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tbko111 · 5 months

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Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

⊱ contents: yuta x fem reader, smut, noncon/dubcon, yandere, delusion, obsession, masturbation, stalking, virginity loss, mind break, creampie, manipulation, ⊱ wc: 2.6k ⊱ synopsis: There was just something about your friend Yuta that slowly urged you to let your guard down. Maybe it was his gentle nature, or his softspoken voice. Either way, you trusted him into your dorm room.

Yuta has spent years of his life shying away from intimacy. Inevitably he has masturbated at times, but was never big on it. Once he entered high school – festering with amorous teenagers, he still didn’t give it much mind.

That was until he met you.

It started off small. Being quiet, people would find you hard to approach, but Yuta felt otherwise.

"You dropped this." you muttered, holding out an eraser. Yuta blinked for a moment, surprised to hear your voice for the first time. It was like honey – easy on the ears. It even made him wonder why you don’t talk more.

"Oh, thank you." he smiled.

You awkwardly smiled back. It was his first time getting a clear look at you, and he thought about it for the rest of the day. He only thought you were kind of pretty, nothing more. Or so he told himself; he was too convinced he wouldn't find love again.

But the two of you surprisingly shared a lot in common, easing into conversations over time. It started as a normal friendship, but love waits for no one, and he couldn't help but start to admire your every detail. Your every move, every habit, every word… so thoughtful and reserved. It was tantalizing. Only to this point you felt similarly, thinking he was intimidating at first but putting your guard down at his unexpectedly sweet and sensitive personality.

It was spring, just the right amount of breezy and students abustle over the romance in the air. You had known Yuta for quite some time now, being comfortable enough to give gifts - albeit not too forward.

After school, you remain seated as your classmates race eachother to the exit. Yuta takes note of this and stays back as well.

"Are you not going?"

You fidget, then reach into your bag.

"Here, you can have this." you held out a small box of cookies. Adorned with small flowers to complement the season. He stared for a moment before accepting it.

"You remembered my birthday?" Yuta beamed, touched.

"Um... I just made too much yesterday." you chuckle, not daring to make eye contact. But he knew it was no coincidence. It was singlehandedly the best cookies he's had in his life, and he later lost sleep recalling your abashed face.

The more he got to know you, the stronger his feelings got. He wanted to know more. To feel more. You would only offer small joking pokes, or touch him accidentally which were always followed by apologies. He would calm his beating heart secretly wishing you wouldn't pull back all the time.

In the dead of summer, the two of you sat in front of a convenience store. Licking your ice cream carefully, you looked to the side to see Yuta blush and turn away. You suddenly grow embarrassed of the display, and cover your mouth.

"You want some too? I have change." you glance at him gingerly, trying to ease the air.

"What? Oh. No, I'm fine." Yuta lets air in through his collar, quickly looking away again. Something tells you he's not this worked up from the weather.

That night he touched himself for the first time in ages.

"Hahh... Y/n... Y/n... Y/n..."

Yuta mumbles to himself, twitching at his own touch. He rubs his length up and down with thoughts of you playing in his head like a movie. Your gaze, your voice, your everything, how you'd look so pretty with your lips wrapped around his cock, and how you'd look when he finally gets to fuck you and see your face melt into a pleasured mess, all for him.

"Fuck..." he inhales, climaxing at the thought.

Eventually, unable to get his mind off of you, he would steal small belongings as mementos of you, even touching himself with your handkerchief. It felt like a crime. This is wrong. I'm sick. He tried to tell himself, but as if in withdrawal from a drug, he'd cave into ogling you at every chance. No girl has made him feel this way before.

Pleasure finally overtook his guilt over fantasizing such vile things. He'd follow you at night "Just to make sure you're safe", and always keep an eye on you. He didn't have to worry about seeming creepy to you; he was all too good at putting up a front. To the point you only ever saw him as a kind friend, nothing more.

You've grown a soft spot for him and he didn't mind taking advantage of it. Yuta had always been nothing short of generous, but even he had his limits. Especially when it came to such an insatiable need.

By the time you trusted him, your every kind gesture became an indicator that you must like him back, justifying everything under that pretense.

It was winter before you knew it – roughly a year since you've met Yuta. You offered to do homework at your dorm room, and his pulse nearly stopped at the suggestion. He tried to sound casual, agreeing a little too quick.

"Come in, there's not much to see, but..." you welcome him in, taking off your shoes. He breathes in, almost going lightheaded from how your scent surrounds him.

You take off your coat, then your school blazer, the dress shirt framing your figure with more definition making him gulp and turn away.

Unloading your things and settling down, you help eachother with questions within the warmth of your room. There's about an hour of silent working – though it takes everything in Yuta to focus, until you stretch and groan complaining about the workload. One joke here and there turns into full procrastination as the two of you laugh quietly at trivial conversations.

At one point, you gently slap him on the arm, snapping what remained of his self-restraint. The giggles die down, and coming to your senses you find Yuta eyeing you shyly.

"Y/n..."

"Hm?"

The room is falling dark. You hadn't bothered to turn on the lights, and the daylight was beginning to fade away.

He leans in, making you pull away just slightly. But he won't let you do that this time. You were so cute that rational thought was flying out the window. All he knew was that you both wanted this.

He swallows, then snakes his hand up the back of your head, leaning in until your lips meet. For a moment you’re resistless, frozen in shock. Soon you’re quick to push him away, feeling your face burning up.

“Wait, Yuta, I didn't know y-”

Yuta finds your shocked face cute, but soon grows impatient and coaxes you back with a groan. He might just die if he keeps his hands off for any longer.

"If you really don’t want it, you can bite my tongue." he breathes, not even giving you room to respond. He knows you wouldn't, anyway.

He starts off with a small kiss. Running one hand down your arm with the other caressing the side of your head. You gasp, allowing him to slide his tongue in – desperate to taste you. The wet sounds make your head reel, but of course you don't bite. Despite being reluctant, you can't bring yourself to hurt him. You only groan softly, and feel Yuta purr into you like he’s in heaven.

He keeps you in place with an alarming amount of authority. The kiss grows hot and sloppy. It’s hard to think as he lifts you with surprising ease and lays you on your bed - conveniently close to your floor desk due to lack of space. He finds his way atop of you, one knee resting comfortably between your legs. You try to push away for air, and he lets you, only to start kissing your neck and down.

“Ah… Yuta, what-” your voice wobbles.

He shifts to loom over you completely, breathing erratic and needy. He continues to leave marks, feeling your body as if dying to memorize it by touch. Despite every alarm in your head going off, you don't want to believe that Yuta is a threat.

The affirmation is cut short when you jolt at the feeling of him unbuttoning your top.

“W- Wait!”

Yuta had held back for too long. He's been nothing but good to you. He deserved this – you deserved this. Having none of you was endurable, but just a taste was never going to be enough. All he got from your protests was that you were just shy. How cute.

“I’m sorry, I need you. I’ll make you feel good, I promise…” he’s murmuring, telling himself that more than anything.

He opens your shirt delicately, revealing your bra, and your arms fly up to cover yourself.

He steadily casts them aside to awe at your figure. His gaze lingers for uncomfortably long with bated breath.

“You’re so…” he trails off, lovestruck.

Your eyes meet his, and you can't help but look away. You've never let anyone see you so vulnerable before. He dips his head down to continue tasting your neck, and you feel him fumble to remove your bra. You tug at his clothes in place of asking him to stop, but it only tempts him more.

He finally removes it and puts it aside, shaking slightly at the sensation of your bare breast. Starting off with just his fingertips, he grows greedy and kneads them, carefully, as if you’re made out of glass. He’s nice as always – misleadingly so. You groan and pull your legs together as he teases your nipple, and grabbing his wrist with your weakened arms proves useless.

His hand travels down your body, each touch torturously tender.

A finger hooks on your now semi-unzipped skirt and stockings, undressing you like you're a precious gift. Yuta timidly runs his fingers over your panties, a grin creeping on his face at the dampness.

You feel your heart drop as you sense him undoing his pants. You look down with wide eyes to see him pull out his length. Being inexperienced, just the thought of that entering sent a foreboding chill down your spine.

“No...” You're too scared to even raise your voice.

Yuta sighs shakily, face flushed.

“Stop being such a tease. You’re killing me…”

His rough yet pretty hand pulls down your garments slowly, making you attempt to draw your thighs together at the sudden airflow.

He lines himself up to your entrance, and you curse yourself for being wet. You try to shrink back, but gasp when he holds you by the waist, lifting you slightly for better access. His tip pokes your slit, making you shudder and stifle a sob. Even now, you can’t bring yourself to slap him, or scream.

Yuta isn’t a bad person.

You shake your head, hands firm on his arms to no avail.

He marvels at the sight, in a trance.

“I’ll be gentle.”

“No, Yuta, don’t-!”

You cut yourself off with a guttural shriek as he forces himself in, inch by inch. You gasp for air as you claw at your sheets fruitlessly.

He takes a moment to settle, groaning as your muscles contract frantically.

“Ahh… oh, god, you feel even better than I thought…” Yuta tilts his head back, screwing his eyes shut in bliss.

To your dismay his cock goes even deeper, until you can feel him in your stomach. You gasp for air, moaning pathetically as every nerve screams for help.

"Mngh, no, i- it hurts-"

Yuta groans, getting even more turned on.

The pretty sight of you twitching around him alone threatened to make him cum right then and there.

"It's okay. I'll go slow..."

He starts moving, painstakingly slow. Somehow, him being so gentle is worse than being forceful. You’re left with no choice but to fully suffer through every little sensation.

Even as he goes at a leisurely pace, you can't help but fight back tears. It's also torturous for him, but for different reasons. He cares about you too much to fuck you as brutally as he'd like.

There are only timid movements for a long while, until he gradually picks up speed, and your legs are on the verge of giving up already.

"You're so pretty." He mumbles.

You cover your face, unable to answer. Your lip is bitten to suppress shameful noises, but the crude fill in your stomach makes your jaw weaken.

Your mouth hangs open, and soon the room fills with lewd noises as he continues to shower you with affection. He babbles barely coherent compliments, kissing your neck. He winces slightly at your tightness, clenching around him with all your life.

“Relax for me.”

You sputter into your arms. You're a moaning, flinchy mess and your legs shake like a leaf as he loses himself in you – slowly going faster and harder.

"...Let me see your face."

You groan, unrelenting, but the way his eyes bore into you has you complying meekly. He leers, pleased with the display.

"Look at you… you love me. You take me so well."

His familiar smile almost convinces you that nothing is wrong.

"Say it. I wanna hear it from you."

He bucks his hips in deep, going almost fully in and out, earning violent twitches followed by helpless moans. It's music to his ears.

As you very slowly ease into the feeling, what remained of your fighting spirit diminishes as his cock fills you just too right, involuntarily arching your back. Your sounds grow more harmonic as euphoria washes over your body.

He whispers breathily, pleading so weakly in spite of the power he has over you.

"Please?"

"I love you..." you drawl, barely words at all. Your once pained face is now melted in pleasure; pupils blown and eyes barely open.

Yuta smiles, sickly sweet.

"Good girl, I love you too. I love you so much. I'm yours..."

His dark eyes make you shudder as he looks at you - looking almost coy as if having his nervous first kiss and not fucking you into your own bed. You feel high as he continues to thrust into you using your waist as a handle. His kind voice and affectionate teasing with his thumbs contrasts all else.

Feeling every sense overstimulate, sinful moans freely escaping your mouth, you weakly reach out to hold him.

"Ahh, Yu..."

“You feel so good, I- fuck,”

Yuta curses under his breath – you never even thought he was capable. But neither did you of this whole situation.

You're no longer in control of what kind of vulgar face you may make. You feel burning ecstasy build up inside, until you’re dangerously close.

"Mngh- Yuta...! I can't, I..."

"Shh, I got you."

His sweet voice hypnotizes you to relax, not even letting you register the gravity of him cumming inside. His breath hitches harshly and the grip on your waist tightens, as if to say you're not going anywhere.

Your eyes roll back, feeling him paint your walls white. You feel his cock so clearly, you're convinced you've memorized its shape. Your body shudders in pleasure and in that moment, you truly are convinced he's the love of your life.

“Ah… mmn… ugh,”

You lay twitching in place, small moans emitting as you breathe. You can hardly even remember where you are.

He stays inside for moments longer, savoring the moment. You tighten instinctively as he pulls out slowly with a cute smile plastered on his face.

“You’re amazing.'' He's breathless, either from the sex or breathtaken by you alone. He kisses you, stroking your hair lovingly.

And you can’t help but kiss back.

♡ ao3

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #jujutsu kaisen imagine #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu smut #yuta okkotsu x you #yuta headcanons #okkotsu yuta x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #yuuta smut #yandere yuta

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chigirizzz · 8 months

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❝𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲❞

synopsis: how your fist kiss with him is like

characters: gojo, yuji, megumi

tags: gn! reader, not proofread as always (it's 3am for crying out loud)

— GOJO SATORU

gojo is a tease and that’s no news for you, it’s not new to anyone. this man’s actions and words either make someone respect him or desire to kill him.

yet, it surprised you how much he could tease you before and during your first kiss.

gojo fucking satoru made sure to make your life hard as hell after finding out how you, even past your mid twenties, never had a kiss.

“never?”

“never,” you responded by repeating the word in a cold tone of voice, arms crossed and sending him a dead glare. however, he did not felt intimidated by you—

—instead, he just burst out laughing and looked at you like you were a middle schooler still finding out about life.

that’s how your memory can recall that day. god, you hate him!

and you hate how you never got to experience such a magical moment yet!

but patience is a virtue, right? that’s what people say. and that’s what you’re thinking right now as gojo’s big hand imprisons your head movement by holding your chin firmly. his hold isn’t too strong and neither too loose—perfect to give his lips the chance to dominate yours and perfect for you to free yourself and slap him if that’s what you wish to do.

but you don’t do that, so his lips curve into a malicious smirk, which gives an electrical shock to a certain corner of your brain—which makes your mouth let it escape a satisfying sound to his ears.

he’s enjoying this. he’s enjoying this so much and so are you.

today was like any normal day, including the newest jokes and teases from gojo satoru about how no one ever felt attracted to you enough to kiss you. although you know the white haired male never wanted to hurt you and it was just teasing, the comment he told you today really hurt you, making you sad and defending yourself to gojo (and calling him stupid).

he listened quietly to your rant. his blindfold made it difficult for you to understand how sorry he was, though.

gojo moves his hand from your chin to the back of your neck, his body language now a bit more rough—his lips more angry for yours by the way he tilts his head slightly to side, guiding you on your make out session, occasionally leaving a chuckle when you desperately try to follow his movements.

you are so cute and he feels so superior in this exact moment.

one of your hands moves by itself to grab the cloth's fabric that covers his chest when you suddenly feel his teeth on your neck. he wasn’t doing anything special yet, just mouth slightly open with his teeth ready to give you a hickey.

“satoru…”

“hm.” despite him answering your call, gojo didn’t pay attention very much; instead, he chose to snuggle into the warm skin of your neck, searching for comfort. wanting to be close with you.

the hand that was close to his chest is now on his back, patting awkwardly but softly. “i…” you cleared your throat. you’re pretty sure he could feel your nervousness. “i hate how you make me feel.”

— ITADORI YUJI

no words to describe how adorable he is.

this sweet boy took you on a date to the oceanarium with a full plan inside his pants’ pocket:

take a shower

after shower, use the best perfume/deodorant (not axe!!)

go to y/n’s house to take them to the oceanarium

look for the best train seat available for y/n (has to be next to the window!!)

pay for the tickets

tell y/n lots of fun facts

kiss y/n

kiss y/n… kiss you…

now that’s a hard task.

in the three months you and itadori yuji were dating, no one had any complaints. the two of you were going at their specific pace, but still able to get out of your comfort zones, just for each other.

kissing you is an example of yuji getting out of his comfort zone—that, and he just loves you very much; the boy just wants to express himself. he cringes at how he stepped away from you awkwardly when you tried to kiss him on the day he confessed to you.

“that’s so cool!” you hugged the jellyfish plushie you bought in the oceanarium gift store tighter, its scent bringing you a feeling of peace. the both of you are currently outside, sitting on a bench at a nearby park, just speaking about today and listening to yuji’s fun facts about the aquarium animals. “tell me more.”

“uh, well… just a second!,” he excuses himself before searching for a piece of paper inside his pants’ pockets… he took one out of the pocket, read it, and realized it wasn’t the one he wanted. “just…—just a second! sorry!

your boyfriend is acting strange today—you noticed, anyone can notice—, but you opted to not say anything. however, you’re starting to become extremely curious.

the wrong piece of paper is roughly and badly stuffed back into his pocket, only for the panic to torment him again when said paper falls from the pocket to the ground.

“what’s this?” you ask no one in particular when you caught the paper before your boyfriend could do it.

“shit, no! give me that!”

“calm down, yuji, i’m trying to read it.”

the boy watches in horror as you slowly read the paper—the paper with the list.

that’s it, his life is over. he feels the pain of the embarrassment crushing him, getting more painful each millisecond. he can imagine how you’re gonna make fun of him, destroying his heart—

“you could’ve just told me, itadori,” your voice soothes his thoughts as you stare at him lovingly. “i would never judge you or anything.”

“after how i denied your kiss the day i confessed to you? me? denying your kiss? on the day i confessed? i’m a moron—”

the palms of your hands hold his cheeks gently. “you’re not a moron, my love—well, you are, but not in this context.”

all yuji got to say was an offended ‘hey!’ before you pulled him towards you, making him able to cross ‘kiss y/n’ out of his silly and now crumpled list.

even if there isn’t much experience between you both, you manage to work it out. it’s a simple but long-lasting kiss—at least that’s what you assume when you start to feel the need to breathe some new fresh air. but you don’t want to worry about oxygen, not when the feeling of his lips in touch with yours makes the blood vessels on your face dilate, making your blood warmer, making your heart beat faster.

you let go of him and breathe heavily, however, you do not get a proper pause because yuji starts kissing all over your face, while tickling your body too. the both of you turn into a mess of laughter and tiny kisses, completely enjoying the moment.

and perhaps you get the privilege to live something that resembles a cinematic masterpiece, as you both stop laughing and rest your foreheads against each other.

— MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

the scenario is really simple: one minute you’re sitting side by side on the sofa while watching a terrible coming of age movie, pizza slice on your hand, all your worries forgotten thanks to the comfy blanket covering your laps, and the next minute you and the dark haired male are sitting in front of each other on the sofa, faces really close trying to mimic the stupid kissing scene at the end of the stupid movie.

“her hand was like this.”

“shut up, why do you want to make things so difficult.”

this was your idea, of course, a perfect excuse to kiss him. in months of dating, you never had the first kiss as a couple and you decided to tease him into doing it, saying how you wished to be kissed like in the ending scene of the movie and complaining how megumi could never do like the male protagonist did.

he knew you were just teasing him, but he felt the need to show you the opposite anyway.

first you were trying to position your heads and hands like the actors and sharing short kisses, until he got tired of the challenge and just pulled you for a kiss without you expecting it.

it was definitely way better than the one from the movie. it was rough at first but eventually it got softer and more romantic. he paid attention to your body language, to how you reacted to the kiss, and when his lips let go of yours so you both could breathe, he stared at you so lovingly you almost felt like melting, especially when his hand made contact with your cheek to caress it.

minutes passed and you were now cuddling each other, you laying on top of him and listening to his heartbeat and him giving you a small back massage, making sure that you felt loved (and that you didn’t say anything stupid again).

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leaderwonim · 3 months

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BUT WHY? WHY NOT.

pairing. ghostface!park sunghoon x fem!reader

summary. in a sudden turn of events, you ask with shaky tears why your boyfriend, park sunghoon, is doing what he’s doing. the answer he gives you is more terrifying than the whole situation itself.

warnings. kinda suggestive at some parts, vivid descriptions of killing, mentions of mental illness, hurt no comfort, cursing, one of the characters has a gun

tagging baes @saursoob @moons-v @wonniestars

recommended playlist. sometimes & race by alex g

“You know I love you and I’d never do anything to harm you, right?”

Park Sunghoon always loved to say that to you, especially when you separated your mouth from his and you’d give him those eyes that told him you’d do anything for him.

You were just so easy. Easy prey to catch for big strong intimidating Park Sunghoon. Easy prey to feast upon.

He was a gentleman. Looking back at the past 7 months of your relationships, you never once remembered having to open a door handle by yourself. His hand was already there before you could even touch the metal knob.

“What boyfriend would I be if I let you open doors all by yourself?” He’d say with an eyebrow raise and a smirk.

Even though he was clearly teasing you, you felt giddy that you had such a great boyfriend like him.

You just wish you saw the signs sooner.

🫀

The first red flag was how twitchy Sunghoon would get at random times. Sure, it was normal for Sunghoon to be a bit shy—even awkward—but the sudden twitchiness didn’t go unnoticed by you. It was almost if he was uncomfortable in his own skin, desperate to get out.

But Park Sunghoon was perfect. He was the perfect boyfriend, the perfect son, and the perfect boy, there was nothing wrong with him, right?

Right.

“I don’t know,” Sana says as she shakes her head, clearly frightened by what’s happening. “I feel like someone is stalking us.”

Your friend group collectively starts comforting her, all besides your boyfriend who sat next to you with a frown.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” you say, rubbing Sana’s hands comfortingly. “Right Hoonie?”

“Yeah.” If there’s another thing about your boyfriend, he’s good at reassuring people. “Maybe you’re overthinking Sana? It’s okay, you’re safe with us.”

“He’s right.” Hyoseop, one of your other friends, chimes in. “Besides San, you can’t let this scary moment dictate your life!“

Sana nods solemnly. “I guess. Are we still on that camping trip this weekend?”

“Hell yeah we are!” Your friend group cheers, which is more than enough to make Sana feel better about the whole situation.

🫀

“Sleeping tents?”

“Check.”

“Flashlights?”

“Check.”

“Batteries?”

“Check.”

“Tooth—”

“Baby.” Sunghoon wraps his arms around you from behind, putting his chin on your shoulder. “I promise we have everything, let’s go before we’re late and Eunae makes a big deal about it.”

You giggle, turning around to give him a proper hug. He smelt exactly like the vanilla scented candles you loved so much.

“You’re right, I don’t want Eunae on our asses in the middle of the woods.”

Sunghoon drives the both of you in his green shiny Jeep, the one his dad had bought him last month. The camp site was about 2 hours from your house, so you plugged your headphones in, leaning against the window as one of Sunghoon’s hands comes to hold your thigh.

“Wake up sleepyhead.” He says, flicking your forehead which makes you jolt from your sleep.

“Yah Hoonie! Don’t do that,” your cheeks puff out in annoyance, and your boyfriend can’t help but laugh, pinching it between his thumb and index finger.

“I texted Hyoseop, he says they’re already all here.” Sunghoon opens up the trunk, pulling out all your stuff with a grunt. “Jesus, it’s just 2 nights and we’re packing like we’re moving here or something.”

You roll your eyes, “we need to be as prepared as possible! I don’t even like camping, but Eunae insisted.”

“Well Eunae’s a bitch.”

You slap his arm, making the boy jump. “Hoon! You can’t say that out loud.”

“You’re thinking it too baby.” He swings his heavy duffle over one of his shoulders, his other arm holding the gigantic tent you guys had bought to share for the 2 nights.

“I don’t know why you couldn’t just put all your things in our big backpack.” You say, already feeling out of breath as you guys make your way to the site. “You don’t even have that much clothes anyway Hoonie.”

“Just wanted my own bag, that’s all.” He smiles. “Plus, the backpack is already extra heavy with all your stuff.”

You whine at his words, making him chuckle.

“Y/N! Sunghoon!” The voice of Inyoup, Hyoseop’s brother, echoes through the area. “You made it!”

“Course we did.” Sunghoon dabs up the boy, which leaves you to say hi to Eunae and Jihyun.

“Where’s Sana?” You ask, not seeing the familiar ginger anywhere in sight.

Jihyun pulls out her phone, checking Sana’s location. “She should be here by 7, said she’s running a little late because of boyfriend things.”

Jihyun sends the group a wiggle of the eyebrows, which stirs up laughter and a gross! from Inyoup.

“7 is gonna be so dark though, I’ll make sure to go fetch her.” Hyoseop says. “Now c’mon, let’s get a bonfire settled!”

🫀

Night time rolls around quicker than expected, the sky above already clearing out with the few stars being the only source of light in the surrounding campsite.

“Are you cold?” Sunghoon asks, pulling you closer to his side as all of you sit on the pieces of wood in front of the fire.

“I’m better now with you generating all this heat.” You joke, digging yourself closer into his side. “Actually, did you bring any extra coats Hoon?”

He doesn’t really hear your question, too engrossed in whatever horror story Jihyun’s telling the group.

“Yeah yeah.” He says, waving you off.

You take yourself out of his hold, going over to your tent. Honestly, it was a mess, but you were able to make out Sunghoon’s filled to the brim duffle bag. You open it, trying to scuffle through for something warm to wear.

“Ah shit,” you whisper, taking your cut finger to your mouth before examining the cut clearer. “What the hell?”

You uncover the jacket that was covering whatever sharp object that had sliced through your finger earlier.

It was a long sharp knife.

Where did your boyfriend get this? You hadn’t seen a knife like this around in your house, and more importantly, why?

It’s probably for precaution. Your brain tells you. Sunghoon is always so careful, he probably wants it to be safe incase any wild animals come.

So you ignore the knife, placing it back inside Sunghoon’s duffle. You place his jacket and make your way outside.

“It’s already 6:50, maybe we should go pick up Sana now.” You say, blowing air into your hands since it was starting to freeze.

“Oh shit, I’m cooking right now.” Hyoseop looks at the grill he’s currently grilling meat on and then back to the group. “Can someone else go get her? Preferably a guy, we shouldn’t let the girls walk out this dark.”

“I’ll go get her.” Sunghoon offers. “Let me just put on another layer really quick.”

You take a seat next to Inyoup, sipping on a glass bottle of Coca Cola.

“You think we can curl our hair with these like Olivia Rodrigo said in her song?” Jihyun jokes, raising her empty bottle up into the air. “I’m gonna try it.”

“You go do that.” Eunae scoffs, clearly unimpressed with the girl.

🫀

It takes approximately about 25 minutes for you and the group to start worrying, not seeing Sana or Sunghoon in sight.

“The parking isn’t that far right? They should’ve been here 5 minutes ago.” Hyoseop says, setting the silver plate of food onto one of the wooden logs near the grill.

“No yeah, I’m getting worried.” Jihyun stands up, “I’m gonna get a flashlight and look for them at this point.”

Jihyun makes her way to the tent she shares with Eunae, which was right across from yours.

“Shit shit shit,” she mumbles, her hands rummaging through the messy tent. “Shit!”

“What’s wrong?” You ask, quickly running over. “Jihyun, what’s wrong?”

“Some animal might’ve came in earlier and ruined our things.” Jihyun places a hand on her forehead, clearly stressed about the whole ordeal. “Please tell me there’s still a flashlight.”

She checks through her and Eunae’s bag, only to find everything but a flashlight.

“It’s okay Ji, me and Hoon have a few in our tent.” You reassure her, which makes the girl feel a bit better.

“Sunghoon’s back!”

Inyoup’s announcement makes you practically bolt out of Jihyun’s tent right away.

“Hoon!” You rush over to him, cupping his face. “Why’d you take so long? Where’s Sana?”

He gently peels your hand off, looking back at the group with a smile. “She says she forgot her toothbrush on the way and she’s gonna drive to the nearest CVS. Should be back in 20 minutes.”

The rest of the group seems to buy Sunghoon’s words, all except Eunae.

“Well why did you take so long then, Sunghoon?”

“Oh fuck off Eunae.” Inyoup exclaims. “It’s too dark right now for you to start an argument.”

Eunae scoffs. “You know what? Fine. I’m gonna take a dip in the lake, I don’t want to be near any of you right now.”

When she’s finally gone, Inyoup whistles. “I still don’t know why we’re all friends with her when she makes everything miserable.”

“Let’s just calm down.” As usual, your boyfriend is the mediator, which makes you smile and lean into his side.

“You can’t be worrying me like that Hoon!” You groan, hitting him in the chest jokingly. “Had me thinking you were lost.”

“Baby you know me,” he grins. “I’m great at navigating in the night time.”

He suddenly pulls away, “ah, I’m so hot from all the walking. I’m gonna go dip my legs in the lake for a bit.”

“Okay,” you give him a peck on the cheek. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“You can come if you want baby.” He looks down to make direct eye contact. “I know Hyoseop just made beef. You wanna eat that first and meet me later?”

You think about it a second before nodding, placing one last kiss on his face. “You’re right. I’ll see you in a bit Hoonie.”

🫀

Sunghoon sighs in relief, finally glad to have you off his back for a while.

He takes out the familiar black suit and mask, the one that is seen so many times in the scream franchise. The ghostface mask and suit.

He places it over his body, the mask fitting his face so perfectly that he’s in awe.

He already knows his first victim.

Choi fucking Eunae.

God, did she annoy him. Always getting into petty disagreements, always making a ruckus out of nothing. And tonight? The way she accused him so adamantly, the way her eyes crinkled on disgust as she looked at him.

He had to get rid of her.

“Surprise Eunae.”

Eunae’s arms are no use to Sunghoon’s muscular ones that’s wrapped around her throat.

“Help!” Eunae tries to scream, but it only comes out squeaky and inaudible.

“Poor little helpless Eunae,” Sunghoon taunts. “Taking a dip in the lake to cool her nerves because she just can’t help her silly little thoughts in her head.”

He points the sharp end of the knife directly at her throat, making a slight tear which lets blood flow down.

“Why are you doing this?” Eunae chokes up, tears already falling like a waterfall. “Sunghoon?”

She wouldn’t have known it was him because of the mask, but the voice taunting her earlier gave it all away.

“Goodnight Eunae.”

Sunghoon stabs the girl repeatedly until she stops squirming in his hold. Then, he lets go of the body, watching as it floated face down on the lake.

They’ll find her by next week, he thinks. The cops—of course. Not your friends, not you. You all would be dead by tomorrow morning before you even knew Eunae was missing.

“Aw man.” He frowns. “She got my gloves all bloody.”

🫀

Sunghoon knew you would come looking for him later, he just didn’t know when. Therefore, he knew he had to leave the premises immediately as to not be caught near Eunae’s body.

He already knew his next victims, anyway. The two brothers, Kang Hyoseop and Kang Inyoup.

He had already gotten rid of Sana, who, at the sight of him in the ghostface mask and suit, barfed all over the parking lot. He found it both amusing and fascinating—how the human mind could freak itself out so much to the point of physical sickness.

“Eunae! Is that you? Look, Hyoseop said I should apologize earlier for what I did, and although I don’t want to, he might be right.”

Maybe Sunghoon didn’t have to leave. Maybe Kang Inyoup showing up now was a sign from the universe.

He quickly makes his way behind one of the tall trees, which was enough to hide him but also enough to see Inyoup’s movements.

Inyoup goes towards the dock of the lake, “Eunae? Why the hell are you swimming like that?”

He giggles, not realizing how serious the situation was and that Choi Eunae had been dead for 10 minutes already.

Inyoup gets closer, his fingers gripping at Eunae’s arm. When he flips her over, he lets out a scream of terror, which has Sunghoon coming to put his hands over the boy’s mouth.

“What the fuck—” Inyoup cries out, eyes still not believing what they just witnessed. “What the..”

“It’s a real shame.” Sunghoon whispers in his ear, the knife he’s holding is dangerously close to Inyoup’s abdomen. “When Y/Nie first introduced me to the group, you were so welcoming and kind to me. You even opened up to me before Hyoseop.”

“Sunghoon?” Inyoup breathes out, and he can’t help but feel betrayal sink into his heart. “No, please, you can’t do this.”

“Didn’t you say you got that job offer in Osaka? Japan is beautiful.” Sunghoon takes a jab, which causes Inyoup to move forward in Sunghoon’s hold, groaning from the pain and impact. “It’s too bad you won’t ever step foot in Osaka.”

And he kills him. Drags Inyoup’s body into the lake, which floats along with Eunae’s.

“You can apologize to her in the afterlife.” Sunghoon shrugs, finding himself oh so funny.

“One Kang brother down, the next to go.”

🫀

Now Kang Hyoseop was no idiot. He knew his brother and Eunae had been gone for far too long, he knew Sunghoon had been gone for far too long. And Sana? She didn’t even come to the camping site like Sunghoon had confidently stated earlier.

“Hyoseop.” Sunghoon shows up behind him, only this time, the suit and mask are off.

“Sunghoon.” Hyoseop tries his best to give a sincere smile, but Sunghoon knows.

He knows.

“You didn’t have any food Sunghoon, you must be hungry.”

Sunghoon doesn’t know what Hyoseop’s playing at, but he’s already sick of the boy. His body feels itchy, and he has the urge to kill kill kill.

“Where’s Y/N and Jihyun?”

“Oh you know, at the lake. They needed to cool themselves off after such a hot dinner.”

Sunghoon’s eyebrows raise, and he finds his itching fingers reaching for the knife that’s tucked behind him.

“Hyoseop.” He says.

“Yes Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon pins down the boy, which is a much harder struggle than Eunae or Inyoup. Hyoseop had been going to the gym, and the boy was no weakling when it came to fights.

“I fucking knew it.” Hyoseop spits at Sunghoon. “You were the common denominator. Always so secretive and weird around us. I knew it.”

He says that with such disgust that it has Sunghoon cackling, impressed with the guy beneath him.

“But you didn’t say anything Hyoseop? You just let yourself go on a camping trip with the one guy you knew had bad intentions?”

“Fuck you!” Hyoseop tries to kick Sunghoon off of him, but it only makes the boy on top press on him harder. “I wanted to be wrong you know. I wanted to be completely wrong about thinking you were some fucked up loser for the sake of Y/N. But God, you are even worse than that.”

Sunghoon leans closer to Hyoseop, their cheeks touching.

“See you in hell Hyoseop.”

Then all the struggling stops.

It’s so easy, Sunghoon thinks. He didn’t even have to take months to plan this all out, when Choi Eunae said she wanted to go on a camping trip, he knew it was the perfect opportunity to strike.

🫀

“We have to go.” Jihyun says, grabbing your arms.

You were busy crying, feeling disgusted and horrified at the two bodies of your close friends in the lake.

Who the hell had done this to them?

“Where’s Hoonie?” You cry out. “We have to get Hoonie.”

“We’ll find him.” Jihyun reassures you, but her brain says the opposite.

She didn’t want to find Sunghoon. Like Hyoseop, she had a weird feeling about your boyfriend from the get-go. She just didn’t have the guts to tell you.

“Y/N, shh.” Jihyun places her index finger against your lips. “You hear that?”

It’s the sound of a body dragging, and you could make out the silhouette of someone tall.

“I have a gun in my tent,” Jihyun whispers. “I have to go get it. Can you distract him?”

You nod timidly, feeling fear strike every nerve in your body.

You throw a big stick across to the lake, which makes a dipping sound that has the man turning.

Jihyun, who had been the star of the track team in her high school days, runs like she’s never ran before, almost tripping over her own foot.

The man drops the body, and starts getting closer to the lake, making your breath hitch.

You watch Jihyun in the tent, letting yourself let out a breath of relief when she shows you the small gun in her hand.

“Surprise!”

Suddenly, the man’s sights are no longer on the lake, but on you.

His ghostface mask bashes against your face, making you let out a whine of pain.

“Jihyun! Jihyun!” You scream.

Jihyun panics, her hands shakily try to position the gun so that it won’t hit you.

She shoots, her eyes closing from the shock after the bullet leaves the gun, making a loud sound.

The man who had a hold on you falls back, grunting in pain.

His arms are behind his back, trying desperately to keep his body sitting upright.

“That’s what you get fucker!” Jihyun shouts, running over to you and pulling you close to her side. “For what you did to our friends.”

You hesitantly walk to the man, who’s body was shaking. You take off his mask, only to reveal the one person you wished it wasn’t.

Park Sunghoon.

Your boyfriend.

“Sunghoon?” You sob out. “What? Why? Why? Why are you doing this?”

You’re practically shouting now, horrified at the thought of your boyfriend killing your own friends.

His mouth was dripping blood, and his body looks like it was spasming.

Still, he grins, eyes filled with something you can’t recognize. He has no remorse.

“Why not?”

Jihyun decides she’s had enough, pointing the gun directly at Sunghoon’s head.

His once shaking body crumples to the floor immediately, and you feel your knees buckling at the sight.

“Shhh,” Jihyun hugs you from behind, although she too is crying. “Let’s get out of here.”

It all starts to make sense now. The flashlights disappearing, the knife you found in Sunghoon’s duffle.

Although all of this is terrifying, his last words still rang in your ear.

Why not?

#enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #enhypen fluff #enhypen texts #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x you #enhypen ff #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon x you #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon angst

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islandofsages · 5 months

Note

hey, I could ask the royal boys (Leona, Kalim and Malleus) with the male reader who is already the king of his country, like the boys thought he was a prince like them, but then on any given day he lets out a complaint how difficult it is to govern the kingdom and study for exams at the same time, sometimes he just wanted to be the prince and not the king.

characters: leona, kalim and malleus x king!male reader

tags: platonic, canon compliant, fluff, imagines + scenario format

warnings: a little bit of negativity towards reader in leona's part, a bit of swearing in kalim's

author's notes: loving all the male reader requests rn. i think i strayed a bit from the prompt but i hope you like it anyway <3

Leona Kingscholar

Though being a prince himself, he’s not as “diplomatic” with the other princes at that school - except for you probably. No don’t ask him what happened, he’s ready to accept it as it is

At least because of your (assumed) status, he finds it easier to communicate with you; at least you’re not one of the top five most powerful mages in the world or the most optimistic person in Twisted Wonderland

Hangouts with him still consist more of silent chilling though; both of you just need to get away from it all for a while

He doesn’t question the days that you’re gone - sometimes people just end up needing you to do this and that. He tries not to dwell on it too much, lest his inferiority complex gets the best of him

Until one day, you come back after one day of absence, which is normal enough until-

“*sigh* I swear, being king is less appealing as my retainers make it sound, especially since I also have to go to school all the while.”

I’m sorry, being what now?

He knew you were royalty, that much he got from everyone whispering about you back when you enrolled and since you made little mention of your background, he just assumed you were a prince like him

You let out a tired chuckle then and comment on how you forgot that you never told him you’re an actual king of a nation

He has mixed feelings over this - he thought he finally met someone a little bit like him, yet you’re just another one of them and you never bothered telling him who you are?

But don’t worry, he gets over his feelings of betrayal after a while; it’s not like the reveal changed who you are as a person. You’re still the same guy who he’s been hanging out with and he knows his brain is trying to defend itself

You apologize for not telling him sooner and despite your complaints, you try not to sound ungrateful, especially considering his issues

At some point, even Leona himself starts to forget about that fact

It doesn’t matter if you carry a whole nation on your shoulders because - and he will never say this out loud - he knows you’re capable and if you start to crumble, he’ll be there for you.

Kalim Al-Asim

Though he’s not one to really care about someone’s social status, he’s happy to have more royal friends

Doesn’t stop him from spoiling you. Haven’t you heard? Any friends of Kalim are also friends of his many, many fortunes

He invites you over to Scarabia for parties every so often and either you are surrounded by people or everyone leaves you alone out of intimidation

But hey, if the latter happens, Kalim is more than happy to help you make some friends (unless you’re uncomfortable with it of course but he’ll still try to help)

One time, at one of his many parties, you two were simply laughing over something and it reminded you of something-

“That makes me think of the time this creature took a shit on my throne back at home - it took a few days for the stench to fade!”

Oh, of course, your throne! Everyone totally has a literal throne back home! Until Kalim realizes that is, in fact, untrue

As if he wasn’t already excited at the prospect of a new friend, he gets more excited at the fact that you have your own throne and is, he concludes, a monarch

You brush him off, light pink decorating your cheeks, saying that it’s not really that special - and you mean it

You tell him of the experience and you couldn’t help slip in a few complaints; it isn’t easy to juggle both school and royal responsibilities at the same time

He only listens in and tries his best to understand; he is no king, and though he is a housewarden and a prince, your struggles differ from his by a long mile

From that day on, he makes sure to check in on you and if you’re feeling less than, he’ll drop everything and do anything to relieve you of your stress

When he drops by your nation and your palace, he brings in a whole parade. It’s so Kalim that you can only laugh

You knew that story about a creature shitting on your throne was gonna be a good story at parties.

Malleus Draconia

Your presence is an absolute delight to him; it didn’t occur to him to ask what kind of royalty you are but it didn’t matter either way

He finds himself more comfortable talking about his heritage around you, knowing that you can somewhat relate to being of nobility

If you’re not part of his club, sometimes you tag along on his gargoyle crusades for the hell of it - seeing him so passionate about something brings a smile to your face

On one of your many escapades, he points out a gargoyle and begins to ramble about its features

Hearing it suddenly makes you remember-

“Ah gosh, I just remembered I should be back home right now, some of my people will be coming over to construct some gargoyles around my castle.”

He doesn’t question it at first but then the phrase “my people” registered in his mind. Wait, what do you mean your people?

You start to apologize for not telling him and also the fact that you have to leave that very moment

After you came back after the whole ordeal, you sit him down somewhere and tell him about your position

As mentioned, it doesn’t matter to him what responsibilities you have, as long as you can be his friend

You breathe out a sigh of relief and invite him to continue where you two left off last time

Nothing changes much between you two, except for the fact that you share more of your kingly experiences

He definitely drops by your place at least once - he could never miss out a chance on seeing some new gargoyles

And as he looks on at those beautiful waterspouts, you can’t help but be grateful that they can serve as a source of happiness for someone too.

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darkworkcourier · 2 years

Note

Could you write Ghost x fem!reader where she finds him attractive but is too shy to actually tell him but also can't hide the way she's feeling, so Ghost notices her interest and eventually they end up in bed (*cough* you know what I mean)? Also Ghost being gentle and protective towards her, plz

Ps. I love your writing!

Word Count: 8314

i’m incapable of short prompt fills, apparently! o, but i am filled with grief!

anywho, reader’s codename is ‘ladybird’ (hc that soap gave it to her because she’s lucky) but is otherwise nameless.

contains masturbation, oral sex, lots of feelings, wee bit of slow burn, ghost being like weirdly emotional and soft, and soap’s gratuitous and unfortunate use of emojis. 💀/🐞4ever

---

The first time it really hits you, you're in a helicopter about two miles above the ground—honestly a terrible place to face your feelings. It's a velvet-dark night, strategically chosen for the new moon, the countryside below nearly invisible. You're almost in a doze, caught up in the Chinook's blades' low, thunderous pulse and the sporadic rocking as it hits little glades of turbulence. Your eyes lose focus on some of the running lights, until they turn hazy, and its only when the man across from you moves his boot do you snap back to attention.

Ghost. Right. You learned his name a few weeks ago during your orientation, but he was deployed on a recon mission only a day later. Price summoned him back for this mission, but aside from a few gruff comments at the all-hands meeting, you haven't heard him say much.

For a moment, you think he might have dozed off, too. He’s leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. And that’s fair, you think; Soap told you he didn’t think Ghost ever slept.

You silently study him, the way his head rocks a little with the turbulence, how much taller he is than everyone else in his row, the peculiar illusion that the eye sockets of his mask are empty—

And suddenly they aren’t.

He’s looking back at you, dark eyes regarding you passively, even though the mask makes every look significantly more intimidating. For moment that goes on way too long, you don’t look away, your gazes locked. Your heart takes the tracheal elevator to your throat, beating loud enough to drown out the Chinook’s roar.

You look away first, and you swear you hear him snort.

The rest of the journey to the drop-off zone, you deliberately don’t look at him; but when you close your eyes, there he is.

All you can think is ohhhh, shit.

---

Military crushes aren’t abnormal. Put enough people at the peak of physical excellence in a room, throw around some form-fitting uniforms, and mix in a few adrenaline rushes—it’s a goddamn potent mixture. You’ve had your share of mess hall dreamy-eyed gazing sessions, and a few ‘I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go’ moments in gyms and fitness centers. That’s fine; that’s normal.

What you start feeling for Ghost isn’t that.

Nevermind that he’s rarely out of tactical dress, and if he is, he usually defaults to a hoodie or something that doesn’t exactly entice the imagination. And he’s never out of some variation of his mask, so you can’t think woah, pal, do you cut glass with that jawline because as far as you can tell, he doesn’t have one. No mooning over cheekbones, admiring the curve of lips. He has nice eyes, but ever since the night in the Chinook, you haven’t been able to meet them for more than a second before your heart does that terrible little samba again.

Per your mental checklist, aside from being tall and muscular, he doesn’t check all your normal boxes. By all those counts, Gaz or Soap are way better fits. Hell, Soap likes to hang around in his silkies like they’re pajamas, showing off plenty to keep your fantasy fodder trough filled. And you’ve caught Gaz doing push-ups in the lounge, his tight shirt doing wonders for his shoulders.

But it’s Ghost who makes you feel like a hormonal teenager. It’s Ghost that gets you antsy and fidgety when he enters a room. And it’s Ghost that you think about during your rare alone time in the shower, when your hands start drifting south and the tile walls are your only support.

You’ve got it bad for him, and you have no idea what to do about it.

---

You’re doing recon in Berlin when Soap notices.

The mission details are simple: a drug lord known as Keiler using a night club as a go-between for his suppliers and dealers—all further complicated by the fact that he has plenty of friends in the arms trade, and by Laswell’s reports, he’s very generous to those friends. The club is a front, a money laundering wonderland. Through your observation, drugs and alcohol are doled out in equal volume, all to the backdrop of skull-splitting bass and sharp scalpels of strobe lights.

The biggest obstacle is that Keiler likes to use a private room overlooking the club as his perch, and your intelligence says that at any given time, he has a small army defending him. Getting to him requires an incredible degree of finesse. Naturally, Ghost is the one to do it.

You, Soap, and Gaz are scattered around the main floor of the club. Gaz is out on the dance floor, Soap’s taken up a spot near the bar, and you’re in the lounge. It’s the first time you’ve done something like this (and in an outfit with so little fabric), and you’re really not used to being ogled and pawed by a bunch of drunk, drugged, or horny Berliners.

Soap must see your discomfort from his position, as you hear a dry, amused, “Feelin’ a little tense, Ladybird?”

You swallow hard and chase it with a sip of your drink, which definitely needs to be watered down. “I’m fine,” you say.

“You look like you just drank petrol.”

“You’re the one who ordered it for me.”

Gaz cuts in with a weary, “Do we have eyes on Ghost, yet? I’m starting to get tired of people grabbing my—”

“I’m here,” Ghost’s voice scrapes over the comms, causing you to sit up straight and look around. You catch sight of Soap who has his hand curled in front of his mouth, clearly snickering like a heathen.

“Think you scared the shit out of Ladybird, LT,” he says.

He’s lucky he’s on the other side of the room, otherwise you’d pretend to be extremely clumsy and find an excuse to spill your drink on his (very, very tight) shirt. You mouth ‘shut up’ at him, and he reaches up with his pointer finger to draw an invisible halo over his head.

Ghost ignores him. “I’m near the east stairwell, headed to second deck. Got one guard at the far end. Gaz, you seein’ anything I should know about?”

A pause, then, “Negative, Ghost. I’ve got what you’ve got.”

“Copy. Going to second deck now.”

Out of habit, your eyes go to the east stairwell, peering through the haze pierced with multicolored lights to see a single dark shape ascending. He disappears behind a catwalk, then reappears to the right, mingling with the crowd near the second floor bar. Once he’s there, he seems to fade into the throng of people, most in dark clothing, some in masks. Just like that, he’s invisible.

It’s hard to focus on looking calm and happy to be there, but you keep sipping your drink, watching the dancers and feeling the bassline of yet another techno song thrumming in your chest. You’re glad you’re not out on the dance floor, or being called to give come-hither glances to bouncers and guards.

Then, “Coming back down to first deck,” Ghost says, clearly agitated. “Too many guards and too many people. We need another way up.”

Soap grins. “Violence isn’t the answer, LT?”

“Negative. Start looking for another route.”

On cue, you stand up and cross the room to the bar, sliding in beside Soap. He’s fishing for another couple Euro from his wallet, pushing it across to the bartender with two fingers. The bartender gives him a brief nod and refills his glass, while Soap turns his attention to you.

“Any bright ideas?”

You frown and adjust the straps on your top again. It’s a stupid piece of clothing, always feeling like it’s going to fall off. “Only the emergency stairs by the front doors, but I can’t imagine Keiler leaves those undefended.”

Soap looks thoughtful and scratches at his stubble. “Yeah, but probably no civilians, either. And if the door’s alarmed, Ghost can take care of that.”

As if summoned, you feel Ghost appear before you see him, a huge presence over your shoulder that makes you jump. “Jesus!” you hiss.

And Soap, the traitor, laughs to the point of wheezing as Ghost takes up the bar stool on his other side. “I think you’re giving our Ladybird here a complex,” Soap says through his laughter.

Ghost rolls his eyes. From this angle, you can see Ghost in more than just the dim light you’ve been working with most of the night. He’s not dressed too far outside his usual fashion wheelhouse—heavy boots, black trousers, and a loose black hoodie. His hood’s pulled up over a black beanie and a skull-painted gaiter, and he’s foregone his usual thick coating of greasepaint for black-ringed eyes (is that eyeliner?) and a streak of smoke-colored paint that just manages to obscure the color of his brows. The downside (for you, at least) is that the combo manages to draw his eyes into sharper contrast, making them that much more intense.

Suddenly, your heart’s doing the thing again.

Ghost doesn’t seem to notice any change in you, but you think Soap’s actually looking for it. He watches you, brows lifted, mouth curled like a flirtation of a smirk. Briefly, he glances between you and Ghost, and then the smirk appears in full force, enlightenment dawning.

Before he can insinuate a thing, you’re shoving your half-empty glass across the bar top with a too-high, “Bitte.” The bartender only gives you a brief, unamused look before taking your glass and remaking whatever godforsaken cocktail Soap ordered.

It’s not a good distraction, and the damage is already done. Soap knows, damnit. His smile is too easygoing, but he turns to Ghost and starts talking about the emergency stairwell, which is a relief. Ghost looks over his shoulder toward the stairwell in question, and as he does, Soap looks at you and makes the gesture of zipping his own mouth shut, throwing away the proverbial key with a wink.

As he does, Gaz pipes back up with, “Ghost, you copy?”

“Yeah, Gaz?”

“You, uh, know anything about a big guy with a tattoo of a boar on the back of his head?”

Ghost looks toward the dance floor, brows furrowing. “Yeah, that’d be Bauer, Keiler’s right hand man.”

“Great. Glad you know him, because he’s here.”

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to be. If Bauer’s here, then either Keiler’s doing something more than his usual partying upstairs, or Keiler knows someone’s here looking for him. Either way, the mission just got significantly harder, and your night got that much longer.

With a grunt, Ghost pushes off the bar and starts making his way to the emergency stairwell. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Keep your eyes open. Out here.”

Once he’s gone, there’s a pause—a very heavy pause. Then, Soap looks at you with an expression that is just a hair too pleased. “Ghost, huh?”

Your face heats up, right as the bartender hands you your drink. You reach for your wallet, only for the bartender to put a hand up and shake his head. “Nein, für das schöne Mädchen,” he says.

For the pretty girl.

“Bet Ghost thinks so, too,” Soap says, and you resolve to definitely spill your free drink on his too-tight pants.

---

Weeks after Keiler’s nice and cozy in a maximum-security prison and the 141 is back at base, you have another miniature existential crisis.

It’s all an accident—just a tempest of bad timing and bad luck. Ever since you came back from Germany, you’ve had a tough time getting a full night’s sleep. It’s easy to blame the natural stress of your work, the long hours, the high-adrenaline action you see more than you ever did before this job. And, well, part of it has to come from Ghost. He’s occupied your thoughts more than ever since the night club.

Your solution is to hit the gym late at night, pushing yourself until you can’t keep your eyes open and no amount of insomnia can overcome it. The first few nights of this effort work fine—you end up in bed around one or two in the morning, and sleep until your alarm goes off. No one bothers you; no one hogs the machines. It’s kind of nice.

However, you don’t account for all the night owls that share the base with you.

You head to the gym late on a Friday night, towel around your neck, water bottle at the ready, podcasts preloaded. If you ever hit the gym during the day, you usually do so in a t-shirt and sweatpants. At night, you’ve started opting for PT shorts and a tank top, happy for the lack of eyes around the room.

Except for tonight.

You open the door into the gym, only to hear the mechanical drone of a treadmill and someone sprinting damn fast on it. For a second, you freeze, hiding behind the corner. Then, slowly, you peer around it, clutching your phone and water bottle close to your chest.

Jesus Christ. It’s Ghost.

Ghost, in a t-shirt. In sweatpants. Running on a treadmill set to the highest incline. Panting.

Ghost, with bare arms, showing a detailed tattoo on his left arm, and prominent veins running over his chiseled muscles. He looks like a fucking Greek statue, and that’s just what you can see.

“Ohhh, my God,” you whisper to yourself, immediately working on an exit strategy that doesn’t involve catching his attention.

Which obviously doesn’t come to pass. It’s something you probably should have learned on the helo ride—Ghost knows when he’s being watched. He turns his head, dark eyes fixing on you immediately. Briefly, he looks back at the treadmill, then down at his watch, and back to the treadmill’s controls. He slows it down, dropping the incline, until he finally steps off and starts walking toward you.

Abort, abort.

You think about fleeing, running back to your room or rolling under a table or hiding behind a counter like he’s a goddamn velociraptor in the kitchen. You do none of those things, because despite your training, you freeze up. No one could blame you, you think. It’s hard to do much else when a six-foot-something skull-faced wall of muscle walks up to you. And you must look stellar, holed up in a corner by the door, your water bottle and phone held up like a shield.

Ghost takes in the sight of you, eyes flicking up, down, up. Heat rises to your face, and down to—to nowhere, because it’s better not to think about it. You suddenly feel too vulnerable in your choice of outfit, naked under his gaze.

“Ladybird,” he says. Your nickname becomes a hot scratch of sound, losing its whimsy in favor of a tone you can’t define. “You need somethin’?”

There’s a patch of sweat by his collar. You stare at it, then at the floor.

“No, I just— I was, um, just about to leave, and... Yeah, I’m gonna go.”

He’s silent until you finally look up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what what feels like an eon. He looks amused, but there’s a quirk in his brow like he can’t quite get a good read on you. “You look like you were about to use the gym.”

You look down at your bottle, phone, and towel like you’re just now noticing them. When you bring your attention back to him, you feel like you need to just kick the door open and escape, dignity be damned. “I... was,” you say slowly. Then, you rally yourself, trying to look upbeat and resolved. “Y’know what? You can keep using it. I’ll come back later.”

He shrugs, but you see it. Some secondary expression slinking around in his eyes like it’s working through the perpetually-moving cogs in his head. He gives you another one of those assessing glances, and for a second, you think he’s going to step into your space. His body language looks primed to do so, and you hold your breath in anticipation for it, unsure of what he’s going to do.

Then he takes a step back, and another.

“Suit yourself,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind it, though.”

Before you can process his words, he’s back on the treadmill, tweaking the settings and raising the incline again. The belt starts moving, and he’s back to looking like power personified, a vision in motion.

You have got it so bad.

It’s a hasty retreat to your room, and once the door’s shut behind you, you’re panting like you had run on the treadmill and lifted weights.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you hiss, discarding your things on the table beside your bed, kicking off your running shoes, then laying down and staring at the ceiling. He knows. He has to. Ghost’s whole job depends on him being observant, and he looked at you like he was reading a fucking book.

You groan and press your palms into your eyes until phosphenes appear, dancing around and shimmering like fireworks behind your eyelids. You’re going to have to leave the 141 out of pure mortification. You’ll have to go into some kind of witness protection, change your name, and move to the other side of the earth. Or if you stay, you’ll have to pretend Ghost doesn’t exist. You’ll hide behind walls, slinking through the building’s HVAC just to avoid him like you’re working on a heist. Maybe you can convince Soap or Gaz to accompany you everywhere so you can hide behind their bulk.

But then, your horrible brain reminds you of what you’ll miss out on. It runs through a greatest hits reel of your crush so far—Ghost’s eyes, his presence stretching long over you like a shadow, his massive frame, his arms. The tattoo, detailed enough to tell from a distance, and then the thought of running your fingers over it, tracing all the fine points and lines. And are those his only tattoos, or are there more?

And his voice. Jesus, you replay the few words you’ve heard him say over and over, savoring each syllable, each quirk of his accent. Even the last thing he said—

I wouldn’t mind it, though.

That makes you open your eyes again, widening them as you take in the pocks and scrapes on the ceiling. He wouldn’t mind what? Having company in the gym? Having you, specifically, as his company? You don’t know what to make of it, or what he meant by it. Honestly, you feel like you don’t know anything right now.

Except that you want him. That’s the only thing you’re sure of. You want to know how his hands feel on you, how they would run over your bare skin, what the callouses on his fingers would feel like on the most delicate and sensitive parts of your body. Your imagination leaps ahead of you, guiding your own hand down into your shorts and under the band of your panties. You tease yourself, just dipping your fingers into the wet heat, trailing them over your clit like a hint to yourself, coaxing your arousal out of your panic.

His hands would feel different. When you rub your index finger over your clit, you imagine his finger instead, pressing gently against you, building up friction slowly, making you ache. You wonder if he’d savor your reactions, watching you get worked up, grinding against his hand to seek any kind of relief.

“Easy, Ladybird,” you imagine him saying, the nickname now a tease. And he’d know your real name, the one hidden away in your file. He’d whisper it into your ear, breath hot on your neck, his whole body eclipsing yours.

Your pace quickens, fingers running urgently between your clit and opening, causing your core to tighten and your breath to come in short gasps and barely-concealed moans. Ghost would tell you to let them out, let the whole damn base hear how aroused he makes you, how badly you’ve wanted him.

You breathe his name into the small space of your room, a whisper in the still air broken only by the low hum of the forced air in the vents. When you finally plunge your fingers in, it takes every bit of self-control not to outright moan and let everyone nearby know what you’re doing. Normally, you can stay quiet when you get yourself off, but you’re damn near frantic with this, whatever it is Ghost has done to you.

His fingers in you, fucking you in long, languid strokes, drawing himself out and pushing back in—all the while, watching your reactions. When you rock your hips to the pace of your hand, you imagine his voice again, “That’s right. Fuck yourself on my hand. Let me see you.”

You’d show him. Hell, you’d soak his hand, and it would remind him that it’s his fault you’re like this.

The wet sounds of your hand on your cunt is lewd and loud. It’s almost too much, enough to make you stop at the apex of your pleasure, to hide yourself under the blankets in shame and pretend that none of this happened.

But the vision of Ghost keeps you going, keeps your fingers moving in and out, crooking them inside and forcing out a gasp as a white-hot shock of pleasure lances up your spine and settles warm in your belly. The pad of your thumb presses against your clit, and you multitask on yourself, building up that friction, bringing yourself to the precipice.

He’d take you there. He might even pull you back from the edge over and over, teasing you with the fall.

“Do you want it? How bad? Show me.”

God, you would. Any way he wanted, you would show him. You’d beg and plead if that’s what got him to finally make you come.

So you whisper, “Please,” into the night, to a man who is never going to be in your bed, never going to touch you like this, never going to see your pleasure through to the end. The Ghost in your imagination has to stay there, behind locked doors and bulkheads, secured and contained for good.

But until then, you chase your orgasm with him, hitting that divine height and going into a freefall. Blood rushes in your ears, muscles twitching, heart racing. Your head comes off the pillow, back arching, toes digging into the mattress, mouth open on a moan that you refuse to let loose. You come way harder than you ever have using your own hand, enough that when you finally lower yourself back onto the bed, you grimace at the feeling of a wet patch on the sheets.

“Fuck,” you say, very emphatically. To yourself, to Ghost, to the whole damn situation.

Groaning, you reach over and grab the towel, wiping your hand and tucking it under your ass before rolling onto your back again and wondering what the hell you’re going to do.

---

You’re going to hide from Ghost, that’s what.

Captain Price gives the team a few days off to rest up for the next mission, and you decide right then and there that you’re going to spend every second off base, as far away from the barracks as you can get. You’ll get a hotel, order a ridiculously expensive amount of room service, and marinate in your feelings for a couple days until it’s all out of your system. Maybe you’ll go to a bar or coffee shop and chat up some nice person who isn’t a tall, broad, terrifying British soldier. And maybe you’ll have a night of incredible passion and twisted sheets, and it’ll be so cathartic that when you come back to base, you’ll be a whole new person.

That plan holds until your phone goes off while you’re packing up.

It’s a text from Soap: ‘wyd?’

‘Going off radar for a couple days. Why?’

He sends a sad emoji, then two beer glasses clinking together, a soccer ball, and then a big red question mark. Apparently, Soap only knows how to speak in hieroglyphs.

You smile, and type back, ‘Sorry, need to go clear my head.’

Skull emoji. Question mark.

‘None of your beeswax,’ you send, followed by the soap emoji.

‘that sucks,’ he types back. There’s a short pause, and then he types again. ‘cause he was looking for u earlier’

Your heart damn near comes to a stop, and you very hesitantly respond, ‘Why?’

‘idk. think he wanted to ask u smth’

Nope. You’re not taking the bait. If Ghost wants to talk to you, he can come right up and—and you can walk off in the opposite direction and act like there’s something incredibly interesting that you need to see right that second.

You type a few variations of ‘Then he can come and talk to me himself,’ but none of them sound particularly nice. Ghost hasn’t done anything wrong, so there’s no reason for you to act like he has. And for that matter, you’re supposed to be hiding from Ghost, not encouraging him to find you. Instead, you send back a clipped, ‘Okay.’

Nothing.

For one hopeful second, you think Soap’s mercifully let the conversation go, allowing you to go in peace to your nice hotel and your overpriced room service food.

Instead, you get the sunglasses emoji, a wink face, and, ‘k i told him to come see u’.

‘WHAT’

The only response is the skull and the little running cloud dash emoji, suggesting that Ghost is making a beeline right to your room. Panic seizes you and you fling your phone on your bed like somehow it’s going to help. It bounces harmlessly, then lands screen up, emojis taunting you.

Quickly, you start shoving the rest of your clothes and toiletries in your bag without a care as to where everything goes, eager to book it out of there as fast as your legs can take you. Once your bag is zipped up and thrown over your shoulder, you think you might be in the clear. Mission nearly accomplished.

Nearly.

Two solid knocks on your door almost make you hit the ceiling. You hold still, using that Jurassic Park wisdom again: if you don’t move, he can’t see you.

That applies to fictional dinosaurs, not trained killers, and certainly not Ghost. He knocks again, then follows it up with, “Ladybird, it’s me.”

Yeah, you know. That’s the problem.

Briefly, you consider going out the window, shimmying out and potentially getting caught on a base security camera for someone to laugh at later. That doesn’t make the problem go away, though.

You can just tell him you’re in a hurry, that your ride is at the gate right now and you don’t want to keep them waiting. Whatever conversation he wants to have, it’ll have to wait until you get back. It’s a good response. Solid. Foolproof.

And it dissolves the second you open the door.

He’s there, not vanished in the disappearing act you were hoping for, and all that want flares up again the moment you see him. He’s in casual dress like what he wore to the club—boots, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, balaclava. His posture’s more relaxed, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other hanging at his side. You meet his eyes, and your regret mixes with desire welling up inside you.

It’s that intense gaze from the helo, the brief but incendiary look from Berlin, the thoughtful gaze from the gym. You’re drawn up in it immediately, and this time, there’s no possibility of looking away. Ghost has you locked in.

He takes in the sight of you, dressed in your civvies, backpack on your shoulders, and raises his brows. “Going somewhere?”

Your mouth is cotton-dry, and you’re proud of yourself for putting a little syntax together. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m headed out.”

Right now, you should say. I’m going out right this second and I cannot be stopped. Do not engage.

But you don’t say that. You leave the words as they are, hanging between the two of you. In that moment, you’re two opposing fronts of contradictions—you want him to go, stay, talk, stay silent, touch you, leave you alone.

Ghost seems to sense this, that you’re not making any move to either speak to him or push him away. He doesn’t get into your space, staying right where he is while looking at you with his head slightly tilted. “Can I come in a sec?”

No. “Yes.” Please.

You take a step back, allowing him to walk into your room. His presence seems to fill it, like there’s too much of him and too little space to contain it. He closes the door behind himself, then finds a spot against the wall (the rare section that isn’t covered by posters or mementos) and leans against it. Still, still giving you your space.

You’re all nerves, waiting for him to speak, yet feeling like you should say something—to get all your feelings out in the open, exposed and waiting for him to pick over and do with what he will. But your anxiety and silence wins out, and instead you fidget, trying to find a point in the room to fix your gaze. Ghost takes all your attention though, holding it in a firm, invisible grip that can’t be broken no matter what you do. You get now, more than ever, why people are so scared of him when they end up at the wrong end of his skill set—he immobilizes them, rendering them completely unable to do a damn thing.

He watches you for an agonizingly long moment, then sighs. “Look, I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy, but Soap said you were around,” he says. Ghost doesn’t trail off or leave a space in his words for you to fill in the blanks. It’s a good thing—no place for you to misinterpret him—but it suddenly leaves you terrified at the possibility of what he’s going to say.

“Just for a little bit,” you hear yourself say, voice subdued and small.

He nods. “Then I’ll just get it out now before you go. More or less a question.”

Fuck. You feel a strange, uncomfortably cold sensation curl up tight and tense in your stomach. The feeling of standing at the edge of a long drop, knowing you have no choice but to let go.

His eyes are locked on yours, unrelenting, pinning. And then he says, “Do you have feelings for me?”

Right. No way to misinterpret.

You suck in a breath—a gasp, jerking at the question even though you knew it was coming.

You could lie. It’d be easy to do, just a few movements of tongue, jaw, and lips. No, I don’t. Three easy words. You could say you appreciate him as a teammate, as a professional, as someone you can trust in tough situations. He has your back; you have his. Anything beyond that is too much, to far outside of the commanding officer-subordinate hierarchy.

But you can’t lie to him. He’ll know. He’s trained in looking for tells, for the slightest quirk to denote that you’re holding back the truth. That, and you don’t want to lie to him.

Instead, quietly, you say, “Yes,” and inwardly brace for impact. Any kind of dressing-down from your C.O. and reminder of responsibilities and duties; or on a personal level, that Ghost doesn’t do relationships. You’re tensed up, waiting for its inevitable blow and all the shrapnel that’s definitely going to land right in your heart.

“Oh,” he says.

Oh.

Just one syllable, said deceptively, uncharacteristically soft. It belies so many things—possibilities, dangers. This man is fucking complicated.

And then he takes a step toward you. Just one. Just enough to close the gap that many inches. You don’t back up, but you’re too afraid to walk to him, unsure of what’s coming next.

He’s looking down at you, gaze passive, calm, and strangely open. You’ve learned new and interesting ways to read his eyes since you fell for him, but this one has an unknown definition, a kinesic oddity that you can’t translate.

And for a moment, you let yourself hope.

Then, he says your name. Not Ladybird. Not your rank. Your name. The sound of it is a rush in your ears, in your whole head, through every artery, vein, and capillary. He takes another step, slower than the first, drawing in closer before he says, “Do you want this?”

You nod. There’s nothing else you can do. You take a step toward him, looking up into his eyes and trying to read everything there. “Do you?” you ask. You’re still waiting for the rejection, as though Ghost is the type of person to lure you in only to shut you down.

Rejection doesn’t come. Instead, he steps forward to close the gap, one of his hands finding your waist.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

Holy shit.

You stare at him in surprise, and the look on your face must be ridiculously easy to read. His other hand goes up under your chin, tilting your face toward him. The touch of his fingers is exactly like you imagined, the callouses on his thumb brushing over the soft skin underneath your jaw, causing you to shiver.

Ghost leans in close to your left side, skull’s grin close to your ear, and whispers, “Thought you hated me. Every time I looked at you, you’d look away.”

A near-hysterical laugh bubbles up in your throat, and comes out as a compressed, breathless giggle. All that time, you were so hopelessly in love with him, you couldn’t look at him without feeling like your heart was about to give out; and he interpreted that as dislike.

“God, no,” you say. “Total opposite.”

He laughs in your ear, and the sound chases out the remainder of that cold tension, replacing it with a newfound heat that feels good. “Wish I’d known sooner,” he says, and one of his hands goes up to push a strap of your backpack off your shoulder.

You ease out of it, dropping it to the floor, before reaching out and tentatively touching his waist in return. Through the fabric of his hoodie, you can feel how solid he is underneath, and you run your hand along his side in silent wonder.

Ghost moves back suddenly, and you only have a second to question why before the light goes out, leaving you in muted darkness permeated only by the bare sliver of sunlight filtering through your curtain. One hand finds your waist again, pulling you close, walking you toward your bed.

All you can think is no fucking way over and over, even as the back of your legs hit the side of the bed, and Ghost is lowering you down. Your back touches the mattress, head on the pillow, and Ghost is over the top of you, his hands bracketing your head. He looks down at you, mostly in shadow, only the bright white of the skull motif visible in the darkness. Then, his eyes flicker to his left, and he abruptly snorts.

You furrow your brow. “What?”

Wordlessly, his hand moves to the right of your head, and he picks up your phone.

Your phone which is still on, showing the emoji-heavy conversation with Soap. Ghost flips the phone to show you the last text he sent.

Skull emoji, kiss, black heart, red heart, ladybug, eggplant, peach, confetti ball, birthday cake.

“What the fuck, Soap?” you say under your breath, grabbing the phone from Ghost. You quickly turn it off and shove it onto your bedside table, groaning in embarrassment.

Ghost shakes his head, and unlike Soap, he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he brings the situation right back on the rails with one hand going up under your shirt. Then, he says, “Close your eyes a second.”

You do, without question. You hear a faint rustle of fabric, and then his lips press against yours.

You gasp against his mouth, and that thrill you felt at hearing your name seems to rush back through you twofold at the thought that he took his mask off for you. He kisses you firmly, a guarantee that this is what he wants. You reach up with one hand, combing your fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp and drawing out a quiet groan. He smells like standard-issue soap and laundry detergent, and the faint spice of cologne only just clinging to his skin. The feeling of kissing him is dizzying, entrancing, and the sound of it just hammers home that this is happening to you, in your room, with him.

He pulls back just a little, kissing a trail from the corner of your mouth down to your chin, then your jaw, and up to your ear. The sensation makes you shiver again, arching up into him involuntarily. You hear and feel an amused huff of breath, before he says, “What do you want?”

Good god, what don’t you want?

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Anything. Whatever you want.”

He nods against your neck, then tilts his head up to press a kiss to your temple. “Tell me if it’s too much, or if there’s something you don’t like. Communicate.”

You grin, mostly at the sotto voce version of his command voice. “Yes, sir.”

He huffs a laugh and continues kissing down your neck, down to the hemline of your shirt. Undressing comes as an easy next step, shoes off first (and they were on the bed, ugh), and then Ghost pulls your shirt up; you lift yourself enough to help him pull it over your head. In the darkness, he does the same, and you watch his silhouette remove his hoodie, then pull his shirt over his head and drop it off the side of the bed. You can’t see his face, but the faint beam of sunlight touches his hair and brings out a hint of pale gold. It feels like a secret shared between you, adding to that warmth building up inside.

He leans back down, kissing down your sternum to the upper hem of your sports bra. He starts to go lower, and you decide then that you’d like to take at least a little initiative.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Come back up here.”

He does, like he’s accustomed to obeying your orders rather than the other way around. You reach up and touch his chest, eager to feel this part of him, the one he typically buries under layers of clothing and gear. He sighs at your touch, head dropping down to rest on the pillow beside you.

He’s firm and toned with well-honed muscle earned through endless missions and exercise. At the same time, the skin of his chest is surprisingly soft—even the scattered network of scars and keloids that mark his body. You feel old and new wounds, some still raised as they heal, some concave with age. They’re long, short, thick, thin, orderly, and jagged. Starbursts of bullet wounds, hard lines of cuts, spatters of shrapnel, textured lines of old stitches. His whole torso tells a long, tragic story from cover to cover, chest to back.

But he leans into this read of him, letting you feel every scar, every painful moment. His breathing is steady in your ear, giving way to the occasional sigh as your fingers trail over his skin.

In turn, he touches you. You don’t have even a fraction of his scars, but you have a few he can note. You know when he touches them, by the way his touch lingers, learning each one. It feels reverential, or communal—the two of you engaging in a silent trust exercise. He doesn’t ask about them, and neither do you. All of that is for another time.

Ghost presses a kiss to your shoulder, then pushes up until he’s over top of you again. His free hand goes down to the waistline of your jeans, finger tracing teasingly over the zipper. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. As if you’d say anything else.

He undoes the button, then the zipper, slowly pulling your jeans to your hips, then removing them entirely. He sits up on the edge of the bed for a moment, removing his boots, then his jeans. You lay there, watching him move, feeling your arousal start to grow and burn like a low flame.

When he touches you again, you silently agree that you wish you’d said or done something sooner. It’s bliss. He’s gentle with you, mindful even, in a way you’ve never experienced or anticipated from someone like him. He helps you out of your bra, letting you pull it all the way off before his hands palm your breasts in slow, deliberate movements. It’s an extension of his exploratory touches, learning your body inch by inch.

Your breathing quickens, and Ghost looks up at you in what you guess is concern. “Doing alright?” he asks.

Your face grows hot, and you nod, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “I’m fine,” you reply. “I just don’t know what to do.”

It’s not like you haven’t had sex before, but sex with him feels completely different, like it doesn’t belong in the same category. You’ve never wanted someone this badly, or had someone respond to you like this. It’s almost overwhelming, but Ghost reaches up and combs some of your hair away from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Lie back a bit,” he instructs. “And tell me if you need me to stop.”

You do as he says, leaning up against the pillows as he moves down your body, leaving a trail of kisses down your torso to your hips. He’s a shadow moving over you, long and languid, and every touch just adds to the mounting heat. When his fingers touch the hem of your underwear, you shiver in anticipation, then arch your hips to give him a little leverage in removing them. In one motion, you’re exposed to him, even in the dark. Yet after touching him, and him touching you, you don’t feel as vulnerable. If anything, this feels safe. This feels right.

His hands go to your hips, then run slowly along the outer sides of your thighs. You think he might fulfill that fantasy from earlier, fingering you until you’re a mess, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure with his skilled hands.

Which is why it surprises the hell out of you when he goes lower, until his head is between your thighs, sunlight leaving gold stripes along his back.

“Ghost,” you gasp.

He looks up at you, and now more than ever, you wish you could see his face. You only see the faint shine of his eyes, but at that moment, it’s enough.

Then he spreads you, and licks a stripe from your opening to your clit.

If you were entertaining any thoughts before, any fantasies carefully curated in those rare hours of alone time, they flee in that single movement. Even the Ghost of your imagination never did this, tasting and savoring you in long, slow laps that make your whole brain short out like a blown fuse. The sound is goddamn obscene, especially as he leans in close and starts to lap at your clit. It’s a shock of sound in the silence, louder than even your own noises when you got yourself off.

Your right hand finds his head, fingers running through his hair as he licks you. He alternates between short laps and long strokes, tongue circling around your clit, teasing you, making you shudder and moan. It’s frustrating and fucking heavenly, the sensation of ebb and flow, receding and rushing waves of heat building up then flowing back.

Right when you think you can’t take the teasing anymore, he switches tactics. The teasing abruptly ends, and Ghost gets relentless.

You moan way too loud when he sucks at your clit, tongue swirling around it, the sound of his mouth on you loud as a gunshot. You swear they have to hear it down the hallway, or anywhere on base. At this point, though, you really don’t care who hears you, because they don’t have Ghost between their legs, getting them off in ways no deity ever intended.

Then his fingers join his mouth, index tracing circles around your entrance, dipping in slowly, tauntingly.

“Fuck.” The word is sharp in the air, as you arch at the sensation.

It’s too much; it’s not enough.

He tilts his head up a little, but when he speaks, you feel his warm breath ghost over your sex. “Let me hear you,” he says, words drawn straight out of your fantasies. Every door containing that imaginary version of Ghost is unlocked, every bulkhead breached—that Ghost and this one are one in the same.

And when he pushes that first finger into you, you follow his order to the letter.

It comes out as a broken wail, cut off when he starts thrusting and licking you in alternate strokes. His pace quickens, merciless, sharp eyes watching you from the shadows as your head rolls back on the pillow, chest heaving to catch a single solid breath. Your hands drop to your sides, fisting the sheets just to have something to hang onto, any kind of anchor as Ghost guides you through a tempest.

You moan his name, last consonant catching on a sob of pleasure when he starts to add a second finger. Only then does he pause, and the absence of his mouth is stark.

Then he says your name, temporarily drawing you out of the cumulonimbus of arousal you’re flying through, briefly bringing you back to earth.

You look down at him, the silhouette of his head, small locks of hair sticking up from where your fingers combed through. You see him tilt his head to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, and his voice rolls out like a dull roar of thunder in your ears. “It’s Simon,” he says. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, hearing his real name in the midst of all this is almost too much. Like the last little vestige of a play on stage falling away and revealing the inner workings of the backstage, all the ropes and pullies holding the show together. He’s more exposed now, more raw, more human.

You reach down, trembling hand brushing over his cheek, over stubble and scar tissue, and the soft skin of a very real face.

“Simon,” you whisper. It sounds like a confession.

He doesn’t reply, but you feel him smile against your hand, briefly turning his head to press a kiss against your palm. Then he’s lowering himself down again, coaxing you out of the eye of the storm and back into the maelstrom. Two fingers thrust and curl, filling you, leaving you empty, touching places that send bolts of pleasure through you.

Your pulse becomes the thunder of the helo’s blades, your body trembling with midair turbulence. Simon fucks you on his fingers, tongue lathing over your clit, mouth fucking worshiping you. He takes you to that precipice, the long fall, the drop through cloud cover to a faintly-marked point on the earth.

The step off the edge feels like perfect, natural progression.

Your orgasm sweeps through you from toe to tip, a roll of white-out pleasure shaking you, wringing a cry out of your mouth that makes Simon fuck you harder. His fingers don’t let up, working you through the tidal wave, taking you to shore on the other side.

You’re boneless at the end, slumping back on the pillow and panting, shivering, taking stock of your limbs and extremities as they each come back online after the outage. You only vaguely register the feeling of Simon moving on the bed, coming up to lay beside you.

He murmurs your name, then kisses you, and you can smell and taste yourself on him. Your hand goes up to run along his jawline, one rogue thought telling you, yeah, you can cut glass with it.

How everything gets so gentle afterwards is beyond you. Simon’s hand is on your face, thumb brushing the soft skin under your right eye. You can feel his erection against your leg, and somewhere in the back of your mind—still tingling with pleasure, shimmering bright and brilliant—you know how you’re going to take initiative.

You break the kiss just for a moment, delighting in the soft sigh of protest you hear and feel against your cheek. Then you lean in close, pitching your voice low like his, hoping it has the same effect on him.

“Hope you don’t have any plans this weekend,” you say, brushing your hand over his shoulder.

You feel him smile against your skin, and he shakes his head.

“Thought you were heading out,” he says.

“Only if you’re going with me.”

One arm goes around your waist, pulling you close as he nuzzles against your neck. “We have some time, though, right?” his voice slides over you, suggestion clear and presented like a gift.

God, yeah you do.

---

Somewhere in between rounds, your phone goes off on your bedside stand.

Once.

Twice.

You don’t hear it, and the short buzz is drowned out by moans and the soft slap of skin on skin. When Simon makes a move like he’s going to check on it, you hook him back in place with your leg around his waist, pulling him in close, then kissing him silent. He falls into it, all too happy to oblige.

So you miss the skull and ladybug emojis, then the volume symbol.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #em dash and italics party is here to staaaay #can you believe this was going to be longer #am i super happy with it? not totally but it was p fun

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undertheopensky · 12 days

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Forging Tired

Whumptober Day 26: Working To Exhaustion

Characters: Four, Blue, Sky

Trigger warnings: None

Read on Ao3!

---

Sky doesn’t realise it until after dinner, but Four hasn’t banked the forge fires.

“I’m not done yet,” Four waves at the admittedly intimidating pile of repair work yet to be done. A couple of plates from Time’s armour probably need to be replaced entirely, they have such large holes in them.

“It’s getting real late. Don’t stay up too much longer, you need to get some sleep.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Body’s not tired.” Four flexes one arm and gives him a grin that looks so much like Wind Sky’s eyes cross.

“Maybe not,” they sure hadn’t done much physical stuff today, just run around the village resupplying and gathering information, “but your brain still needs rest.”

This time Four snorts. “The brain is fast asleep, but that’s okay, we don’t need it for this.”

No one asks any more why Four sometimes refers to himself in the third person or plural. At best, he’ll pretend you didn’t say anything, and at worst, he’ll look at you like you’re the strange one. The closest they’ve gotten to an explanation is an offhanded, sympathetic “Yeah, we get it,” when Time first told them to stop asking about his timekeeping, because it was a holdover from a quest too traumatic to describe.

So, slightly weird, probably a Quest Thing, doesn’t seem to affect him day-to-day.

That said Sky’s a little concerned about him working with hot metal with his brain asleep.

“Are you sure? We can wait another day or two before setting out, I’m sure Time won’t mind. We don’t want you exhausting yourself over this.”

Four makes a rude noise, which is out of character enough Sky blinks. “I think I know my limits well enough, featherhead. Besides, forging’s not that hard. I wanna take advantage of actually having all my damn equipment for once, and goddess knows we probably won’t be here long. Our shit needs a lot of maintenance done. Don’t worry about the noise. The forge’s been soundproofed since we were little. Go away and sleep, featherhead, you need it more than us.”

He shoos Sky from the forge, polite but implacably firm.

Sky can’t exactly argue. Four is the smith here, and he knows himself best. If he says it’s fine, Sky will just have to believe him.

And as promised, as soon as the heavy door swings closed, the sounds of the forge muffle to almost nothing.

---

With Sky finally gone, Blue feels the tension ease out of him. Finally, some peace and quiet. He loves his brothers, and he supposes the heroes they’re travelling with aren’t TOO bad, but sometimes he just needs time alone in the quiet with his own thoughts and his own projects. There’s not a lot of privacy on the open road, or in a head crammed full of four distinct people.

Vio struggles with it, too, Blue knows, as he sets up the next few pieces of metal to heat and shovels fresh coke into the fire. But unlike Blue, the nerd is soothed by late nights spent reading or taking the darkest hours of watch, where Blue needs to do things to calm the itch in his brain. Armour and weapons maintenance is great for that - but it’s not always quiet. And waking everyone up with his activities would very much defeat the point.

Then, once he’s got things set up, Blue sits down at the bench with pliers and wire.

The worst thing about Sky’s mail is that the links are an eighth of an inch larger than standard - than literally everyone else’s. Blue had had to make a winding rod specifically for his damn mail, and has to double check every time before starting repairs to make sure he’s pulling from the right patch of spares.

If he had more time, he’d just make him a mail shirt from normal links. Standardise them across the board, and improve Sky’s resistance to piercing claws. But he doesn’t - they don’t - and besides that when this is all over Sky will be going back to his home in the clouds with its stupid mail measurements and its barely-there monster attacks and he’ll have no use for the close-set rings of modern mail and they’ll never see him again -

The forge fires burn hot enough that Blue can pretend it’s the air making his eyes sting.

Mending mail is busywork, stuff to keep his hands occupied while he waits for things to heat. It needs doing, and if he does it here then he can rivet the rings shut properly instead of the temporary road fixes (shit he needs to check Twilight’s mail he knows he put in a patch at one point but doesn’t remember riveting it in, need to do that before they leave) but some things can only be done at the forge. Like the plates of steel he’s got resting to the side, waiting to be turned into a new piece of Time’s armour.

He should probably get started on that actually so Blue puts aside the mail and reaches for his tongs. A lot of this is just shaping, forming the metal to the exact dimensions and curvature of Time’s body, and then adding buckle straps and point anchors so it can actually be attached. This is the loud part, metal-on-metal ringing and echoing in the enclosed stone room and making his vision swim just a little. He has to pause to blink it away. Does his head actually hurt, or is it just more echoes from the hammer?

Doesn’t matter; he’s got work to do. Blue checks the first piece for fit and moves on to the second; best to get this heavy work done before he gets tired. Working the steel cold takes more effort, but makes it less brittle in the end. Kind of important, that the metal sheets guarding someone’s body don’t shatter under a stiff blow, turning them from a defense into a hazard. You can get away with working horseshoes and stuff like metal fittings hot and then quenching them down, but it’s not worth it with plate armour.

Once he’s got the base curve in place, he checks the lines he drew earlier before his vision started to wobble, then hunts down the blunted chisel he needs. This is the fiddly bit. Blue sets the metal down on the wooden block with the groove specifically for this task, lining it up with the drawn lines, and starts hammering out the ridges.

It’s time-consuming, but the raised metal redirects weapons to less vulnerable points. Blue’s seen a sword swing into an arm then slide off into empty air, instead of an armpit or elbow, because of these ridges. They’re useful.

Time didn’t have any, originally. And while he can’t say for sure - Blue suspects that if he’d had them on his armour that first time a moblin got the jump on him, its spear wouldn’t have slid past the plates into his side quite so easily.

Four’s been quietly upgrading it piece by piece ever since.

The vambrace is harder, more of a curve to force the steel into, but he’s long practised at getting stubborn materials to cooperate. Once it’s done, and added to the pile he’s making of Time’s shit, he pulls the pattern steel Red had spent all day folding and forge welding from the fire. Already the basic shape of it is there: the tapered tip, the length of the blade, the narrow throat and tang. Once it’s finished, it’ll be a dagger for Hyrule. His current one has been sharpened so many times it’s thin enough to use as a lockpick, and they want him to have something good-quality to replace it, something that will last him.

(Will last him beyond this time of portals and black blood, because getting new equipment in his time is so, so difficult and they never want him to go without ever again, and one knife isn’t much in the grand scheme of things but it’s something they can do, and they’ll do their goddess-damn best work on it for him.)

It still needs some more shaping before it’s ready to go under the whetstone, though, so Blue tucks it back in the fire and picks up Wind’s knife, the one with the loose hilt. How the sailor expects to get anything done when he has to hold his entire hand at right angles to keep the thing straight Blue doesn’t know. Apparently he’d been stuffing it with fabric scraps to stabilise it, which, great, now Blue has to dig them all out before he can decide if the hilt is at all salvageable.

It doesn’t help that his fingers are a little shaky. Shit. Maybe he needs a water break.

He sets the dubiously-fixable knife aside while he drinks. He doesn’t feel thirsty. Dry-eyed, maybe, and his throat aches from the forge air, but the water doesn’t really help. Still, hydration’s important.

A sudden clank makes Blue drop his cup, water scattering on the floor as he spins. The fire flares - oh. A coal had - split, or settled, and the still-dull blade of Hyrule’s dagger had shifted and struck the edge. It looks about ready to go again anyway, so Blue grabs it - with tongs! He’s not an idiot! - and starts hammering an edge into it.

As the blade flattens out and becomes more knife than bar of metal Blue takes care to bevel off both edges neatly. He flips it, to make sure he gets both sides, then flips it again to even it out. He wants the balance on this thing perfect, and if it takes a bit of fiddling, all the better. That way he knows it’s good. Blue holds it up, eyeing the straightness of the blade from the side, and then down the length of it, and nods to himself, moving to set it. Good. He’ll let it cool a little before heating it again, and -

Blue stumbles. The blade clangs down on the bench he’d meant to set it on gently, spinning away from the tongs and fortunately not hitting any part of him with the still red-hot metal. Fuck, he’d forgotten to pick up his cup. It’s a good thing it’s so hot in here that all the water evaporated off or he might have slipped. Fuck.

He checks the blade - fuck, he dinged it - puts it back in the fire, then picks up his cup to set it back beside the water barrel. The metal handle is painfully hot under his fingers. Although - he could do with more water. His eyes are stinging again.

Blue drinks, long and slow. The water tastes metallic, or maybe that’s just the forge air coating his tongue. It settles uneasily. Doesn’t matter - his stomach will get over it.

He fixes the dent made when he dropped the half-made dagger, hammering until metal fills the gap and then hammering it out even again to repair the edge. He also spends more time carefully squinting at it to make sure it’s still straight, so long that the metal goes dark and cold.

Then back in the fire it goes.

Blue gets back to mail repairs, working rings into place, then riveting them shut with scraps from broken links. He considers, as he works, if the long-handled riveting pliers could be made to fit into their tool pouch. They can’t bring along the whole forge, that would be silly, but this one thing? They already carry the cutting pliers to make links with so it’s not like they need anything else for the rivets, and it doesn’t need heat treatment -

He pinches a fingertip with the pliers and swears loudly, shaking it and resisting the urge to shove it in his mouth - his hands are covered in oil and coal dust. Squinting at it - no real damage - he shakes it one more time and picks up the mail patch he dropped. It stings a little, to apply enough pressure to hold the metal fabric. Actually -

Checking the dagger, he pulls it from the fire and rests it on the anvil to cool. This is always time consuming, heating and cooling the steel to normalise it before the final edge can be put on. Heat it, then cool it, then heat it again; all part of ensuring the blade isn’t brittle and will hold its shape and its edge for as long as possible. It’s familiar in a way so ingrained he can almost touch it, watching the metal change colour. Fading from yellow, through red, down to the still blisteringly-hot but normal appearance of steel.

Blue blinks, and finds himself sitting on his preferred stool, metal still cooling in his tongs. Shit. When did he sit down? He’s wasting time, here. Back in the fire, back to work, fingertip still throbbing faintly.

Half the plates on Time’s tassets got ripped off during the fight with the iron knuckle, which are fiddly and annoying but not hard to replace. Once he’s got them shaped and punched Blue is tempted to just hand the lot off to Time for the old man to stitch them in place. Teach him to get distracted watching Twilight’s sword form. Shit, there’s so many of them, too. Time’s lucky his leg was in few enough pieces that Hyrule and Warriors could put it back together.

Blue hammers out scale after scale. Get the curve right; adjust the tongs, hammer out the part they’d hidden; set the edge, set the ridge, set it aside, and grab the next one. He piles them up on the metal workbench; they’d be less annoying to work with if he could just pile them in a coal shovel and dunk them in the fire to soften them, but even if they’re small they’re still armour and he needs to keep them as supple as possible.

And speaking of it’s time to pull the dagger again. The tongs grab it, fumble it, dump it back in the coals, then grab it agin. Blue is very careful as he sets it on the bench. He has no desire to set his own boots alight. This is the last cooling phase, though, so he can let the forge fire die down. Finally. His eyes itch and ache in the hot, dry air. He’d rub them if he wasn’t - still - covered in forge leavings.

Punch the holes for Time’s tasset scales; set them in his pile to deal with in the morning. Finally get the hilt off Wind’s knife and decide it is salvageable, actually, if he glues in a wedge of cedar to fill in the split that was letting it get loose in the first place. How did Wind even do that? Rewrap it in leather strips and it’ll be done; another job for the morning. When his hands aren’t so shaky. He’s getting glue everywhere, ugh.

…does he need to pull the dagger again? No, wait, it’s already on the bench. Does it need to go back in the fire? …no, he already decided it was done. He reaches to grab it, half-intending to measure it up for the hilt and crossguard, but hesitates at the heat radiating off it. Right. Fresh from the forge. Doesn’t look hot, but definitely is. He’ll leave it for an hour or so.

Blue shakes himself, hard, feeling the pull of it in his neck and his forehead. His head aches, behind his eyes. There’s a fine grey fuzz at the edges of his vision. Right, with the forge fire dying, he needs a bit more light. Where’s Vio’s lantern…?

By the too-pale magical light, Blue works, and works, until there’s nothing left to do but wind more wire into chainmail rings and weave them into the cuts and gashes left by enemy claws and weapons, tamp down rivets and move to the next section until he needs to wind out more rings -

It’s endless and monotonous and he can feel the screaming under his skin finally starting to cool, as the fire burns itself out.

Something they do need, he thinks as he pulls out the temporary patch he’d put in Twilight’s mail tunic, is a store of fully-finished rings. Hammering out their linking points and punching rivet holes is best done on an anvil. Then, as long as they have a stock of scrap wire for rivets (inevitable, they’re constantly damaging mail), the cutters and the riveting pliers, they can do repairs that are just as strong as the original work itself. Once they run out of wire, well, that’s more of an issue. The drawing plate is much too heavy to bring along with them.

Blue seals up the last ring in Twilight’s mail and sets it aside, then hops off the stool to go in search of the metal rods he needs to make wire. He knows they left a whole stack of them somewhere.

In truth, most forging doesn’t require a lot of raw strength. The weight of the hammer and the drag of gravity does a lot of the work, and all you need to do is direct it. Blue’s got more muscle from wielding a warhammer, honestly. The exception, he thinks distastefully, is wire drawing. That does need some force, since you’re dragging a piece of metal through smaller and smaller holes, not stretching it so much as drawing it out longer and longer and thinner and thinner, and of course it’s metal, it doesn’t want to do that.

Blue finally finds the basket of rods on a low shelf behind a huge box of half-finished nails - Red’s doing, surely - and carries it to the draw plate. There’s certainly no moving the thing to anywhere else. It weighs more than he does at least twice over, solid iron plate set into a heavy stone base.

Choosing a rod, Blue hammers out a quick point, feeds it through a hole that’s just a little smaller than its current size, clamps it, and starts to pull.

His eyes burn. His head aches. His fingers sting, all the little places where slips and cuts and burns have piled up over long hours. Without his mind keeping track of eight timers at once, it’s free to focus on the physical, and oh, he feels so heavy -

Blue breathes deep, metal and coal dust and ash, and feeds the wire into the next hole.

---

Sky is unhappy but unsurprised to find the patch of floor allocated to Four empty.

Weak morning light streams through the curtains. It’s just enough to see by as Sky checks that Legend’s unmoving form on the bed is just due to stiffness and exhaustion, not something more worrying, and tiptoes around scattered bedrolls. Twilight cracks an eye as he’s stepped over.

“A’right there?” he checks, voice low.

Sky smiles. “Just seein’ who’s up.”

Twilight grunts and to all appearances goes straight back to sleep. For all he wakes with the dawn on the ranch, he does enjoy his sleep, when he can get it.

Sky empathises but he’s got a mission.

Through the shop windows he spots Wild outside, running through the carefully prescribed stretches that kept his scars limber. Once he was done with those, he’d be all up in Four’s kitchen, eager to make food more complex than could be managed over a simple campfire. Four even had an oven, which Wild had been very excited about.

Still, breakfast will come later. The forge door still stands closed, just as it had last night after Four kicked him out. Moving slow, Sky eases the heavy door open, hoping to find him passed out in a corner somewhere.

Instead Four is sitting upright at the workbench. The winding rod in his hands is familiar, though he’s moving far slower than usual, and his hands shake when he reaches for the pliers.

“Four, have you slept at all?” Sky asks, disappointed.

“Huh?” Four turns to look at him, and there’s a distinct pause before recognition flickers. “Oh, Sky. I’m nearly done with your mail. Or…” He squints at the links on the table. “No, mail’s finished. Spare rings. We’re always running out.”

“Sleep, Four,” Sky stresses. “Goddess - have you been working all night?” He eyes up the frankly ludicrous pile of mending that now sits on the other side of the bench from where it started, separated into neat piles by owner. And Four is still going - slowly cutting rings off the spiral, one by one.

“‘M fine.”

He changes tacks. “Four, c’mon. It’s time for breakfast. Wild will sulk if it gets cold, you know he will.”

Four blinks at him, visibly hazy with exhaustion, and finally, slowly, drags himself to his feet. He looks worse, upright. He’s pale and a little haggard, swaying slightly just standing in place. Goddess. He’s going to be an utter wreck today, and they’re supposed to head out for the Castor Wilds later. Maybe Sky can convince Time to wait until after lunch and Four will revive some after a nap -

The smith’s feet tangle. Sky lunges to catch him -

Four catches himself with a quick shake of the head. “Phew, close one,” he mutters. He brushes past Sky into the rest of the house, steps suddenly quick and sure. “C’mon, Sky,” he calls over his shoulder, “help me keep Wild from dirtying every pan I own, I do not want to do dishes today.”

He still looks distinctly unwell over breakfast, but the shake in his hands, the sway in his step, the dull slowness of his eyes and responses - all that is gone like it was never there. He even smiles and keeps up with the conversation. Sky doesn’t know what to make of it.

(In the back of his mind, though, he wonders.)

#whumptober 2023 #linked universe #lu blue #lu four #lu sky #lu fic #skies writes #i swear this was supposed to be a whump fic but it turned into 3000 words of me infodumping about blacksmithing

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murkycats · 2 months

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Two Idiots

Word Count: 1,390

Type: Fluff, One-shot

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader

It was a truly pathetic sight. Horrific. Tragic, honestly. In fact, it was so horrendously devastating that you folded so quickly for this man—in just a little over two months, but you couldn’t help it.

You slam the car door closed, stepping out onto the brick pathway. The crisp, cool fall air blew harshly against your face, somehow perfectly conveying the internal turmoil you were feeling inside. Yet, you did your best to shake off the anxiety you felt. The worst he could say was no, right?

He couldn’t help the way his kind eyes would crinkle at the sides when you came in to visit him, or how he would talk and talk and talk about his obvious passions and nerdy hobbies.

Ten paces so far. You can do this. Don’t think too much, just say it.

Steven Grant had stolen your heart right out of your chest the moment you set eyes on him, and the poor bloke had not one bloody clue.

Twenty-four. Deep breaths. C’mon.

However, that was definitely going to change today. Because you were probably definitely going to ask him out.

Thirty-six...

Nearing the last step, you came upon two huge pillars on either side of the entrance, along with striking blue banners flowing down the sides–as you normally did during your visits to the museum. Despite all the tourists and customers filtering in and out of the building, you spotted Steven immediately. His wavy hair and gray trench coat gave him away, bless his heart.

He was touring around a little girl that was pointing at one of the Egyptian exhibits, no doubt asking loads of questions, as children tend to do. Nevertheless, you knew that would do nothing to deter Steven from answering them just as enthusiastically, though.

Passing through the entryway, you made a beeline towards the pair. The exhibit he was describing to the little girl was one of his favorites of all time. He’d told you in one of your many conversations whenever you popped by. Your eyes softened at the way he animatedly explained the history behind the exhibit. Nothing made you happier than listening to him talk about topics he found interesting.

But then something hit you like an arrow to the heart.

Maybe you took the ‘don’t think about what you’re going to say’ too literally. What do you say? The tremors in your hands started up again, much to your dismay.

Perhaps you could talk about the exhibit?

Sure it was a rather niche topic to be heavily interested in, but that's perhaps why he would get so excited when someone would inquire about it. Because few people, (other than himself) truly cared for it. Donna really should have made him the tour guide.

Before you knew it, you were standing about two feet away from the very gift-shoppist you'd come to love now. Taking a breath, you reached out and softly tapped him on the shoulder. Once he turned around to face you, you let out a breath that you weren't aware that you were holding. It never got old, seeing Steven. Neither did the butterflies, either.

Get it together. Ask him out.

At Steven's redirection of attention, the little girl ran off, most likely to find her parents. His eyes crinkled on the sides in the way you were just thinking of before you’d arrived, and a broad grin lit up his handsome face. "Well hello darling, what brings you here today?"

Apparently you took too long to answer, (and from the way your face felt, he was probably worried you were going to suffer heat stroke) because Steven began to look very concerned. Luckily you snapped out of your lovey-dovey trance just in time.

"Hm? Oh, uh yeah... yeah I uhh... I just wanted to talk to you." If it weren't for Steven standing directly in front of you, you could've as well punched yourself in the face.

This is absolutely crushing. For god’s sake, this man is about as intimidating as a butterfly, so why were you so nervous?!

In that moment, all the oxygen in your lungs had been wrung out and left to dry, like a damp washcloth. You weren’t sure how, but you were certain that your face had paled and flushed in a very worryingly short space of time.

“No… no no sorry, uh—that-that’s not what I…” You wave your hands frantically, thoroughly embarrassed. You buried your face in your hands.

“Oh bollocks this is going so well so far isn’t it?” What you said was muffled, but comprehensible all the same. Through the gaps in your fingers, you saw Steven make a puzzled face. His brows were practically knotted together in confusion.

Did he not realize what you were trying to say?

“Uhm,” Steven’s sudden dialogue gives you a small start, “Might I ask, what’s going horribly?”

Andddd he didn’t. Fantastic. Lovely. Bloody terrific. Perhaps you’d have to spell it out with ancient hieroglyphics for him to understand. Which is ironic, considering how they are literally just freaking symbols—

An exasperated sigh fell from your lips. “It’s just… gods I came here to ask you if you wanted to go out with me, and completely screwed it up.”

You smiled sheepishly up at him, suddenly very appreciative that he couldn’t read your mind. But yeah, you never really had gotten on with the opposite sex, until you met Steven. It was kind of sad, but the fact he didn’t have a ton of experience with people like you did, was probably the reason you two even spoke to each other at all.

Sure he was your friend, but why couldn’t your relationship with him be more?

Steven seemed to be as still as the glass case holding King Tut behind him. That is, until he finally spoke. His eyes became wide, contrary to his usual sad, resting face. “I’m sorry… are you sure you’ve got the right per-person, I mean,” He laughs lightly, looking genuinely shocked, but mostly perplexed as if he couldn’t believe someone would ever—or could ever see him in that way. Your heart ached inside.

“Are you absolutely sure you have the right bloke?”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. Hard.

Steven returned the gesture, although half-heartedly and awkward, like he was the butt of some joke that he had to play along to. Suddenly you realize what he might’ve assumed.

Your eyes widened considerably, nearly matching his own. “Steven, of course I want to ask you out. Who else would I ask, Osiris? Gods, I love you but sometimes you can be a bit clueless for a bookworm, you know that?”

“You love me?” It was Steven’s turn to blush then. Even his ears turned a deep crimson.

Never mind. Maybe I will ask Osiris out. Because fucking hell do I want to crawl into a hole and die.

“Oh for the love of—would you like to go out with me or not?” Your eyebrows were pinched together, your bottom lip between your teeth in anticipation for Steven’s reply.

And with a quick jolt of his head, a promising smile made its way onto his lips. “Okay, alright. Uhm, when—when would you like to uh—meet? And where?”

Before you could say anything, Steven interjected, completely flustered—so you didn’t mind one bit. It was nice to know he was as affected by you, and much as you were by him. “I know—I’ll grab one of those pamphlets we have at the register for you. That way you can jot down my cellphone number. I’ll be back in a jiffy, love.” Leaning towards you, you felt his soft lips peck you lightly on your cheek.

All you could do was dumbly nod, a love struck, no dazed expression plastered on your face. “Mhm, will do.” With a sweet smile, he took off as fast as you’ve seen him do—to fulfill what he’d said, just for you.

However, unbeknownst to Steven, you literally hadn’t heard anything after he confirmed that he wanted to go on a date with you. Every nerve in your body was shot, almost like little fireworks had gone off—causing time to slow. Your ears were completely blocked, no noise came in—bloody hell, you couldn’t speak. Your brain was too busy picturing the enormous victory dance you were doing in your head.

#steven grant x reader #steven grant #moonknight #marvel #fluff

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writing-blog-iguess · 4 months

Text

Online Matchup 8

Summery: It’s Halloween and y/n’s hosting a party that she doesn’t even want. But not to fear, Jason’s there with an escape plan.

Warning: mistakes, alcohol, tipsy!reader, tired Jason, Ellie’s done with her siblings bullshit.

A/N: So sorry for the wait. I got overwhelmed with how many wips I have and stopped writing for a bit, and it doesn’t help that I don’t have internet. So, that’s fun. Hope you enjoy though! Chapter nine should be on its way soon.

Feedback is welcomed!

ao3 Part 1/2/3/4/5/6/7

——————

October 31

Ellie (7:30 am)

YOU WENT TO A GALA

WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND

AND DIDN’T TELL ME

Y/N

Not my boyfriend

Shouldn’t you be in school?

Ellie

Not yet anyways

Don’t worry about it

So?

Y/N

It was two days ago, Ellie

It was a last minute decision

Didn’t really have time to tell you anything

Ellie

Could have told me after

Or yesterday

But no, I find out from Conner who found out from Clark

Y/N

Who?

Ellie

Clark Kent

Conner’s uncle

Also Bruce Wayne’s best friend but I have doubts

Y/N

How? You’ve never met Bruce

Ellie

True, but the stories Conner told me about

Anyways, we’re not talking about that

We’re talking about you and going out with Jason

Looking all fancy and rubbing elbows with the rich

Y/N

Did you have to word it like that?

Ellie

Did you meet his family?

Y/N

…

Ellie

YOU DID

Tell me, are they as intimidating as Conner makes them out to be?

Y/N

They’re all dorks and you would fit right in

Trust me

They’re very curious and protective of Jason

But they’re good people

I like them

Ellie

Don’t let Jason hear you say that

Or he might think you’ll leave him

Y/N

Ellie, what the fuck

Ellie

That wasn’t me I swear

Y/N

Fuck off conner

If you want to talk to me use your own phone

Ellie

This is the type of relationship you two have, isn't it?

Y/N

You’ll have no peace, sorry

Ellie

Damn

So, how'd it go?

Y/N

Fine

His brothers hounded me with questions

Bruce made a speech about jason

And then we left to get some burgers

Ellie

You’re the worst at telling stories

Y/N

I don’t know what you want me to say

Ellie

You’re feelings about how in love you are with Jason

Y/N

I’m not having this conversation with Conner reading over your shoulder

Ellie

Boo you’re no fun

Y/N

Suck it Ellie

Jason (1:39 pm)

How’s it going today?

Y/N

I am not the biggest fan of Halloween

I’ve had three different people scare me today on campus

Tripped over some decorations

And my friend is bugging me for a key so she can decorate my apartment once her last class is finished

I don’t know why she needs my key, she has her own

Jason

Yikes

Y/N

Yikes doesn’t even cover half of it

I’m half tempted to hide in the library and not go to the party

Jason

But it’s your apartment

Y/n

That’s the worst thing!

I shouldn’t have agreed to throwing it there

I want sleep

Jason

I don’t think I’ve seen you sleep at a normal time

Y/N

You’re one to talk

You’re up at the oddest hours

I’m not surprised anymore when you text me at like 2 in the morning

Jason

Fair

You can always come sleep with me when you’ve had enough

Y/n

Sir, I’m not that kind of person

Jason

That is not what I meant

You know that

Y/n

Do I though?

Jason

Y/n I swear to god

Y/n

They’re your words, Jason

Do better

Jason

Sometimes, I hate

Y/n

No you don’t

Jason

No I don’t

What I mean is, you can always stay the night at my place.

To sleep, can even have the couch since that’s were you sleep most of the time

Y/n

I want to be offended

But your right

Jason

Aren’t I always?

Y/n

With the party in full swing, and friends practically drunk, you hadn’t had the chance to look at your phone.

Now hiding in your room a few hours later, you grabbed it and went through your notifications. Nothing too important until you said Jason’s text asking to call you. But it was sent at five, and you were pretty sure he meant then instead of now.

But curiosity got the better of you, and you called.

“Hey Jason,” Barbara’s voice cut through the line, distracting Jason a little. He grunted in reply, and retreated behind the dumpster. “Someone named Y/N is calling. What do you want me to do?”

“Put it through,” Jason answered, looking around the dumpster to see how many were left. Three were left, shouldn’t be a problem.

“Are you sure?”

“It’ll be fine,” he said and Barbara hummed before connecting the call. “Hey Little Bird. What’s up?”

“I don’t know, you were the one who wanted me to call you,” you answered. Jason furrowed his eyebrows.

“I don’t think so,” he said, moving to shoot the one standing up. He winced at the sound and hoped you didn’t hear it.

“Mm, pretty sure you did,” you said, and he heard movement from your end. As if you moved the one on away from your face. “Yeah, seven-forty you said call me.”

“That was four hours ago,” he reminded, and smiled when you laughed.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been busy with a party and all,” you said and he can picture you shrugging. “This a bad time?”

He took a moment to answer as he ducked down when the other two started shooting. “Uh, don’t know.”

“Is that…is someone shooting at you?” you asked and he grimaced at the question. So much for keeping you out of this. “Jason, are you okay?”

“No, there’s no shooting. And I’m fine,” he grunted out, letting out a noise when he felt something hit his shoulder. When did he move? He faintly heard you saying something, but wasn’t quite sure. Ducking behind something else, he took a deep breath before saying, “you don’t do parties.”

“No, I don’t,” you agreed, “but, as I said, my friend is hosting the Halloween party at my place tonight.”

“It’s Halloween?” he found himself asking.

“It is. Jason, are you sure you're okay?” you asked, concern dripping in your voice.

“Peachy,” he said, staying down as the other two started shooting him. Where was the backup when you needed it? “So, how’s the party anyways? Sounds like you're having fun.”

He heard you sniff and could picture you sticking your nose in the air. “I am not having fun,” you said dryly.

“You sure? You sound drunk,” he said and laughed when you squawked.

“I don't get drunk.” Jason hummed and let the silence stretch out before you begrudgingly added, “okay. Maybe maybe I’m a little drunk.”

“Thought so,” he said, “just go to bed.”

“I can’t,” you grumble, and Jason can picture you looking at your bed longingly.

“Why the fuck not?”

“Jason, there’s a full blown party out there and I can’t sleep knowing people are trying to get in my room for a hookup.”

“Tell me you locked the doors.”

“I’m not an idiot, Jason. But that doesn’t stop them from trying to get in. Four tries since I called, and each time I tell them that the room is busy.”

“That’s not so bad.”

“Okay yeah, but I want to sleep. I’m tired.”

“If you give me twenty minutes I’ll come by to pick you up.”

“Mm, tempting. But I’m also tempted to sneak out and go to the cafe where we first met.”

“You’re not leaving the apartment alone this late at night.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“I sure as hell can try.”

“I don’t see how, given that you’re probably across town.”

“I swear to god.”

You could have sworn you heard someone laughing, but in your drunken state you weren’t sure. “Well, I mean I could make you swear for a different purpose.”

There was a choking noise coming from Jason and you smiled. “Who knew you were a flirty drunk.”

“Not drunk, tipsy,” you reminded, and slowly opened your window, hoping Jason couldn’t hear it.

“Same thing in my books,” he said. You swore when the window creaked and stilled. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you said a little too quickly.

“That sounded like a window opening,” Jason claimed, “please tell me you aren’t escaping through the window.”

“How do you know what a window opening sounds like?”

“Really? That’s your takeaway from this?”

“I mean, it’s not everyday you learn that someone knows what a window sounds like when someone opens it.”

“Did you open the window?” Jason asked, and you stayed quiet but it was an answer all the same. “Why?”

“Well I mean, there’s a fire escape like right there,” you defended, holding your phone between your cheek and shoulder. With both hands, you pushed open the window. “Ha!”

“Y/N,” Jason sighed out and you could picture him pinching his nose. Kind of like a dad when he sees his child do something stupid and questioning why they are like this. You wonder if that’s what he’s thinking about you, but you don’t care too much about that right now. “If you're going to do something like this, then keep me on the phone.”

“But won’t I disturb your family movie night?” you ask as you giggle the window screen off and slide it into your room. Once placed on the ground, you grab your keys and wallet before climbing through the window.

“I’m not watching a movie,” Jason said, confused.

“But I heard gunshots,” you reminded him, “it sounded like some western film.”

“Oh,” he said like he had forgotten. You paused on the steps, and looked up in concern when he didn’t say anything else.

“So you were getting shot at,” you questioned. Jason made a noise and you continued down the fire escape.

“No, no one was shooting at me,” Jason said, “brothers were playing a game, guess it was too loud.” You hummed as you concentrated on walking down the steps. “So, did you escape?”

“Do you want me to answer that truthfully?”

“You are, aren’t you?” Jason asked, sighing deeply.

“It’s a lot sturdier than you’d expect.”

“You say that like you’ve done this multiple times.”

“I like to sit outside sometimes,” you defended, “and sometimes I am too tired to go to the roof.”

“Why not just open a window?”

“Not the same,” you replied and kept going down the stairs.

“There’s no stopping you, huh?” Jason voiced and you kept quiet. “Just keep me on the phone while you're out at least.”

“I can do that…as long as my phone doesn’t die.”

“Do you ever charge your phone?”

“…yes.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jason teased, and you stuck out your tongue even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll meet you at the cafe as soon as I can.”

“Might want to hurry, I think I’m going to sleep there if they let me.”

“I have no doubt,” Jason said, laughing.

“Your confidence in me is astounding.”

Your phone ended up dying halfway to the cafe, and Jason wasn’t going to let you live it down. No matter, you were almost there Jason was sure of it.

Quickly tying up the thugs he’s been dealing with while on the phone with you, Jason sent a message to Barbara before leaving.

“What? Done already?” Her basics filtered through the earpiece, surprised. “You’re never done this early. Got a date or something?”

“Or something,” he answered, starting his bike.

“Oh, come Jason!” Barbara exclaimed, “everyone else practically met them. It’s only fair that I know more. I did help you with your dating profile,” she reminded him.

Jason groaned and hung his head in defeat. “Fine! Fine,” he sighed out, ignoring the cheering in his ear. “Yes, I’m going to meet up with them after I’ve changed.”

“But I thought you were going to be out all night,” she said, “given that Y/n’s busy too.”

“Yeah, well. Plans change.”

“Are they okay?”

“Just a little tipsy and isn’t much for party’s. They just left for a cafe near town. Even though they didn’t listen when I told them not to and to wait for me. They insisted they go. So I told them I’d meet them there. Happy?”

“Extremely,” she sang, “and I’ll be even more happy when I get to meet them.”

“I will bring it up. Promise.”

“So, what was it? The motorcycle picture or the puppy that did it for the ?” Barbara teased, and Jason rolled his eyes.

“No idea, but feel free to ask when you two finally meet.”

“I have every intention to and share some stories of my own,” Barbara said and laughed as Jason groaned.

“Oh no.”

“Have fun,” she sang before signing off. Jason shook his head, and rode off back to his apartment.

A short while later, after he dropped by his apartment, he made his way to the cafe.

Parking his bike near the entrance of the building, he got off and looked through the window to see if he could spot you. He didn’t, and frowned hoping you made it safe.

Taking his helmet off, he made his way inside.

“Was wondering when you’d show up,” one of the barista’s called when he walked in.

“Traffic,” he explained, looking around. “Is Y/N here?”

He heard a sigh, and a thump from behind the counter. He turned his head to see a barista when her head was on the counter. “You okay?”

“Don’t mind her,” her coworker answered, waving his hand. “She’s just had to sit and listen to Y/N complain about school and how you were taking so long.”

“Right,” he hummed and looked towards the talk he was directed at. And there you were, head down using your arms as a pillow.

“She’s so tired it’s unreal,” May, after a quick look at her nag tag, groaned. “I can’t wait for Christmas break. That way, they can take a fucking break and sleep he break away. Between school and working, it feels like they don’t sleep.”

Jason hummed and made his way towards your table. “Hey,” he whispered once he reached you and gently placed a hand on your head. You stirred, barely lifted your head up. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“But there’s still a party there,” you groaned out, nuzzling further into your arms. “I don’t want to go back.”

“Okay. Counter offer, come to my place. Sleep there, it looks like you need it.”

That had gotten your attention as you lifted your head to glare at him. “Sir, you know just what to say to sweep a girl off their feet.”

Jason laughed and helped you up. “Come on, you’ll feel better once you get some sleep. Promise.”

“Mm,” you hummed, clutching his hand as you followed him outside, waving at the two friends as you passed by. “Bike?”

“What else?”

“It’s cold out,” you pointed out, sticking your tongue out as he set the helmet onto your head.

“Yeah, it keeps you awake though.”

“But it’s cold.”

“Why didn’t you bring your jacket?”

“It was not in the room when I made my escape,” you said, watching as he climbed onto the bike. You followed once he sat, and snaked your arms around his waist, settling your chin on his shoulder.

“You make it sound like you were held against your will,” he said, chuckling when you made a noise, stating that you practically were. “Alright, hold on tight.” That was your last warning, before he started the bike and took off.

You watched the city lights as Jason drove, in awe. You found, since moving to Gotham, that Gotham nights were much more pretty and peaceful then Metropolis. Granted, It wasn’t really safe with all the fighting and toxic gas’s being dispelled by the villain of the week. But it had its charm you fell in love with.

You shivered slightly as the cold air blew past you and felt Jason pick up the speed a little. You couldn’t help but smile at the tiny gesture. He was right though, the cold air does keep you awake.

Watching the lights whiz by, letting your mind wonder. Mat wasn’t kidding when she said you don’t sleep. Between classes, work and your personal projects, you’ve kind of neglected sleep in order to focus on everything else.

Sure, you get a couple hours of sleep, and naps. But it isn’t enough and it’s starting to take its toll on you. Sighing deeply, you tightened your grip and closed your eyes. Christmas break couldn’t come sooner.

You felt the bike slow, causing you to open your eyes. You waited until he parked and shut it off before climbing off. “That was thrilling,” you mumble out through a yawn.

“Would you like another ride?” Jason asked, helping you take off the helmet.

“Definitely,” you answered with a nod, “though maybe when it’s warmer and I’m not prone to fall off your bike due to sleep deprivation.”

Jason laughed, and tugged you into the building. “That’s fair. Now, let’s get you something to drink and eat before getting you to bed.”

“Sounds nice,” you said sleepily. “Is your couch comfy? I feel like it might not be.”

“Now that’s just mean,” he said, stopping short in front of his door. You nearly bumped into him and groaned out his name. “Sorry, but you might need to stay out here for a bit.”

“Did you leave your dirty laundry out or something?” you asked, rubbing your nose. You stepped back all the same instead of pushing it.

“Something like that,” he answered and you watched him unlock the door and stepped in. He closed it quickly, not giving you a chance to look inside. You shrugged and looked around the dimly lit hallway before turning to lean your back on the wall beside the door.

You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back against the wall with a small thump. It was strange, being at Jason’s apartment for the first time. And to sleep instead of being awake and hanging out. But you were giddy all the same.

Yes, you trusted Jason not to do anything with you. And you liked him enough to be okay with sleeping over at his place. It’s not the first time you’ve slept in the same place. And just remembering how warm you felt with Jason’s arms around you sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“Alright, it’s safe to come in,” Jason’s sudden voice beside you made you jump slightly. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you were sleeping.”

“Not sleeping,” you said, pushing him back in as you walked through the door. “Just resting my eyes.”

Jason hummed and put his hands on your shoulder and steered you into the kitchen. He gently made you sit, before setting a cup of water and a plate of toast in front of you. “Slowly. The. You can have a shower and change out of…whatever costume you have on.”

“You’re an angel.”

“Some would say I’m not.”

“Then they can fight me,” you said, taking a bite out. “And how dare you. Not recognizing the greatest hero of all.”

Jason looked you over slowly, and you tried not to flush. “Yeah, I'm still not getting it.”

“Wonder Women,” you said through another bite of toast. “Sure, it’s not the greatest costume. But it’s the thought that counts.”

“Would you like a change of clothes? I doubt it would be comfy to sleep in.”

“If you don’t mind,” you said with a smile. “I would appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he said, kissing the top of your head before leaving the room. You flushed slightly and finished the rest of your food. It felt all so normal, like you did this everyday. And that thought made you giddy.

“Okay, the sweatpants might be a little big and so is the shirt. But they should be fine.”

“Thanks Jason. That means a lot,” you said, getting up to hug him. He returned it with a smile and shooed you into the bathroom.

Once showered and dressed, you walked out of the bathroom feeling refreshed. “Jason?”

“In here,” he called and you followed the voice until you reached the bedroom. “This is your room for the night.”

“I thought I was taking the couch,” you question, leaning against the doorframe, watching as he was getting it ready.

Jason snorted and gave you a look. “Please, I would never do that to you. Besides, it’s not as comfortable as the bed.”

“So you’re going to take the couch?” Jason nodded, and you bit your lip in thought. And before you could change your mind, you bit out, “or, now hear me out. We could share the bed. It’s not like it’s happened before.” You're blaming the alcohol for it, and you can't regret it.

Jason looked up at you with raised eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod. “I’m sure. We’re just sleeping right? The worst that can happen is cuddling in the middle of the night.”

“Okay,” he laughed and with that, the two of you climbed into bed. You were more tired than you thought, you fell asleep the minute your head hit the pillow.

For Jason, it took a lot longer for sleep to reach him. He turned over, and looked at you for a moment before slipping his arm underneath you. With his other, he wrapped it around your waist and pulled you closer. And only then he could fall asleep, but not with the thought of how dangerous this could be.

But he found that he didn’t care.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd gn!reader #online match up #jason todd #my writing #batman imagine #jason todd imagine

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amazingmaeve · 1 year

Text

INFATUATION (1/?)

homelander x fem!reader

summary — homelander meets Ashley’s sister and he’s already feeling infatuated with you and he just can’t help it, even though ashely is fucking annoying he can’t help but think you were the exact opposite.

warnings — homelander is himself a warning, stalking, toxic behavior from homelander, breastfeeding, kinda angst and fluff

word count — 2174

authors note — this is my third homelander fic and the other two are on my AO3 account and this one will be as well. also tried and different writing perspective.

homelander masterlist | the boys masterlist

YOU took a deep breath looking at the huge Vought tower, looking down you saw your daughter in the stroller and it calmed you down a bit. Eleanor was the light of your life and yeah that might be a little bit of a cliche but it was true.

Her father ditched ever since he figured out you were pregnant and all you had was yourself to help fend for you and for Eleanor. He was a douchebag anyway only cared for himself and his own life, not caring what happened to you or Eleanor but you were doing okay on your own.

I mean yeah paying for all the stuff for a baby was hard but at least you didn’t need to pay for formula since you breastfeed, but you just move for a job that would hopefully work out. Luckily it was close to your sister, Ashley. You’ve been in contact but never visited since you didn’t have the funds to do so, but now you could see her all you.

Ashley was your number one supporter when you got pregnant and she was even there when you gave birth and loved Eleanor. She was also the last defining factor of moving here in the first place, you could have a job that paid decently and see your sister.

You knew she worked for some of the most popular supes in the world and that’s why you were kind of nervous to step in the building. They were superheroes though, they’re not dangerous. At least Ashely hadn’t told you anything that would imply that and she even invited you to come to her work.

So how could this go wrong.

It was just worrying, that’s something you’ve done since you were a small child and even took some anxiety medication to help.

Walking into the big building with your stroller, you would’ve thought people might’ve been ogling at you but it seemed like everyone was into their own conversations or just minding their own damn business. That was at least nice, at least.

But it was intimidating standing in the lobby of this building where the seven stayed. The supes were nowhere to be seen at least and you hoped Ashely would get down here soon because it was getting awkward. You texted her when you first arrived which was about 5 minutes ago and you were starting to worry.

Luckily Eleanor hadn’t sensed your discomfort.

“Y/N you made it,” Ashely says with a smile as she walks up to you, wearing her usual bright pantsuits.

“I was worrying you forgot about me,” You said with a smile as you hugged her. She gave you a tight squeeze before looking down and smiling at Eleanor.

“How’ve you been,” Ashely asked as the two of you walked towards the elevators. You didn’t know where you were going but it was probably to her office or some more private place so you could talk.

“It’s been hard taking care of a newborn baby but I’ve been pushing through it,” You told her vaguely not wanting to worry her. You’ve been only getting 3-4 hours asleep on a good night, but it was the normal life of a single parent, or a parent in general. “Eleanor is totally worth it though, she is the cutest thing,” You cooed at your baby as she gurgled in her stroller.

“She is, and I’m glad you brought her here because I’ve been wanting to babysit and since you’re closer it's so much easier to do,” Ashley says with a smile.

“I just don’t want to intrude on your life, you have a job that you need to do and having a baby will only make it harder,” You expressed as you picked at the skin around your finger nails.

Bad habits die hard.

“It wouldn’t be a burden trust me, I’ve been wanting to see my niece since she was born and I insist,” Ashley promised.

“Okay only if you’re okay with it,” You muttered as the elevator doors finally opened and you walked behind her, to her office which seemed totally cool to you.

“I can’t believe you got your own office that is totally badass, and it totally suits you,” You complimented as she closed the door behind her and leaned on her desk and gave you a coy smile.

“It does feel good to have an office but this job is kinda grating,” Ashley murmured looking down at the floor.

“That is totally understandable though, I mean you’re brushing shoulders with the seven, the most famous superheroes, who wouldn’t be stressed,” You reassured her sitting on the couch and placed the stroller next to you so you could keep your eye on Eleanor.

“At least somebody understands,” Ashley says, giving you a smile. Something dings on her phone which she then pulls out of her pocket and her eyes widen. You look at her worried as you move the stroller back and forth. “I’m sorry I have to go,” She rushed out.

“Wait what am I supposed to do here,” You quickly ask as your heart races against your chest.

“Don’t worry I won’t be long, just stay here playing the tv, I’ll be back as soon as possible,” Ashley says before leaving the room and slamming the door behind her.

Unfortunately for you that woke Eleanor and she started to cry as you jumped at the door slamming. You stood up and grabbed her and started to bounce her in your arms trying to calm her down.

“It’s okay,” You cooed as she continued to cry and scream in your arms and it seemed as though the bouncing didn’t help your stressed baby.

As you were about to check her diaper in case it needed to be changed, you felt something wet on your chest and you immediately knew what it was. You hadn’t breastfed Ellie since early this morning and your breasts were full, when Ellie started to cry it usually happened. Instead of checking her diaper, you would try to check and see if she’s hungry first, and since you’re already ready for it, might as well take advantage of it.

Sitting down on the couch, you lifted your blouse up and since you decided not to wear a bra that day it was a little more easy but it ruined your shirt and hopefully you could get Ashely to find one.

Settling Ellie in your arms right near your primed nipple she immediately latched, and since your breasts were full it felt like relief as she began to drink from you. You supported her head as you leaned against the comfy couch, she squeezed the fat of your breast as she suckled the milk out.

It would normally hurt due to her pinching but since you were in a relaxed state you didn’t really mind. As she began to relax, you began to as well.

You looked at your baby as your chest was filled with so much love, that you would have never felt for anyone else. You probably wouldn’t feel this amount of love for anything or anyone else that enters your life again.

And you were perfectly fine with that.

“Ashley I’ve been fucking looking for you every-,” Homelander cursed as entered the room with an angered expression on his face but it turned into a confused one when he saw you.

God this was the most embarrassing moment that would ever happen to you, you knew you shouldn’t be ashamed of breastfeeding but this was America’s most beloved supe and when he looked angry as well.

Homelander averted his eyes so they weren’t trained on you. He was angry when he was looking for Ashley and expected to find her in her office but who the fuck were you and he didn’t want those old thoughts to come back. But he couldn’t help it as he saw the scene unfold before him.

“I’m sorry Homelander-sir I was ju-,” You began to say as you stood up and turned around so he didn’t seem as uncomfortable. It was obvious due to his stature stiffening as he entered the room and you didn’t want to do that. As you were speaking though you were cut off by him.

“Who the fuck are you,” Homelander snapped as he looked at you as you turned around. Ellie was still at your nipple, and you didn’t want to remove her from it as she seemed very hungry so you did what you thought was best.

“I’m Y/N Ashley s-sister,” You muttered and stuttered as you stared at the wall and began to force your body to relax so it would freak out Ellie.

Homelanders gazed at you even more confused. He didn’t know Ashley had a sister or even a niece for that matter. But he couldn’t deny that you were pretty, beautiful even and he didn’t know if that was due to your actual look or what you were doing.

Ellie decided that she was full as she removed her mouth off of your nipple and you used one hand to pull your shirt down, so you could turn around to face Homelander.

“Like I said I’m sorry about that, I was here to see my sister and she rushed out and Ellie started crying and when she does that, this happens,” You say looking down at your shirt. “And I thought I was alone and-and she was really hungry and I’m just sorry,” You quickly said your apologies, god this day couldn’t get any worse could it.

“No worries,” Homelander waved it off and put on his smile. “It’s natural right,” He nodded and pointed to the baby.

You visibly relaxed as he said that. He wasn’t angry with you, it would’ve been horrible if America's strongest supe was angry at you for a normal bodily function. But he did seem kinda uncomfortable you would say, his smile didn’t reach his eyes but it was better than his eyes being red.

Meanwhile Homelander felt his mind swarm with thoughts about you already and he just met you. He was about to say something but Ashely walked in the room with a shocked expression on her face.

“Sir I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Ashely breathed in deep as she had a somewhat scared expression on her face as she looked between Homelander and you. She was lucky that Homelander didn’t melt your face off as he saw you there and she let out a sigh of relief.

Homelander gave you a wary look and you took that note as you put Ellie in her stroller.

“Don’t worry Ashley we can meet up later,” You gave her a reassured smile. “Nice meeting you,” You gave Homelander a quick smile as you exited the room and felt your body relax that you were out of that awkward encounter.

Although Homelander had already set his eyes on you.

Later that night Homelander found out where you live through the tech department as he could get any one of those people to give him anything.

All day he had been thinking of you, his thoughts were all surrounding you and he tried to shake it off as attraction, which was definitely a part of it but he knew a part of it was due to your milk filled breast. He couldn’t help wanting to find you and just watch you.

As he stood on the building across from your tiny apartment, he used his x-ray vision to see what you were doing. It seemed like you didn’t have an exciting night but what he saw was certainly exciting. You were using a breast pump to get the milk out for the baby. The TV was playing but he didn’t pay attention as his cock throbbed his pants.

You looked pretty tired though, must be due to that baby and you were already dozing off catching yourself multiple times. His thoughts trailed off as he wondered what it would feel like to be doted on by you. If you would praise him and let him get a taste of what he actually wanted.

Homelander knew he was becoming infatuated with and some part inside of him was perfectly fine with that. He would find a way to see you again, even if he had to scare it out of Ashley or find out where you worked and “accidentally” bumped into you. It didn’t matter what he had to do, and what lengths he would reach to get to you.

He just couldn’t wait to see you again and wondered if you’d bring the baby, he hoped not but if so that would be totally fine as long as he got to see you.

Taking a deep breath as watched you and his body was filled with arousal and he knew you were already a part of his life for better or for worse. Probably a better for him and unfortunately worse for you.

#homelander x reader #homelander smut #homelander x you #homelander x y/n #homelander imagine #homelander series #homelander fic #homelander headcanons #the boys x you #the boys smut #the boys x reader #the boys x y/n #the boys imagine #the boys headcanons #the boys #homelander #lexiwrites

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cod-dump · 1 year

Note

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CONTINUE THE “A BIT TOO MUCH” FIC PLEASE! I WILL GIVE TOU MY SOUL! 🫡🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Oh! A soul yum! *accidentally let’s the soul slip through my fingers and it flies away like a ballon* Huh…

Also check out @ltjvega! They wrote a continuation of “A Bit Too Much” and it’s really good! You can find it by going through the reblogs of the first fic!

___

A Bit Too Much

Part 2

___

Ghost stopped trying a long time ago. He stopped trying to “act normal”, seem less intimidating, act as though he wasn’t scarred for life and could never return to normalcy. He chose to fight because he didn’t have to be human. He gained a reputation of a hard-ass that didn’t take any shit from anyone and didn’t do friends.

Then Soap walked into his life.

Soap and his confident, downright cocky, attitude. Challenging him from the beginning. Ghost, originally, couldn’t believe the gall of this man. But after a bit, Ghost couldn’t help but love how refreshing that was. The man wasn’t phased by his attitude, reputation, the mask. None of it seemed to matter. Soap treated him like everyone else.

After some time Ghost began to look forward to working with Soap. Soap who laughed at his jokes and even shot some back at him. Soap who didn’t view him as a weapon and constantly reminded him that he needed rest. Soap who teased him about how ridiculous his accent was when he spoke Spanish.

Soap who treated him human and reminded him that he was human.

It was no wonder that Ghost found himself craving to be around him. Soap would talk enough for the both of them and Ghost found himself loving the sound of his voice. He remembered being stuck with two boxes full of files that needed to be sorted and Soap offering to help. That evening flew by with Soap telling stories after stories, filling the room with life.

Ghost never thought he would find someone that he would care for again, caring for someone in a way he hadn’t in years. He engaged with Soap as much as possible, slowly opening up to him. Hearing Soap call him Simon— It took every bit of strength to not cry because of how right his name sounded coming off of the man’s tongue.

Ghost looked forward to every interaction with Soap. No matter how short the duration. And Ghost knows he has a hard time showing that he cares, but he thought he was actually putting out there where Soap could see that he cared. That Soap meant the world to him.

Then Soap just started to avoid him one day. Ghost saw him enter the meeting room and when they locked eyes he could tell something was different. There was a brief moment of Soap lighting up before he visibly dimmed. The Scot chose to sit elsewhere instead of next to him. Chose to all but run out of the room as soon as the meeting was adjourned. No words where exchanged, just that dull look in Soap’s eyes before he left.

That hurt Ghost like a bullet through the heart.

He tried to ease himself by telling himself Soap was probably having a bad day and would tell him what was up soon enough. But then Soap avoided him the next day. And the day after that—

Ghost knew that he had to have done something wrong. What else could possibly be going on? He had to have done something to make Soap not want to be around him. Was it the jokes? His blunt nature? Did Soap only hang around him because he felt like he had to? That he pitied Ghost? What did he do wrong? He’s never been good with his emotions. So he quickly turned to anger, the one emotion that he knew very well.

His rampage affected everyone. Recruits especially got the worst of it. He snapped at them often. Punished them during training if one hair was out of place. He knew he was taking his anger out on the wrong people and they didn’t do anything to deserve what he was throwing at them, but he didn’t know how else to express his feelings.

Price finally pushed him to the side after week three and told him to get his act together.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you need to take a step back and reevaluate your actions.”

Ghost apparently rolled his eyes (not that he had a doubt that he would do such a thing, he just didn’t remember doing it) and Price huffed and forced him to sit.

“What is going on, Simon? I thought we’ve gotten past this unnecessary aggression.”

“Nothing is wrong, Price.”

“Five recruits came to me today, at separate times, because you took things too far in training.”

Ghost huffs, guilt creeping through his chest. Price sighs when the man doesn’t respond, looking down at his desk before looking at Ghost, trying to catch his eyes.

“Simon… You know you can talk to me, right?”

Ghost swallows, of course he knew that. Yet why couldn’t he bring himself to tell Price what was going on? Was it because he felt shame that he drove off his first friend in years? That he was just a walking, talking weapon incapable of maintaining a single relationship? Ghost peaks up at Price to see his concerned face, looking at him with such gentle eyes.

“I-“

Suddenly Gaz runs into the office with a recruit, “Captain- Oh! Shit, sorry! I should’ve knocked!”

Price looks from Ghost to Gaz, “What is it, sergeant?”

“Soap’s missing.”

Ghost tenses and sits up straight, turning to look at Gaz, “What?!”

“He ran off a couple hours ago and no one knows where he is.”

“Sir, he’s been gone for two hours-“

Ghost stood immediately along with Price. After security confirmed that Soap hadn’t left the base, the search was on, everyone scouring the base for Soap. While they were looking, Gaz explained what happened that set Soap off.

“He said he left ‘before something did happen’.”

Ghost heart throbbed in pain. Did Soap really think that Ghost was going to get fed up with him? Did he really not know how much he meant to him? Ghost focuses on finding Soap, hoping that he was alright and that they could clear this mess up.

After a bit they split up, Ghost heading outside. Someone had mentioned seeing Soap heading out this way but they didn’t know where he could have possibly been headed. The ground was muddy but the rain would have washed away any prints. Still Ghost searched outside, his hoodie soaked through but he kept looking. He walked through the grounds, tears in his eyes.

He was so afraid something bad was going to happen. That when he found Soap he wasn’t going to like what he found. Ghost came to the training grounds, he didn’t think Soap would come here… then again he didn’t think the man would run out in the freezing rain.

He walked through the grounds, calling for Soap. He was practically begging for the man to answer him. For him to be alright. Panic was practically rushing through his veins as he ran through, coming to the edge of the training grounds. Still no Soap. Ghost had to take off his face mask so he could breathe better considering the mask was soaked through.

He turned around and started to walk through the grounds again, freezing when he hears a noise. He turns his head to the sewer pipes that they used for training and runs over. He slides on his knee’s through the mud and peaks inside to see a huddled figure. Shaking, Ghost recognizes Soap.

“Johnny!”

The man barely moves and Ghost fears the worst. Without thinking he crawls into the pipe to get to Soap, grabbing his leg and shaking him when he had gotten close enough.

“Johnny! Are you alright?”

“Ghost?”

The soft reply sounded like music to his ears, “Yea, it’s me.”

Soap fucking whimpers and Ghost’s heart breaks. He gently crawls further into the pipe, squeezing next to Soap. The moment he touches Soap’s arm and feels how cold he was he couldn’t restrain himself. He pulls Soap against him and holds him, tucking his head under his chin. He rubs his arms in an attempt to warm him up but it wasn’t seeming to be doing anything.

“Johnny, let’s go back inside. You’re freezing.”

Soap doesn’t reply, just shakes in Ghost’s arms. Ghost tries to wiggle out, pulling Soap with him since the man wasn’t making any effort to move. He was concerned about his well-being, both physically and mentally.

Ghost gets out of the pipe and pulls Soap out, picking him up and holding him against his chest before he makes his way back to the main building. He takes him straight to medical to get him looked at, only leaving with the nurses shooed him away. He calls Price and tells him that he found Soap. It didn’t take long for Price to show up.

“Is he alright? Where was he?”

“He’s… I don’t know… He was in a pipe at the training grounds. Was cold like ice when I found him.”

Price’s jaw clenches and crosses his arms. They wait together before a nurse comes to them, telling them that Soap was fine but had some frostbite on his hands, feet, and nose and ears. But she assured them that it would heal with time and it could have been a lot worse if he was out there longer.

“Is he awake?”

“Yes, but I would let him rest. He’s somewhat delirious from the cold.”

Price nods and the nurse leaves. Ghost watches her go back into medical, snapping out of his daze as Price pats his shoulder.

“Give it time. We’ll come back tomorrow and see if he’s up for talking. Alright?”

Ghost nods, “Yes, sir.”

Price looks at Ghost’s bare face, now able to see the man’s expressions.

“Until then… Let’s have a talk.”

Ghost huffs before nodding, letting Price lead him away from medical. From this moment, the clock was ticking down until the moment Ghost would be able to see Soap again.

#a bit too much #fic #fanfic #ask #cod mwii #call of duty #modern warfare ii #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghostsoap #john price #kyle gaz garrick #modern warfare

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xx-thedarklord-xx · 5 months

Text

Advent Month Master list

The Act of Healing It didn’t take long to realize that it wasn’t normal—that Harry wasn’t normal. That no one else could see the strange lights and dented auras that surrounded everyone. Harry had learned at an early age to hide it, to tell no one else about it. It worked. At least until he encountered a boy in a robe shop with the largest light he’d ever seen.

But what did it mean?

Renatus Reborn “I know Potter,” Draco began, leaning forward slightly. “I wasted six years observing him only for him to die in that forest. I don’t know who you are, but you somehow managed to get inside his body.”

Or the one where the rest of the world believes that Harry Potter came back, alive and whole. But to those that knew him, he didn’t come back at all, for it wasn’t Potter who stood before them. It was someone else.

Predicting the Present Malfoy—of all people—was the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, and Harry didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

“Professor Malfoy said we’ll be learning the basics on how to cast a Patronus!”

Oh really? That, Harry had to see.

Where to? Date time, only why does Scorpius think he gets to tag along? And is that a suit he's wearing?

Tricks and Giggles Professor Malfoy rarely gave extra credit, the harsh and bitter teacher that he was. So, when it was announced that all they had to do was get his son—Scorpius, who was still a baby—to interact with their Magic, they all assumed it would be a walk in the park.

How hard could it be?

Because it's you 'They are only together because they are soulmates.'

They were so much more than that and it was about time the world realized it. This is a story of how Harry and Draco fell in love and how very little being soulmates had to do with any of it.

Crude Coffee “—this coffee tastes horrible.”

“Of course it does.” The drawling tone was biting and held derision. “We here at Cup of Crude promise coffee in a timely manner, we never promised that it’ll taste good.”

Harry snorted, unable to help himself.

Resting Rumors Rule one as a new Ministry recruit, avoid Harry Potter. He's rude, mean, intimidating and grouchy. Except—wait—why is he smiling? Wait, he's married to who?

Present Meets Past Harry expects a lot of things. He expects to grade papers in his quarters alone, expects to prepare for a full day of lectures, expects a night of peace and silence. What he doesn’t expect is the arrival of his and Draco’s 14-year-old selves crashing into his quarters and completely destroying it in the process.

The Only Hope (was you) Join the Dark Lord, they told him. Become a true Malfoy, they said. Only, he didn’t want to. Draco knew he had one shot at escape, one chance to get out of there and it all boiled down to one thing: Potter.

Draco didn’t know where else to go.

Curiosity Killed Everything Harry was used to getting love letters after the war, but this? This one didn’t quite count.

'I can't stand you.'

Rudeness aside, Harry found it funny. He continued to find it funny as his last year of Hogwarts was filled with more and more hate mail from an anonymous admirer.

One Wish Harry finds Scorpius’ letter to Santa and he positively melts at the request. Can he make his son’s one wish come true?

Our Voices Fans wanting to meet the Harry Potter was always an annoying part of owning the Tornadoes Quidditch team for Draco. But when a little boy stands in front of him clutching a Quibbler magazine, eyes wet pleading to meet not Quidditch player Harry Potter but instead the Harry Potter that came out as bisexual, Draco knows that he's about to break his firm no fan meeting policy and allow the kid to meet his husband.

Secrets Undone (the Lightning Order) It started out as a secret. Their love was hidden just between the two of them until it became a revolution. One where Harry and Draco would change the world. He just had to pass his O.W.L examinations first.

Imaginary Playground Draco owns the biggest toy store in Diagon Alley, and he makes all of the wooden toys himself. Business is good, but his favorite part of the day is when his favorite customer brings in their father, even if that father is Potter.

Memos of Originality Harry owns a publishing company, and his best employee is Malfoy, who sends daily updates from home, but doesn't realize that Scorpius sends his own daily updates to Harry through the Floo every morning. And Harry? Well, he knows exactly what to do with them.

Not Needed Harry Potter went missing the night the Potter’s died. The Magical world looked for him but to no avail. No Hogwarts letter was ever sent, no messy mop of black hair appeared on the first day of school. To the rest of the world he was as good as dead.

A shame that no one counted on adoption.

Gift of Love Christmas Eve, sneak attacks, a mild prank war and a gift filled with so much love that Harry knows it's the best Christmas he'll ever have.

Darkest Shadows Shadows. Shadows were everywhere. They followed Harry, whispered to him, promised him the world. All he had to do was use them, control them, guide them—become them. Harry became the shadows but also mastered them at the same time.

Patented Daydream “Did they blackmail you too?” Malfoy asked, nose lifting in the air. “No good bloody Gryffindors that should’ve been in Slytherin. When I get my hands on the Weasley twins I’ll—”

“Blackmail?” Harry’s brows rose. “I’m here because they suckered me into it.”

“I’ve always known you were daft, but damn.”

Harry was going murder Fred and George and blame it on Ron.

Please Want Me The public gushes over their darling relationship, and Harry wants to as well, only it's not real. What they have is fake, and fleeting. It never lasts longer than a night on the dance floor as they pretend to be in love. Except for Harry it's not pretend. It is real. He just wishes that Draco wanted him too.

Benevolence As a teacher, Harry shouldn’t have a favorite student, but Scorpius Malfoy was definitely his favorite. A story of how Harry’s heart was filled with a little boy who loved his father very much and how the both of them showed Harry that they had room in their hearts for him too.

Archaic Enemies and Royal Weddings It was the wedding of the century, talk of the town and the gossip in the papers. Only it was born out of revenge when Draco refused to marry any of Lucius’ suitors, and his father invokes an ancient and archaic law forcing him to marry his enemy. There’s nothing he can do to change it, but does he really want to try?

Someone should have told Lucius what happens when revenge backfires.

Cursed Lies Harry felt like he was cursed to only ever whisper lies despite telling the truth. No one ever believes him. Except for Malfoy.

#drarry #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #Harry James Potter #hpdm #dmhp #XxTheDarkLordxX Writes #Sam's Advent Month

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sunshineting · 1 year

Text

Donquixote Doflamingo x f!reader

word count- 2.6k

summary- Doffy hears you talking shit and offers you a solution to keep your job 🤍

minors do not interact pls THIS IS SMUT

author’s note- this took me forever to finish haha hope ya like it :)

“Fuck my stupid boss. Fuck this job. And fuck this giant ass mansion! Ughh!”

You have a love-hate relationship with your job. You love how much it pays you and hate everything else. You were hired as a… well you didn’t exactly have a name for it, but housekeeper/ assistant was the closest you could think of. Dishes, laundry, tidying, and general upkeep were the main components of your job. Occasionally, you were tasked with personally aiding the young master in setting up appointments and picking up dry cleaning. It wasn’t just you, thankfully, there was a small team you worked with to achieve all the household tasks. You were, however, the only one the young master seemed to torment the most. He treated you like his personal puppy, as if you worked only for him and not the whole house. Of course, Donquixote Doflamingo is your official employer, but taking care of the whole house is in your job description.

Stupid, handsome, arrogant Doflamingo. Just thinking of him brings a scowl to your face.

“Do My LaUnDrY, wAsH mY bEd LiNeN, cAnCeL tHiS aPpOiNtMeNt” you mock him with an exaggeratedly deep dumb voice. “As if there’s not a million other people that live here, too.”

The young master always wanted your attention first. He always makes sure you wash his clothes first, make his bed first, make that one snack from your culture just for him. Before you’d even had a chance to eat this morning, you were already reminded of the plethora of things you had to do today. Doffy was “nice” enough to leave a sticky note of everything you were to do for him, so you wouldn’t forget. You don’t even know what the guy does all day, but you do know that he has a lot of fucking requests.

“Y’know, that impression of me wasn’t half bad,” your boss says with an ominous chuckle. A chill runs down your spine. You straighten yourself up and turn around. You were in his room, finishing his laundry with your back facing the door.

“M-Mister Donquixote, hello, how are you?” You greet, trying (and failing) to be normal.

“Oh, I’m Mister Donquixote now? A moment ago I was your stupid boss. And something about fucking me?” He takes a domineering step toward you. You try your best to avoid looking up at him and avoid eye contact. Well, sunglass contact, in his case. Something about those winged, reflective sunglasses of his intimidated you. It’s like you were forced to look at yourself. He’s so tall, he towers over most people, so combining that with his overbearing personality made you feel so incredibly small.

“I’m so so sorry, sir. My words are inexcusable and I’ll accept any disciplinary action you see fit,” you rush out. Even though the work itself kinda sucked, you really had a good set up. You lived on the estate, got paid a bunch, and even got decent vacation time. You definitely couldn’t afford to lose this job.

“Any disciplinary action? So if I told you to get on your knees and follow me like a puppy, you’d do it?”

Your brain short circuits for a moment. What did he say? Get on your knees and what? You’d thought of being on your knees for the man, but not like this. It’d be a lie if you said he wasn’t attractive, but you’d imagined hate fucking him; not whatever this is.

“I-um I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand, sir.”

“You heard me. If I ask you to get on the floor on your hands and knees… will you obey? It’s more of a rhetorical question, of course, because I know you will. I know you’ll do anything to keep this job,” Doflamingo smirks. You don’t know where to look, so you settle your eyes on the floor as you bend down into a kneeling position. Your eyes eventually trail up. On your knees with your legs tucked under you, Doflamingo looks even more gigantic than usual. The sound of laughter fills your ears. Your boss’ lips are stretched into an open-mouthed smile as he cackles.

“Maybe you’re dumber than I gave you credit for. Use that little brain; you do have one right? I didn’t tell you to kneel, I asked you a question,” he sneers. Feeling stupid, tears prickle your eyes. Your mouth forms a pout as you try to stand. However, a hand on your head keeps you from doing so.

“Aht aht, I didn’t say stand up. Turn that pathetic frown upside down, little girl. I’m about to give you the chance to redeem yourself.”

This is so embarrassing. The bastard blond has you following him around the mansion like a puppy. Your task is to crawl next to him on your hands and knees until he orders you not to.

“Uhahahahaha! I see you’re having some fun today, Doffy.” A grimace displays on your features. This is one of the last people you want to see right now.

“Diamante! You know I had to train my little pet here,” your boss guffaws. You roll your eyes.

“Speak, bitch,” Doflamingo commands.

“Hello Mr Diamante,” you grit out. You resist the urge to bite them both on the ankles. Next, Doffy walks you back to his room. Oh thank God, this is almost over. Your knees and hands are sore and all you want is your dignity back.

“Strip.”

“Alright, you’ve had your–” you start to protest. Doflamingo grabs your face in one hand, squishing your cheeks together. His unexpected contact sends a slight throb to your core.

“You do what I say when I say it. Understood?” He bites. The faintest whimper escapes your throat. You didn’t even want to admit it to yourself, but him touching you like this was turning you on.

“Oh? No, don’t tell me,” he chuckles, “are you getting horny right now?” Wetness pools in between your legs.

“D-Doffy please…” The humiliation is too much, your cunt is throbbing and weeping for attention. You’d never thought of it before, but having someone be so in control of you was kinda hot. You don’t have to think for yourself; all you have to do is be pretty and follow instructions.

“Mmmm I knew there was a reason I liked you,” his hand trails down to your neck, “Stand.” With his huge hand gripping almost your whole neck, you manage to pull yourself up off your knees.

Doflamingo continues, “No matter how much work I give you, you always complete it to perfection. I do ask more of you than the other workers here, but it’s because you’re reliable and I like that. There’s very few people in this world that I trust and you’re becoming one of them. I’ll let you keep your job and you just have to trust me and trust that I’ll give you the best time of your life.”

He applies slight pressure to your neck and a faint smile graces your lips. “Thank you, Doflamingo,” you breathe out. He commands you to strip again and you obey, leaving yourself only in a matching black bra and panty set. Your boss removes his signature pink fluffy coat and unbuttons his shirt, revealing his sculpted abs. His skin is so smooth, nary a blemish to be seen. On your knees yet again, your mouth begins to water as you hungrily go to undo his pants next. You hear a chuckle, “Quite the eager one.”

When you at last free him from the constraints of his pants, you’re in awe. The biggest, angriest looking cock you’d ever seen stood before you. The thing is massive; probably ten inches long and incredibly thick. It’s about two shades darker than the rest of him, with a pink tip. The vein that appears on his forehead when he’s mad doesn’t even hold a candle to the thick veins running along his shaft. You feel the salivation pooling in your mouth; you need him in your throat immediately.

“Can I suck it, sir?”

“Go ahead.”

You take him in your hand, fingers barely able to wrap fully around. Kissing his tip, you stroke him. You lick swirls around the head and make your way down his shaft. Doflamingo sucks in a hiss. Your lips are stretched open as far as they can go as you maintain suction. He feels so good in your hot mouth. The head you’re giving him is so sloppy, so wet all because you’re so eager to please him. Doffy weaves a hand through your hair and pulls you back. You gasp for air, having forgotten to breathe in your desperation.

“Keep sucking me like that, and I might give you a raise,” he smirks. He pushes your head back down on his cock. As you bob your head, you pump him with one hand and massage his heavy balls with the other. A groan escapes your boss’ throat and it gives you all the encouragement you need to keep going. Yes, your jaw is tired. Yes, you’re holding your breath longer than you probably should. And yes, your pussy is absolutely dripping. But you persist. You want to make him cum so bad, you’re so needy for it. You also kinda want that raise. Sneakily, you try to squeeze your thighs together to relieve some of the ache coming from your cunt. However, nothing escapes the attentiveness of your boss.

“Needy like a bitch in heat. Did I tell you you could pleasure yourself?” The last thing you wanted now was to be denied any relief. With him still in your mouth, you look up to his glasses with pleading eyes. You look an absolute mess like this. Drool dripping down your chin, mouth full, and tears welling in your eyes. Doffy pulls you back from him once more.

“You know what? I’ll allow it. I want you to touch yourself while I watch,” he says. He pulls you onto his massive bed, the cushy mattress sucking you in. The bed linen is so soft and inviting, it takes nothing for you to get comfortable. On your back, you slowly spread your legs for him to see. Every cell in your body is alight. You take a deep breath to calm your nerves before stroking your slit through your panties. They were fucking soaked, you just couldn’t help it. You swirl a finger over your clothed clit and release a whimper. You wish it was Doffy’s long thick fingers instead of your own. As you pinch your nipple with your other hand, your back arches.

“Take them off.”

Eagerly, you remove your thin panties and bra. Just like that you’re completely exposed. You look towards the large blond man in front of you, his sunglasses reflecting your naked body. A wave of embarrassment floods you, so you close your eyes. With your eyes closed and head back, you run your ring and middle fingers from your hole to your clit. Your little cunny is dripping, weeping, begging for more. The two fingers enter your achy hole, but they don’t provide the stretch you desire. You want to be stretched out, filled, and used. With your digits now fully soaked, you bring them back to your puffy clit. You circle the nerve bundle over and over until you feel an orgasm rapidly approaching. Your muscles begin to tense, your back arches further, and your pussy tightens. Doflamingo can tell you’re close.

“Enough,” he speaks. You make the mistake of ignoring him while trying to chase your high. A rough hand grips your wrist, pulling it away from your cunt. Your eyes snap open.

“I said enough,” Doflamingo states.

“But I was so close,” you whine. He chuckles.

“You cum when I say you cum. Besides, I want you to finish from my doing, not your own.”

With that, he slides his middle finger into you. His fingers are so much bigger than yours, both in thickness and length. You suck in a breath.

“Absolutely soaked,” Doffy mutters to himself. He feels his cock jump, needing to feel your slick. He adds his ring finger and the two digits work in tandem to send you over the edge. Curling them, spreading them, jutting them deep inside you, he brings you closer and closer to your bliss. You’re trying to hold it together, but the whimpers and moans keep escaping you. You definitely didn’t want anyone passing his door to hear you. It was bad enough that the wet squelching sounds of your pussy filled the room. When Doffy brings his thumb to your clit is when all hope is lost. A loud mewl releases from you at the overstimulation. It’s all so much, you just want to cum.

“D-doffy, pleasepleaseplease lemme cum fuck ‘m right there please!” you plead.

“Give it to me,” the man grits out. His dick feels like it’s going to explode, he’s never been so achingly hard before. Watching your orgasm wash over you, Doffy feels precum leak from his tip. Your pussy sucks his fingers in, squeezing them tightly. Your legs tremble and all the muscles in your body release their tension at long last. The most guttural moan flows out of you. A stream of curses and thank yous comes from you as you come down from your high. Without missing a beat, the large man flips you over on your tummy. He needed to be inside you immediately. You feel the bulbous head press against your entrance. Not wasting any time, you push yourself onto him. The stretch he gives you is sinfully sweet. A tight groan seeps from Doflamingo’s throat. He knew you’d be tight, but not this much. He takes his time pushing into you further, wanting to savor the feeling of your squishy walls surrounding each inch of him until bottoming out.

“Fuck yourself on my cock. Make me cum. I know you can do it,” Doflamingo encourages. This was all you needed to start slapping your ass against him. He hits the deepest part of you, his tip kissing your cervix with every movement. The blond smacks your asscheek harshly. The sting sends goosebumps across your flesh. You glide yourself along his length, back and forth until you feel a second orgasm approach you. Doffy decides you aren’t moving fast enough for his liking, grasping your hips and pounding into you. His rough grip is bound to leave bruises, but it feels oh so heavenly. As your pussy flutters around him, Doffy feels himself approaching his orgasm. Your tight walls surround him, hot and inviting, he debates on pulling out.

Fuck it.

“I’m about to cum, you joining me or what?” he grunts out. At that, he spills his seed inside you, filling you to the brim and leaking out of you. The permission to cum added with the feeling of Doflamingo’s heavy load leaves you crumbling around him. Your muscles shake, your cunt has Doffy’s softening cock in a chokehold, almost squeezing him out. As you still tremble, he eases out of you gently and caresses your hips.

“Hey. You did good. Just uh, take it easy for a while,” your boss murmurs. You’re barely conscious at this point, so you don’t really register his words. Too worn out to move, you lay there on his oh so comfortable bed, dozing off to sleep.

“I hope you don’t think this was a one time thing, young lady. You’re part of the family now, I’m not letting you go.”

#donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo smut #doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x y/n #doflamingo x yn #donquixote doflamingo x reader #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #kait's writes

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onyourhyuck · 2 years

Text

Bully. | L.DH (M)

prologue- “Why are you always violating me?” + “Because i love you, duh. Isn’t that obvious?”

tw- frenemies to lovers trope. y/n and haechan went to middle school and high school together. haechan loves y/n but shows it through teasing. confession. Wholesomeness tho, very wholesome.

notes- enjoy girlies and boyssss .

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Lee Donghyuck has a certain talent to get under your skin all. the. fucking. time.

you aren’t sure how he manages that. One day you guys will be completely normal, talking one on one or talking in your friends in the friendship group like normal people who are friends. The next minute he turns into your worst enemy who’s bullying you without needing to be provoked to do so. It’s like a sudden switch or a routine to him that in his brain remembers that he didn’t do his daily dose of annoying you till you’re cussing him to dissipate out of this planet we call earth.

But despite these arguments you do have with Donghyuck, you two are the most close friends with a deeper bond that no one can put a name on.

Y/n and Donghyuck went through middle school together, where you met the silly tan boy running around with his hyperactive personality (you secretly adore), back then in those days you guys were like twins; crying for each other when apart from one another. Desperately begging to see each other when you would have different activities in class or when the middle school teacher pairs you up with other people that aren’t you. It’s embarrassing to think you had this attachment to him at one point in your life.

But little did you know Donghyuck is exactly the same. He might not show how much he cares for you, in fact he does show it, just in a complete different way that you can’t comprehend.

The things that constantly piss you off such as; throwing water balloons at you one early morning on your way to school, wetting your uniform. Or giving you a water bottle but little did you know the moment you drank it he placed wasabi sauce in it. Oh and you simply cannot forget this moment at Mark’s frat birthday party you were snogging off jaehyun but Haechan just had to spill his drink on your lap wetting your favourite dress, claiming it to be an ‘accident.’

You just can’t seem to move on from his childish pranks and it’s always you he does them to. It’s not mark or Renjun. It’s never been Chenle or Jisung. Hell Donghyuck wouldn’t dare pull such things at Jeno, he knows the consequences he will get if he did cross the intimidating boy. So why is it you?

You stand half annoyed watching your friends play in the basketball court, dribbling the ball in between your palms like a rollercoaster going back and forth— you hunch down. Your eyes glued on the tan boy who’s blocking your way, following or studying each and every movement you do.

Haechan has this playful smug that almost screams to you that he’s looking down at you. You’re much shorter than him and he clearly thinks he’s better than you. It pisses you off, to seem weak and less superior than him. The boy already has enough ego let alone his attractiveness equals more annoyance. You hate how you can’t seem to look away from him or stop your heart beating at everything he does.

You hear him say, interrogating you with pressure. “Come on short-legs, is that all you got to show. You were talking all big game earlier at me.” Y/n scowls with a glare.

“Don’t call me shortlegs , donghyuck.” You sternly told. He chuckles smirking. “I will stop when you stop calling me donghyuck.”

He replies. Even though he gets under your skin the most, you do have your moments where you do the same to him. Donghyuck equally hates you sometimes, but he hates you for a lot of different reasons you’re oblivious about.

For example, he hates how effortlessly pretty you look. He used to like so many different girls in his lifetime so different to you, but now that he’s grew closer and closer to you, he cannot look at other girls without seeing you or comparing them to you. He’s just so infatuated by you, it’s crazy, it’s like he’s sick. But you’re the illness that’s infected him . Haechan couldn’t move on from those feelings because it’s been a while now he’s came to terms that he likes you.

Likes you romantically. More than friends. More than enemies.

You quickly pace to the left then turning to the right running to the hoop behind where you jump throwing the ball. Haechan let’s you score but he found another way to catch you off guard, by pulling in your hips making you not get a high enough jump so the throw with your basketball comes on terms dodgy— where it hits the edge of the hoop unable to score the point.

You push back donghyuck’s hands with a groan. “You asshole you cheated.” Y/n shouts.

“I mean we didn’t have rules established soooo, you lose i win. You can suck it or leave it.”

He didn’t say anything else but smile seeing your angry reaction. That’s another weird thing he’s found out about loving you. He loves your reactions.

Especially those angry explosive ones where you scold him or cuss him out like he’s the only thing you hate in this universe.

“Why are you always violating me?” You ask this time less angry, more upset, perhaps a little sensitive as your voice came out croaked and tired. You’re tired of being made fun of. This relationship truly drains you.

It upsets you because it makes you lose your sense of right and wrong. You’re not sure if you hate him or you care for him because you feel both at the same time. The boy heard this and he swore his heart stops with a large crack opening it. He didn’t know what it was but he fell his whole smile drop and his eyes go serious mode.

He reaches for your hands but you push him away, sighing, sighing with real sadness.

Haechan wasn’t sure how to respond but instead he tries to light the mood up. With playful act. Maybe that will make you forget how he’s pushed you over the edge.

“Because i love you, duh. Isn’t that obvious?”

You scowl at those words leaving the beautiful boy’s lips. You bite your bottom lip shaking your head, muffling voice. “No it’s not obvious. You’re such a bully it fucking hurts me.”

Bully? The boy didn’t realise you held him at a label such as that. He was expecting perhaps a friend, best friend, hell he would accept even an acquaintance over a bully title for him. And you said it hurts, that’s the least thing he’s ever wanted to do to you. Sure, he can finally understand why you say he hurt you. The wasabi water bottle prank wasn’t the most friendly out of every pranks he’s pulled— he himself felt quite bad when he watched you choke on your water and spit it back out, but he swears he’s been nice to you after he did that!— For the rest of the day anyways. He might even accept that he’s annoying, insufferable and that you don’t want him to do anymore heinous acts of hate crime to her.

Sure he can accept that. But what he can’t accept is the fact that you view him as a bully in your eyes and he won’t ever agree on never seeing you. He swears if you told him you don’t want him in your life he will pull the ‘Huh sorry I have amnesia Y/n, where were we again?’ Or ‘uno reverse that is an impossible task.’ Because what is he without you in your life? It would be so freaking boring. Donghyuck might even become Lee Jeno 2.0, become a boring sad man with a personality of a 50 year old who’s divorced like twice already.

“Y/n I’m not a bully.” Haechan said back softly. Y/n kept her gaze on the ground fiddling with her fingers, squinting her wet teary eyes threatening to fall down those beautiful reddish cheeks. You lift your head up now watching him, jabbing your voice like it was a gun shooting the boy’s heart. “You are. All you do is make my life go upside down and terrible.”

“I think you enjoy making me upset, Lee Donghyuck. I mean all you do is laugh at me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard good things come out of your mouth about me. You constantly get on my nerves, I swear my blood pressure is always high when you’re around. I don’t see you doing those things to Mark or anyone else at college. You fucking irritate me you’re like a bug i cannot get rid of. “ you stop taking a big inhale of oxygen as you realise your emotions got the better of you once again. You told yourself today you wouldn’t get mad, you hoped today was your relaxing calm day where you didn’t have to be upset. But haechan just had to ruin it for you. You felt your body boil the more you spoke for you angry.

The boy stood stunned for a while watching you almost rap all your words at once so quickly, he didn’t know how you became faster than Eminem, but you did— all because of his terrible actions that he thought was showing how much he loves you.

You heard nothing come out of the quiet boy so you felt there was no need for you to stay with him or to play anymore basketball; I mean you don’t think there was anymore patience or strength in you to tolerate Haechan.

You turn your back around walking away but then a sudden grip on your wrist held your back. Haechan with his head hung low in deep thoughts recollecting words to find, you turn around with a tug. You opened your mouth but Haechan was quicker than you, where he finally cracks open.

When he realised you were leaving without a word he assumed you were leaving him forever and he didn’t want that. He doesn’t want to lose you. Without you in his world was it really a place he can call world? Donghyuck can’t have you leaving him. He might of not appreciated it enough, your tolerance of him in total— he’s aware how much of a pain he can be. A big hassle. He knows. But he never thanked you enough. As his longest friend he has, he’s never been honest with you about his true feelings.

“Y/n I’m sorry.” He quickly spat. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I really didn’t think i upset you so much and I’m sorry for all these years of torture.”

He lets out as he pulls you into a warm hug that catches you off guard. He’s never hugged you, at least not ever since middle school. There would be a weird sensation of home. A cozy warm feeling wrapping round your little hearts like a blanket. Little did you know it was your feelings celebrating at a hug. Donghyuck tightens his arms around your little short body, his hands behind your head where he strokes it lovingly and very gently.

He’s being gentle, you thought. Haechan’s never been this soft and careful with you, or physical. It left you thinking that maybe, he was terrified of losing you.

And he really was. “I really do love you. I mean it when i said it. I did those things thinking it would put my feelings out there for you. You said I don’t do those things to anyone else, why do you think that is?”

“It’s because I love you. I don’t want to lose you and i might of taken your patience with me for granted without truly showing you how I feel. I should’ve been kinder to you. I’m an idiot y/n, I never meant to hurt you…”

“I’m so sorry. Please let me make it up for you I-“ you pull your face upwards with tip toes, soon your lips end up on his cheeks, mid stopping him through his long dramatic sentence. Those bundle of words might of changed your relationship forever, but in the best way possible. You felt happy and relieved, but at the same time the old time sake resentment you held on the boy for years has vanished. Sure, he’s still going to be annoying, but he for sure won’t be playing pranks on you anymore.

With a cheek kiss left your lip tint planting on his tan skin. His eyes tremble watching you move away and smile ear to ear, happily, you were smiling at him for once.. not a scowl, frown or a grim apathetic expression at him; but a real genuine smile of joy.

He’s achieved such a high blessing quality sight up close too. Hyuck swore he fell six feet under and possibly more just standing there like a fool who’s never been kissed by a girl before.

By a girl he loves at least.

“Donghyuck. Thank you for apologising. Uhm. You…love me did you say?”

He blinks nodding slowly, stuttering with his teeth clattering in nervousness. Holy shit you got this boy wrapped round your finger like he was a pretty lace ribbon. “Y..yeah.”

You heard him respond. You smirk backing away from the hug that the two were still in previously.

“I can’t say i forgive you easily, but, I can make an adjustment for you.”

His eyes sparkle watching you as he tilts his head softly. It’s crazy how he went from a big ole’ teasing guy and now he’s this nervous soft timid guy completely stunned by you and only you. Many people know nothing scares the infamous Lee Donghyuck, the boy lives without fear, he’s practically this untameable class clown at the same time an intimidating guy at college.

But here he is scared shitless in front of a mere girl who he is whipped for like spreading wildfire.

“Adjustment..?” He replies softly as he plays with the hem of his fingertips.

You nod softly.

“Take me out on a date, Donghyuck.”

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