stood with his arms folded in the dim corridor. The bowels of Stark Tower that didn’t feature on the editorial of glossy magazines left a lot to be desired in terms of interior design. He could feel Megan’s eyes crawling over his biceps as he cleared his throat. “So, how may I be of assistance?” Megan slid towards him seductively, trailing her fingers across the wall behind her. “I think you know how you can assist me, Lokes…” she whispered, biting her lip. He rolled his eyes. “If that will be all, I really don’t have time for this-” Loki turned, before feeling the unexpectedly strong grip of Megan’s hand on his forearm. A desperate woman is not to be underestimated, Loki noted, as his eyes narrowed towards her. “I stopped by your rooms a few weeks ago to bring you a little gift. Me.” she giggled coquettishly, making Loki wince. “But what I heard...Loki-baby...it seems you’re very in demand.” Loki’s lip twitched at the memory of your hysterical lust while Megan hovered behind the door to his rooms. He restrained the smile, stoically waiting for her to continue making her flaccid point. “I have no issue with you seeing other women, if that’s what you’re worried about…” Megan murmured, running a finger down his chest as Loki stiffened. “A man with legendary appetites like you...it’s to be expected.” She pulled his tie, yanking him down so his ear was level with her lips. Her cheap perfume stung his nostrils, the jangle of her bangles making him shudder.

“All I ask is I have a slice of what you’re giving out. If I’m honest, the thought of sharing you turns me on...a lot.” Loki came to his senses, straightening as she released her grip. “Think about it.” she winked, he hand edging towards his crotch. “And Loki-baby…” she cooed, “I’ll make you forget that slut’s name in a second once you have a taste of what I can do...” He saw red, ingrained manners gone; pushing her against the wall as she cried out in surprise. The momentary fear in her eyes dissolved to rampant lust as he released heavy breaths above her, restraining himself from bashing her head against the paint. “Loki...save it for the bedroom, baby” she whined, her attempt at a smoulder hissing like damp ash. He growled, gripping the rough chiffon of her blouse into a fist. “How dare you presume that I could feel anything for the likes of you.” he sneered, nostrils flaring as her eyelids batted innocently. “I will say this only once. She is no slut. She is-” He caught himself, the words choking as he looked down at Megan’s overinflated lips stretching in a smirk. She giggled, sliding her hand over his fist gripped tightly to her blouse. “Playing hard to get, Loki...I like it. I like a challenge.” Loki let go with a growl, running his hands through his hair as he spun on his heels in frustration. Damn that Rogers. He turned towards her, finger raised to put her to rights once and for all. Megan caught it between her thumb and forefinger, leaning forward before he knew it and sucking the tip between her bulbous lips. “Enough.” he hissed, swiping his hand away, the venom in his tone poisoning the air. Megan straightened her blouse, a satisfied smile descending on her features. “You’re right, we wouldn’t want to get caught with your friends right next door, would be?” she murmured, licking her lips. Loki strode down the hallway towards the kit room, fury bubbling in his veins as he heard Megan’s shrill voice following him like noxious gas.

“We’ll loop back to this, Laufeyson” she called coyly, a faint air of professionalism returning. “We will not.” Loki hissed, not deigning her with a backwards glance. – You heard his heavy footsteps approaching, the gait betraying that something had happened. But of course it had. It was Megan. Loki slipped inside the door. “I think we should leave now.” he muttered, raising his eyebrows towards you. Thor huffed as he shuffled on his feet. “Shall we not even learn the clandestine nature of the lady’s urgent matter, brother?” Loki clenched his jaw, his stare flickering between the sets of eyes fixed upon him.

“Mischief.” he said grimly, making Thor chuckle. Wanda noted the colour leaving your face with a twitch of her brow, her suspicions proving more correct with every passing second.

The blonde god meandered around the wall of the small room, brushing his thick hand across the line of combat holsters hanging from ageing hooks. He saw a flash of red concealed under one of Barton’s muddy tunics, draped across the edge of the frame. “Y/N mentioned that this was the site of your inaugural lovemaking, brother” he chuckled, swiping the forgotten red cloak and inspecting it, pleased with his find. “Indeed.” Loki grumbled, casting his eyes again to the doorway.

Thor’s eyes widened, seeing a whole stash of his cloaks revealed by the discovery of the first; a veritable buffet of Asgardian finery buried beneath the mess. “I was wondering where these had disappeared to...I thought you had stolen them, actually.” There was a pause before Thor’s turned to you and Loki, a warning flashing in his stare.

“Your amorous activities…not on my cloaks brother, surely?” You felt your cheeks heat, as Wanda began to usher Thor towards the door; a bundle of red fabric balled haphazardly in his bulging arms. “Especially on your cloaks, brother.” Loki said, his lips curling in a satisfied smirk. - Tags

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