#also this is late because of editing block
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“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you… I could walk through my garden forever.” - Alfred Tennyson
A late Valentine’s edit dedicated to my lovely musketeer and love of my life, Sam ♡
There aren’t many good ways to word the love I have for them, and I probably won’t write too much here because this fandom hates long posts (this is probably already too much for you guys…) but I just want to publicly profess my love for the best person ever. I love them so much. I hope I will always be able to bring them joy and that they will always understand how much I truly love her. As the great Mitski said, nothing in the world belongs to me but my love. And Sam has all my love in the world.
(Art by @dead-finch-420)
#resident lover#resident lover edit#bela dimitrescu#bela dimitrescu edit#bela x mc#bela dimitrescu x mc#mc from the hit sapphic visual novel dating sim resident lover#i love sam!!!#also this is late because of editing block#BUT I WILL SHOUT FROM THE ROOFTOPS MY LOVE FOR SAM!!#you guys will never get it :3#giggling and kicking my feet over them
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i, like every other fic author in existence, love getting comments from people who enjoyed my work. i don't care if your comment is "late" (that's so weird to me like it's literature—do you apologize to homer for being late to reading the odyssey?) or "unintelligible" (late night commenters, english language learners, people who feel like they "just aren't that good with words", believe me, i entirely understand what you mean and appreciate it immensely), or anything else that you feel might make your comment 'not good enough'. i love all of the comments i receive and i am eternally grateful to all of you for your continued support.
and yeah, i've read fics where i felt like adding a comment would be doing the fic a disservice because there was nothing that could be said that wouldn't cheapen or patronize the magnum opus i'd just witnessed. in instances like this, that is exactly what i say in the comment: "there's nothing i can say that doesn't do this work of art a disservice. thank you for writing this."
actually, now that i think about it, there are a bunch of ao3 comments i've gotten that i still haven't replied to because i felt any thanks i could give would be inadequate. i should really get around to replying because i want them to know how spellbound they left me. i love you all, have i ever mentioned that?
all of that being said, i would like to make a public service announcement!
at least under default settings, ao3 authors do get notified every time you edit a comment. i've accidentally hit send too early before, or realized i forgot something i wanted to say, i get it, i really do. i have edited many comments in my day.
but you don't have to do this. really, it's okay. most of the time i honestly can't tell what the difference is. i'm not going to think worse of you for having typos in your comments because i guarantee that there were more in the fic you just read sfkljghsl
also these edits were over the course of twenty full minutes. i got another email while writing this post and had to update the image. please do not spend 20 minutes agonizing over your comment and changing the capitalization and adding a few words. it's okay, i promise. i love your comment, and i'm very very grateful for it, regardless of how "polished" it is. i'm not your english teacher in disguise.
tl;dr, i love you all and i hope you don't feel anxiety or a compulsion towards perfectionism in my ao3 comments section. i won't judge you, i promise <3
#squido's op#squido rambles#i hope i don't sound annoyed because i don't want to sound annoyed#but also that was a lot of emails#if they were different comments that would be sick i love that#but on several occasions i've had edit spam#and i don't really understand the logic behind it#i figured that people just don't know that we get notified every time you edit a comment#so that's all i wanted to say really but i got sidetracked with appreciation because i think someone plugged some of my works somewhere#because i've been seeing a big uptick in comments lately and it's really really sweet#i haven't written for this fandom (or at all really) in a long time now so i'm always really really happy to see my works are still#out there and being read and loved and affecting people. i do still plan to finish hfwkadwm i promise#i guess i have writer's block >:/ never had it quite like this before#BUT I SAID I WAS GONNA FINISH IT AND I AM#MARK MY WORDS I'LL FINISH THIS FIC OR DIE TRYING#eventually
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{Blog P.S.A} For New Followers
Where to Find Me:
MY "ABOUT"+F.A.Q {READ FIRST}: Here (About) + Here (F.A.Q)!
A.0.3: Hikari
{Currently/Mainly creating for Digimon, Adventure-related franchise}
Other Sideblogs:
izzyizumi (main Digimon blog)
hikari-m (official Digimon {news+art} archiving;
Asks or follows may come from here, Depending)
taichi-x-koushiro (Archiving for Yagami Taichi/Izumi Koushiro)
IF YOU ARE A NEW FOLLOWER OR LURKER, I'd really appreciate if you can send me an Ask and introduce yourself (you do not need to expect a response from me), even a short description like name (Pennames are definitely fine!), preferred pronouns (if any) and/or what brought you to my page and what you're staying for
(Especially if you were here for re-source{s} posts,
I've been curious if they've been helping anyone!)
The reason I am asking this is because lately there's been a huge uptick of spam blogs following with particular "patterns" to their Likes, Follows, etc. and in order to prevent from being soft-blocked by accident if you are not actively blogging, it'd be great to know in advance if you're a real person.
Aside from A.0.3 the only other 'active' archives of social media that I have are my old Live-journal and Dream-width accounts, and even they're not quite in use these days. However, if you also have active LJs or DWs and actively blog, feel free to let me know too!
It’d be very, very cool if people could also learn to read my FAQ page linked on the sidebar before sending Asks or interacting directly with either of my blogs or myself, because I’m seriously TIRED of people ignoring it and my rules for interaction.
I am a {diagnosed since childhood} Autistic, G.N.C {Gender Non-conforming} + THEY/THEM Jewish blogger. I reblog about those topics here for that reason. {Also my Ko-fi is here.}
* PLEASE DO NOT FOLLOW OR INTERACT WITH ANY OF MY POSTS IF YOU BLATANTLY HATE/DISMISS, OR EXPECT ME TO HATE/DISMISS THE ADVENTURE [+02] + TRI + KIZUNA + 2020 CHOSEN, KOUSHIRO (*ANY KOUSHIRO, INCLUDES FOR EXAMPLE: TRI!KOUSHIRO, OWG!KOUSHIRO, 2020!KOUSHIRO, KIZUNA!KOUSHIRO), TAICHI (*ANY TAICHI, INCLUDING 2020!TAICHI, TRI!TAICHI, KIZUNA!TAICHI), DAISUKE MOTOMIYA (or “DAVIS”), SORA TAKENOUCHI (*INCLUDING 02!SORA, TRI!SORA, 2020!SORA, KIZUNA!SORA), HIKARI YAGAMI (*INCLUDING 02!HIKARI, TRI!HIKARI, KIZUNA!HIKARI, 2020!HIKARI), MIMI TACHIKAWA (*INCLUDING 02!MIMI, TRI!MIMI, KIZUNA!MIMI, 2020!MIMI), MIYAKO INOUE (*INCLUDING KIZUNA!MIYAKO), ALL/ANY OTHER DIGIMON GIRLS SUCH AS IZUMI ORIMOTO {FRONTIER}, JURI KATOU {TAMERS}, JUN MOTOMIYA {02}, OR MEIKO MOCHIZUKI. THANK YOU (I WILL PERMABLOCK IF YOU FORCE-INTERACT OR BLOCK EVADE)
* PLEASE DO NOT FOLLOW OR INTERACT IF YOU CAN’T STAND MY SHIPS TO THE POINT YOU CAN’T EVEN BE RESPECTFUL WHEN INTERACTING WITH SOMEONE WHO SHIPS YOUR NOTP. (I WILL PERMABLOCK YOU IF I NOTICE)
** THESE RULES ALSO APPLY TO MY OTHER BLOG.
*** DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU SUPPORT HARASSMENT / BULLYING / ABUSE (I WILL INSTANTLY PERMA-BLOCK YOU) OR IF YOU SUPPORT / PLATFORM PEOPLE WHO DO.
NOTICE: I am much less active on a personal level on this blog nowadays (in the sense of making personal posts or fan-works/posting fic; I still reblog informative posts). I am slightly more active on my other socials, but most of them are private and friends-locked to older groups of mutuals. If you are curious or wanting to interact about Digimon (especially Adventures or about my favorite characters and ships for this fandom) specifically, please feel free to message me about them, but please understand I may not add or speak with anyone that I do not fully trust or know well. (It will help if most of your stances on social-justice issues align with and don’t blatantly conflict with my own. I tend to not add/follow people anywhere whose posts I cannot filter [i.e. there are many popular Western media fandoms / mega-fandoms I’m not in which I blacklist, types of fanworks I don’t personally care for that I blacklist, etc]. I do not do follow-backs so please do not follow or interact here expecting one). It will also help if you read my FAQ first and agree to it before asking.
PLEASE FAMILIARIZE YOURSELF WITH MY FANDOMS LIST (notably more the major fandoms but) BEFORE YOU INTERACT WITH ANY POST ON THIS BLOG. If I check/quick-vet your blog and find nothing but hate{watching} posts/“Critical” posts for my fandoms (ESPECIALLY THIS ONE), unless I’ve reblogged from you first, I MAY HARDBLOCK YOU.
#koushirouizumi blog#koushirouizumi no rb#koushirouizumi personal#koushirouizumi text#koushirouizumi pinned post#(Making this now too)#(I've also been seeing various new interactions since 'The Beginning' sequel is releasing soon)#(But lately most interactions also seem from outside the fan base)#(This blog is my MULTI FAN BASE + Archival blog)#(If you are here and I didn't follow you first I'd really appreciate such an Ask when Inbox is open so I know you're a real person!)#(Please know I may not be able to respond however but also I'll appreciate anything I receive!!)#(And if we talked in the past but it's been a while please feel free to re introduce yourself too as re introductions help me out a lot too#(I will likely update this in future to add more info and reference links I am just getting this started now)#(because I'm also seeing a lot of talk of people seeing U.S. dub and other inter-national showings of The Beginning very soon)#(Another blog does this too and they got a lot of respectful response so I'd like to try the same!)#(Please understand pen names and the like are completely fine!!)#(I'd be really glad to not have to block more people accidentally looking like spam blogs to me)#(This is going to replace the old Pinned post when I have a chance to edit it soon)#(OK I also added old Info under the 'read more' from the old Pinned post but for the most part Yes this will be new Pinned)
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𝘚𝘛𝘈𝘠𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘖𝘝𝘌𝘙 -`♡´- - c.s & t.y x reader
inspired by THIS
pairing: chris x tara x reader.
summary: two of your bestfriends stay over after a party. your friend tara's flirting quickly escalates the night into something much less innocent than a little sleepover.
warnings: smut, threesome, face sitting, dom!chris, switch!tara, sub!reader, dirty talk, p in v, oral (f & m recieving), praise, overstimulation, fingering, no protection (it's fiction. don't be dumb.), probably forgot some sorry!
authors note: omg y'all been on my ass to finish writing thiss <3 i did write and edit this while sleepy so (i really hope not) BUT if there's mistakes or lack of detail i'm really sorry!
"pink" = reader speaking "purple" = tara speaking "orange" = chris speaking
the time on your phone read 3:04am.
with a sigh you searched your surroundings impatiently. you'd been stood outside on the lawn of this stupid giant house for 4 minutes too long. the dampness on you from light raindroplets coming down just made the experience all the more unpleasent.
the mansion behind you was a mututal friends. inside, music blared so loud that it was seeping out through the windows. despite the absaloutely absurd hour of the night it was still bustling with people inside. sometimes in LA it felt like the parties just never died out. to be fair though, the number had signifincantly decreased from the start of the night when there must have been at least 100 people on the property.
"hey, sorry! i got caught up in yappin while trying to say goodbye to people" tara's familiar voice instantly made your tense shoulders drop. you turned to face her with a smile "it's alright. seen chris around yet?" your eyes scanned behind her to see if he was coming even though you didn't expect him to be. and he wasn't. "maybe we should text him?" tara suggested as she also looked behind her, as if it would make him appear faster. you pulled out your phone to send him a message.
3:07. they were both told to meet out here at 3:00. 7 minutes still wasn't terribly late.
tara's voice took you from your screen "we've been out here freezing, loser" you stop typing your text message to look up at whoever she was talking too. you were met with the sight of chris holding his jacket over his head to block from the rain falling down on him. "my bad, i got lost in the house.." he admitted as he got right up to the two of you and held his jacket out a little further to invite you both beneath it's shelter. "but i already called the uber so it should be here soon." he said re-assuringly. you both stepped beneath the coverage of his jacket. it didn't completely block the rain but it was something.
tara was staying over tonight because the two of you almost always stay at one anothers after parties. chris however, was coming along because neither matt or nick wanted to come to the party so you had taken him here, as well as offered to take him home the next day. he could have just ubered home tonight but, you and tara insisted that he come over to hang out after. what was he gonna do? say no to a fun innocent little sleepover with his friends??
the three of you walked in unison in order to keep your place under the shelter of chris' jacket. the whole way off the property the music faded and tara's heels clicking mixed with the rain's intensity picking up became all that was heard.
the close proximity of the three of you should have been uncomfortable but you had absaloutely no issue being this close to tara and chris- probably because they were both very outgoing and touchy people so they were comfortable as well, giggling the whole way down the lawn about who knows what. the smell of rain and chris' dior cologne filled your senses up the whole walk until finally, you all made it to the sidewalk and the uber was right there across the street.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
the ride home, you had all sat in the back together. you sat in the middle, head on chris's shoulder and one leg swung over tara's lap as you and tara yapped away almost the entire time. this wasn't weird because tara, you and chris were all naturally touchy people. and the alcohol hadn't completely left yours or taras systems quite yet.
opening your front door now, you instantly removed the heels that had been abusing your feet for hours. "i'm gonna get comfy clothes, you two can make yourselves comfortable" you told your friends as you locked your door securely. "could i borrow a shirt or something?" tara questioned with a sweet pleading smile as she slid off her heels and coat. "of course! come on" you enthused, leading her toward your laundry room since you hadn't had time to put any of your clothes away earlier before the party.
chris watched as you lead tara away. he had already made himself at home on your couch. he had been here before so it didn't take him long to figure out the tv remote either.
tara eventually picked out a t-shirt of yours to wear. you had chosen a matching tank and shorts pj set. as you were sliding your shorts on under your dress, you caught sight of tara sliding her dress down her shoulders. slowly her tits peaked over her dress, little by little till they were completely exposed.
you were in awe of how perfect they sat. how pretty. you were so mesmerized that you didn't even realize she had completely removed her dress and caught your hungry gaze. a typical tara giggle escaped her, snapping you out of your haze.
your eyes shot up to hers and you look petrified. "i'm so sorr-" "no no, it's okay" you could tell by the smile on her face that she was genuine.
she slid your shirt over her head, covering her body back up again. "you want help unzipping your dress?" she asked. you were still so stuck on what had just happened that the question caught you off gaurd. why not though? god knows it'd be a nightmare to unzip it yourself. so, you nodded with an embarassed "sure".
tara made her way behind you, she stepped just a little closer than necessary and her painted fingernails found your zipper to slide it down. you could feel her breath on your neck, making your spine shiver. she slowly slid the straps of your dress down your shoulders, letting your dress fall down near your stomach.
she came right behind you, head on your shoulder. she looked down at your chest VERY obviously observing you with her gaze. "gorgeous" she complimented, her mischevious smile contradicting her sweet and casual tone. she gave a quick kiss to your shoulder before abruptly leaving the room to go find chris like it was nothing.
you stood completely dumbfounded. you and tara were extremely close but that was weird, right? after a couple minutes of collecting your thoughts, you chalked it up to her flirty personality just being fed a little too much liquid courage tonight.
after getting your clothes on you made your way to the living room where chris and tara were talking away. they were sitting surprisingly close but, spacial awarness wasn't always tara's specialty. chris didn't seem to mind.
"heyy me and chris are deciding what we want to eat, what do you want?" she questioned excitedly with uber eats already open on her phone.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
you all had made your decisions on food as well as a movie and you instructed that everyone watched it in your room to be more comfy so here the three of you were now..
chris laid with his back against your headboard while you and tara sat next to him on either side. chris and tara were talking over the movie that was nearly over now. waterbottles and empty fast food containers filled the space on your side table. you and tara had completely sobered up about an hour ago after having had some food.
"right? like wear what you want i guess but like WOW i just.." you had no clue what chris was talking about and you didn't care, as your eyes fixated on the tv screen you drowned out your two friends voices. reaching into your bedside tables drawer, you removed a vanilla chapstick sorry spacecamp to fix the dryness that earliers alcohol had cursed you with.
the scent of it was super strong. chris had subconciously switched his attention from what he was saying to your lips as the scent you were applying filled his nose and senses. he watched as you drug it across your perfect, round and now smooth, lips. he realized he was staring and quickly looked away. now that his attention had been drawn to you, he realized that you hadn't really talked to him or tara much for the past hour.
"what is that? cake or some shit?" he said, more so as a reason to include you in conversation than out of actual curiousity. you went to put the cap back on the vanilla lipbalm "can i try?" tara asked before you could even answer chris. you went to hand her the tube but she stopped you by grabbing your wrist gently "why waste it when we could share?" she asked. you were confused for a second until a playful glint in her eyes told you what she meant.
so earlier she was flirting? you thought to yourself. your expression mirrored hers with a smirk as you casually responded "of course you can try it". she begins to move forward so you do too. the both of you are leaning over chris when your lips connect in a gentle peck. chris has no idea how to react. his lips are parted, eyes glossy with a growing desire as he watches his two friends infront of him.
your lips hover one anothers for a moment but nobodies pulling away so you connect mouths again. this time there's a passion, lust, to the kiss. your the first to add tongue and tara's more than welcoming about it, her tongue fighting back against yours for dominance. you lean into the kiss more and with that same surge of confidence, you make a split second decision to "accidentally" steady yourself by pressing your hand ontop of the blanket..
right over where chris' dick is located.
an unexpectful grunt slips his lips. you pull back from tara just a little to gage chris's reaction. he doesn't seem to mind but for your own good-concious you need to make sure. "this okay?" you ask as your palm gently starts rubbing onto the tent in the blanket. he nods confirmingly, a quiet "yeah" before his lips eagerly meet yours. tara backs up just slightly so she can adjust herself to place a kiss below chris's jaw. his hand rests onto her knee and he rubs his thumb lightly as a show of approval.
with that, she opens her mouth and begins lightly nipping at his neck. tara takes his hand that's on her knee and grabs it to guide it toward you, silently telling him to give you the attention instead right now. chris smirks into the kiss but you don't know why until his hand goes to toy the waist band of your shorts, making you flinch a little at the cold touch of his fingertips.
tara's lips leave chris's neck. she shuffling around the bed so you try to pull away to see what she's doing. chris's hand comes to the back of your head, forcing you back onto his lips. that doesn't last long though because next thing you know, tara's grabbing your shoulders to pull you to lay down on your back, head toward the end of the bed. your legs naturally go on either side of chris. he's still seated with his back against the headboard.
"you wanna make me feel good babe?" the tone of tara's voice makes your stomach flutter. you respond by nodding eagerly. tara giggles mischeviously in response as she stands to remove her black lace panties. chris eyes catch onto her. both of you watch as she bends over to slide them off, momentarily revealing her glistening pussy.
his attentions pulls away when you subconciously buck your hips up for attention. chris' long fingers slide into the waistband of your shorts to slide them off your legs. you allow him, lifting your hips to help. now you lift your head to watch what chris is up to. you feel tara's weight consume the bed next to your head but keep your eyes trained on the man between your legs. chris tosses your shorts aside before his hands find your thighs. painstakingly slow, his palms run up and down them, always close but never quite touching your aching cunt.
you begin to get impatient "chris. pl-" you're cut off by tara lightly grabbing your jaw and forcing your head back down against the bed. "shh. let him take his time honey" as she speaks she raises herself over your face, thighs now on either sides of your head. you open your mouth to argue but instead you're silenced by tara's folds pressing onto your lips.
well, you for sure weren't gonna argue with that. you forget about chris for now, wanting tara's taste in your mouth. your tongue darts out to experimentaly flick at her clit once before you completely dive in to suck on her needy bud.
tara whines from the lack of build up. she looks down at you admirably as your tongue works her "so good honey." she praises you. it hasn't even been a minute and your pussy drunk, you wanna make her keep telling you how good your doing, wanna pull more pretty noises. you're so completely consumed with her that you hadn't even noticed chris pulled your panties to the side until his fingers unexpectedly ran through your folds.
"so fucking soaked." chris states, admiring your soaked cunt. "yeah? you like being buried in me that much?" tara teases, staring down at you. to answer her, your tongue slips into her hole, nose stimulating her clit now. "orr she just wants to be touched, hm?" chris says with slight competitivness, his pointer finger just barely grazes over your clit. you buck your hips toward him for more but he uses his free arm to hold your waist to the bed.
tara scoffs, rolling her eyes even though neither of you can see it. "yeah sure" she mutters quietly in response to chris. he catches it though, "i'd watch your tone" chris warns her. before tara can respond, he thrusts his middle and ring fingers into you, elicting a moan. the vibrations of your moan travel straight into taras cunt, making her whine loudly.
chris watches with satisfaction at having affected both of you at the same time. although his cock is throbbing, he's more than happy to watch the sight infront of him and continue to toy and play with you. or both of you. his fingers are as deep as they go when he curls them upwards. you cry out, grabbing tara's hand with one of yours and her thigh with your other.
your tongue is still fucking her closer and closer to the edge. everytime chris forces out all your pretty little noises, they go straight into tara's cunt again and again.
her thighs begin suffocating the sides of your head. you don't mind at all. she rocks her cunt right into your face, whines spilling out of her. "i'm close" she voices, her thighs beginning to shake. "not yet, get off of her" chris demands. tara turns her head as far as it goes to look back at chris. "excuse me?" she questions him . chris's fingers pull out of you. you try to complain but it's muffled. they continue the conversation without you. "you're not cumming yet." he tells her. tara looks... offended? baffeled? she opens her mouth to complain but chris rolls his eyes and raises to his knee's so he can grab taras hips, lifting her off you.
you immedietly sit up, confused. tara's juices coat your chin and chris motions for you to come to him. "what. the. fuck?" you finally complain, looking between the two of them. "what she said" tara chimes in. chris turns tara to face him and lays back. he looks at tara then nods toward his lap. the sour look leaves her face and she smirks knowingly as she straddles his hips, already working at his belt.
chris's attention switches to you. "you wanna feel good again? hm?" he asks you with a slightly cocky smile. you nod. "cm'ere" he lures you over to sit on his face. while tara unbuttons and removes chris' pants.. you nervously place your thighs on either side of your friends face.
his middle and ring fingers return back to your aching hole to tease you again. he can sense your nervousness to lower yourself onto his mouth. "cm'on let me taste you" chris says, telling not asking as he looks up at you. you're looking anywhere but him. he groans frustratedly and decides to take matters into his own hands. he uses his free arm to wrap it around your thigh and pull you right down to his tongue. he wastes no time flicking the tip of his tongue up and down your clit rapidly. as if that wasn't enough, his fingers fill you right back up.
you almost jump at the unsuspected and sudden pleasure.
you push your cunt further onto his mouth for more. you look down to see his blue lustful gaze staring right back up at you while he smirks into your sopping cunt. you clench around his fingers just at the sight.
meanwhile, tara's teasingly pulling his boxers toward his thighs.
tara wants nothing more than to ride him like he had implied however, tara figured someone might as well return the favour that he's giving to you right now. she leans down and her hand wraps around his base at the same time her lips enclose his tip.
a whiny moan slips chris lips that makes tara amusedly giggle around his cock, causing him to let another noise slip. both of these go right to your clit. you grip chris' hair for support and in return he curls his fingers right up into your g-spot.
you throw your head back and begin attempting to rock your hips into chris' face. the arm that's around your thigh holds you still though and he begins curling his fingers the same way over and over, again and again. you whine and moan as your body tries again and again to rock against his grip on you. chris lips wrap around your clit now, nipping and sucking. your stomach twists with pleasure, you know what's coming if he keeps this up.
tara's mouth slides down his length, taking him in almost completetely. chris's teeth bite down on your clit in reaction. it's not hard enough to truly hurt but enough to shock you and almost tip you right over the edge.
chris releases your clit with a pop. his voice is shakier than he anticipated. "y-you wanna cum baby?" your friend asks as he looks up at you, your juices on his face with pussy drunk eyes. "mm- mhm" is all you manage. he gently slaps your thigh, making you whine. "lemme hear you say it" his fingers continue to curl into you.
"i w-wanna cum chris mm please" you beg him desperately as you clench around his fingers. there's a few seconds of silence that makes tears fill the corner of your eyes. "good girl. g-go ahead" he struggled to speak as the pleasure tara's tongue gave him was almost too much.
the 'good girl' was more than enough for you. you practically fold over, you would have if your headboard wasn't there to grab onto. your legs shake and your walls squeeze his fingers, your orgasm is already coming over you but then on top of it chris adds his mouth back to the mix, latching it back to your clit. "chris!" his name comes out high pitched. stars cloud your vision as you coat his fingers completely.
tara's mouth release's chris' cock. the bed shifts for a couple seconds and before he can process it, the warm walls of her cunt envelope him, sinking all the way to his pubic bone. chris moans into you again but this time it feels like too much. you tried to lift your hips off of him but he only pulls your pretty pussy right back to him. his fingers leave you but his tongue flattens against your hole, licking a long stripe from there till your clit.
"fuck chris!""fuck!" you and tara both whine out. your pleasure's from the overstimulation, hers from the way his cock hits all the right spots when she rocks on it. his dick twitching inside of her at the sound of both your pretty cries. when tara begins a steady and fast pace, chris couldn't help but subconciously try and fuck up into her. she leans back, her hands on his thighs to steady herself as her rythym became faster. both chris and tara let out noises. hers whiny and desperate, his lower and less often.
you couldn't hear either of them over the ringing in your ears from every muscle in your body shaking. because of your last orgasm, you were still very sensitive. this time all it took was chris's mouth sucking on your clit for and you were almost there again.
tara was finding friction for her clit from rocking it into chris' pelvis everytime her hips moved. her mouth was slack and she was hardly even moaning anymore. heavy breaths coming as her chest heaved. "fuck- i'm so close" tara mutters mostly to herself. you took a hand off the headboard to reach behind you, your hand reaching out behind you and she takes the hint, grabbing it. you both squeezed one anothers hands for support.
you guys weren't the only one's close. chris's dick was twitching inside your bestfriend and his hips start to stutter.
tara pushes her hips down harder onto her friend and the feeling was enough for the coil in her stomach to release. she cried out breathlessly and at the same time, your thighs squeeze chris's head as you dig your nails into tara's hand. your mind goes completely blank.
you remove yourself from chris's face, completely overstimulated. tara leaves his cock at the same time, red and leaking precum. chris looked at tara confused.. until she looks at you, then back to him.
you didn't notice this, you were sat next to chris, chest heaving while you catch your breath. "think you can take one more, babe?" tara speaks up but her voice is strained and raspy from all the gorgeous noises she had emitted just moments ago.
you looked at chris who was already looking at you. he looked pretty, sweat causing a few of his brown strands to cling to his forehead. despite looking a little fucked out, he still had an eagerness to him probably because he hadn't cum yet.
he got up into a seated position and reached out, hand going into your hair to pull you into him. his lips collided with yours feverishly whilst tara's fingertips teasingly graze his tip. he instantly swatted her hand away. she let him because they both knew he had other plans.
chris turned you around, positioning you on your knee's infront of him. your back pressed against his chest.
he used his knee's to seperate yours, shuffling them apart. tara came infront of you, on her knee's as well. she attatched her lips with yours while chris was positioning himself. your arm came around the back of her neck and the other reached behind you to go to the back of chris's neck as well.
chris brushes his tip against your clit. you instantly jerked your hips away from his from the overstimulating feeling. he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you back. you whine but he shushes you. "jus one more, yeah?" he assured right before his cock entered you, filling you up completely.
your lips left tara's to let out what was practically a scream. "shh honey" enphasizing her words, tara's hand clasps over your mouth. she lowered her head level to your tits before taking a nipple into her mouth. this makes you whine again, then again when chris's tip abuses your cervix without warning.
you're already so sensitive from his tongue and fingers just moments ago, his cock feels like too much but so good at the same time. "so good for us" chris praises before slamming into you again, making you scream into tara's hand. her other hand lands a light slap to your sensitive clit, making your hips jerk. you don't go far against chris' firm hold on you. "mm- g- cmm" even with taras hand shutting you up, they both know what you're saying.
chris mouth is now right next to your ear "not yet. you're gonna cum with me" he mutters to you. you shake your head, not thinking you're gonna last. "either you can fuckin wait for me or- fuck- or i'll make you take a fourth o-one" he threatens you. you shake your head in momentary panic. there's no way you're gonna cum for a fourth after this but if he makes you wait much longer to cum you aren't gonna have a choice but to finish before he allows you to.
tara continues to swirl her tongue around your nipple fiercly and as if you weren't already fucked dumb, her middle finger makes sudden contact with your clit, rubbing fast circles.
now you know that they're both just trying to fucking ruin you.
now you speak nonsense into her hand, making her smirk with amusement. "what's wrong honey, too much?" tara asks you with a faux-sympathetic pout. you aggresively nod your head. responding for tara, chris pulls you impossibly tighter against him, hips slamming harder into you. you yell into her hand and both of them smirk. "want us to stop?" she says teasingly, already knowing the answer but wanting to make sure. you instantly shake your head no.
her fingers still toy your clit and chris's pace slowly starts to falter. you can feel his breath on your neck becoming un-even. tara circles your sensitive bundle of nerves faster and you're sure your gonna be cumming before you're allowed.
luckily for you, the way chris holds your body tighter and his forehead drops to your shoulder says otherwise. "you gonna cum with me?" his voice is all low fucked out and it makes your walls squeeze him harder than ever. you nod, unable to speak for more than one reason.
"go on then" he encourages along with a harsh slam of his hips. the second "go" left his lips your vision went white.
the next thing you were aware of was about 20 seconds after when his seed was spilling up into you to coat your walls. his forehead rested on your shoulder while he praised you on how good you were for him. "did so well" he said before gently kissing your shoulder while tara's fingers left your clit at the same time chris pulled out of you.
chris reached down next to your bed to retrieve everyones clothing for them. you had two bathrooms so you and tara headed off to one for a shower. chris to the other bathroom for the same reason.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
you all returned to your room after, clean and in new clean clothes. (lucky for chris, nick hangs out here often and you love to steal his shit to wear for comfort.)
chris had entered just as you finished making your bed with fresh sheets. "better not have been fucking in there without me" chris joked as he made himself comfortable laying on your bed. you and tara both simultaniously rolled your eyes at him, scoffing. you both joined him on the bed to lie down.
you were in the middle of them. chris spooned you and you spooned tara, cuddling one another comfortbly way past awkwardness at this point. chris rubbed a relaxing hand up and down your side and you played with your other friends hair relaxingly. you should know better though, comfortable silence doesn't exist with chris around...
"guess what?"
you audibly sighed. "what?" tara and you groaned knowingly in unison.
there's a little grin on his face that neither of you can see, but nonetheless you both sense the ridiculousness.
"i saw both your boobies" he says in a childish sing-song tone.
"oh my god" "are you fucking kidding me?"
i really hope y'all enjoyed. ᥫ᭡
tags: @daddyslilchickenfingers @fratbrochrisgf @mattsrod @sturncakez @sturniololovesss @sturniccc
#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#tara yummy smut#sturnsdoll#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo triplets fanfic#tara yummy#tara yummy fanfic#tara yummy x reader#sturniolo smut
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I am back with more sketches for @calysto1395 's AU!
Fic snippet of her writing behind the cut:
EDIT: Fic is also now available HERE
“Fine, fine! I’m going. Stop shoving me.” Law throws his hands up and steps onto the train.
“I don’t want to see you for at least 24 hours.” Bepo retorts, his paws on his hips and blocking the doorway like a bouncer. If Law wasn’t so fucking exhausted from a ten hour surgery session he would have a clever comeback right about now. As it stands, he can only repeat Bepo’s words at him in a mocking tone. He flips Bepo off as the train doors close between them for good measure before he turns to find a seat as they slowly roll out of the station.
There is as usual only one other person on the train. Hiriluk Hospital Station is usually the one where everyone gets off as the line continues out of town into the shitty outer district where Law has his dirt cheap apartment. It’s a good thing too because Law usually has no patience for anyone after work and before work he needs to save what little he has for his patients.
His usual companion is a young man, maybe around Law’s age, who has tan skin and green hair who nods at him when Law falls into one of the empty seats. He’s always there before Law gets on and doesn’t get off anywhere before Law does. Law sees him as often as he does his coworkers so he would say they are almost friends. Save for the part where Law has no idea who he is besides a passenger and incredibly attractive.
“Trouble in paradise?” The guy asks, snorting with a smirk. He’s huddled into one of the seats that run sideways along the walls of the train, jean jacket and a hoodie today, legs propped up on his huge backpack with the long case sticking out of it.
Law just rolls his eyes and lets his head fall against the headrest. It’s part of the routine at this point. Guy will make a comment or greet him and then it will be silent for the rest of the ride, just the way Law likes it. The stranger on the train might be Law’s favorite person, right after Bepo. Then again Bepo humiliated and bullied him onto the train today so maybe the stranger has taken top spot.
“You got blood on your cheek.” The guy says and Law feels the annoyance at the routine being disturbed before he processes the words. His eyes blink open and he rubs at his cheek with his sleeve, feels the crusted flakes rub off and sees them clinging to the fabric of his hoodie.
Law stares at it for a long time, feels his eyes losing focus for a minute before he blinks and shakes his head. Maybe Bepo had a point in sending him home. He sighs deeply, feeling the exhaustion deep in his bones. “Yep.” He says and rubs his cheek once more just to make sure he got it all.
Stranger just gives him a nod when he shoots a questioning glance at him before he buries his hands in his jacket pockets and closes his eyes, settling deep into his seat. Law takes it as his cue to do the same. Just to rest his eyes for a little bit. He has about twenty minutes until he’s at his station and the conductor usually doesn’t check tickets this late at night. Law tells himself it's just for a few minutes. Just until his retinas stop burning.
Then before he knows it there is a hand on his shoulder. He jerks, flailing wildly and smacking something before he gets his bearings.
The stranger is standing next to his seat, looking down at him, hand falling to his side from where it had hung outstretched between them. “That’s your stop right?” He asks.
Law blinks, confused. Head swirling to look outside the window to see the Tang Station sign out front. “Shit.” He manages to say, scrambling with his bag to hustle outside just in time before the doors close on him. He’s catching his breath on the platform, heart racing in his chest when he looks back at the train and sees the guy standing there still. He leans down a little to wave through the window as it sets back into motion and Law’s sleep deprived brain doesn’t manage to respond in any way before they are out of view.
#one piece#roronoa zoro#trafalgar law#zolaw#op train AU#I love this AU a lot if you couldn't already tell#my art
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POLY MARAUDERS | 18:39 ⏤HEROES IN TATTOOS
01 : RESCUE
SUM. : walking home late from your shift at the pub, you get followed and chased by a crazy drunk. thankfully, you run into the three men running the tattoo and piercing shop down the road
TAGS. : muggle au ; modern au ; tattoo artist sirius ; tattoo artist james ; piercer remus ; protective marauders ; tatted up marauders ; biker sirius ; fluff
WARNING : attempted assault (not explicit + nothing happens) ; stalking behaviour - please stay safe lovelies
LENGTH : 1.3k
NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED
You typically didn’t care much for catching the late shift since you didn’t live too far away from the pub, if you were slow it only took 15 minutes. Most of the walk home was also along the main, where other people could see you so even though it was dark, you still felt safe. You’ve always made it home without feeling at risk of any attack for the last four months, ever since you started working, until tonight.
It was a regular night shift at the pub, you couldn’t count how many people you served but you made sure to flash your sweet smile for some extra tips here and there. You greeted the regulars and had their drinks prepared for them before they even made an order and occasionally engaged in some idle chatter when you found some free time. It started off well until one of the more difficult regulars came in and started causing a ruckus three pints down. He always tried to get handsy with you but you had your co-workers, manager and the pub goers there to keep him in check so he never got very far. The bastard had left an hour or so before he knew your shift ended so you didn’t think you’d see him again but he had been waiting for you across the street outside and now you were desperate to get home and away from his distressing company.
But what then?...If you went home he’ll know where you live and god knows what he’d do if he knew that. Your heart stuttered in your chest and your breath caught in your throat from the disturbing images that thought brought on. You won’t ever let that happen, especially since you lived with your friends and would put them in danger too. For now, you’ll take the long route home and maybe find a turning you can run down to escape him in.
Making the turn for the long route back home, you wrapped your coat tighter around you and sped up your pace only to feel your stomach drop at the sound of the footfalls behind you also accelerating. This can’t be happening. There were tears in your eyes as you looked ahead and resolved to start running as soon as you caught most of your breath back. The streets weren’t as busy tonight so people were scarce, which spiked the fear and adrenaline in your veins, heart hammering in your chest.
“Ay! Slow down will ya’! I just wanna talk sweetheart!” the man shouted suddenly, his smug tone illustrating his malicious grin behind you. The suddenness of his yell shocks your nerves and shoots you forward into a sprint when you realise how much closer he was than you originally anticipated. The terrifying pursuit was on.
His verbal assaults flew over your head. You blocked them out because your heart was pumping so fast from the adrenaline and fear, your only focus was on keeping up your pace and looking out for anyone that could help you. Just as you were beginning to lose hope, you looked up to see three men exit the tattoo and piercing shop (The Marauders) you walked past when you had more time to get to work. The bulkier one wearing glasses was locking the door as a tall brunette stood by his side with a hand in his pocket and the last man with his black hair up in a small bun made his way over to lean against a parked motorbike, his helmet propped up on the seat beside him.
“Help!” you call out immediately, desperation and anxiety evident in your voice as your legs sped up to reach them faster, “Help me, please!” The tears had spilled over now as the man behind you also sped up and started shouting louder. The man who had been leaning against his motorbike shot to his feet and opened his arms up for you to run into, which you happily did. At that moment, you had never felt such relief in your life and sobbed freely into his shoulder, “please help,” you cried, “m-make him go away,”
“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay,” the biker whispered into your ear, pulling you close by the waist as his other hand gently caressed the back of your head. With you locked in his arms, Sirius steps back some more and moves to put himself between you and your pursuer.
Panting the drunk bastard pulled an unconvincing friendly grin, “Come on now, guys-”
“Shut it mate,” peering over the biker’s shoulder, you see the brawny man in glasses snarl at the drunk, his arm muscles made taut as he folded them across his chest, flexing his tattoos, “you better fuck off before things get dirty between us, alright?”
“You’re misunderstanding,” the drunk hiccupped and continued, “you see, she’s my girlfriend and she’s just bein’ dramatic aint ya, sweets?”
“That doesn’t matter,” the tall brunette piped up and stepped forward, towering over the disgusting man, “she clearly doesn’t want to be around you right now so you better do what the lady says and get!”
“She’s a little liar is wh-”
“Don’t even try you sick bastard,” James shouts, grabbing the guy by the collar and pushing him back, “we know that you’re the liar here so you better leave the pretty lady alone or else I’ll start swingin’”
Struggling to push James off, the man eventually scrambles away and almost lands face first into the pavement, “You’re bunch o’ pricks!”
“Yeah yeah yeah, shove it up your arse, dickhead, we don’t care,” the one in glasses waved off and, together with the brunette chased away the poor excuse of a man.
“Don’t worry, love, he’s gone now…” Sirius whispers comfortingly beside your ear and leans back to take a look at your face with a sympathetic pout, “you’re gonna be okay,” he wipes away your tears and tenderly tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The affection brings a soft smile to your lips and you thank him sincerely in a meek voice, which he smiles at in return.
“You okay, doll?” James asks, brows furrowing in concern as his anger gradually subsides. He couldn’t believe any man would do such a thing to a lady. The bastard probably grew up in a swamp of some kind with no manners, James truly hopes he gets run over.
“Y-yeah, a little bit,” you smile at them with a grateful nod, “the adrenaline is still there but I’ll be fine,”
Taking in your shaking shoulders, Sirius gives you a tight squeeze and pats your back reassuringly, muttering under his breath, “There, there love,” thankful for his actions, you lean your head against his shoulder and breath in his scent of comfort and safety - leather, green soap, musk and smoke.
“Well, at least you’re not hurt,” Remus smiles but in his eyes there is still evidence of his earlier rage. He can’t imagine the amount of fear you had to have experienced from such a chilling affair, he feels somewhat protective of you now, especially when you look so small and compliant in Sirius’s arms.
“We’ll walk you the rest of your way home, okay?” James gently insists with a subdued grin, appreciating your cute face when you pull away from Sirius’s shoulder to stare at him wide-eyed.
“Y-you’d do that for me?” you bite your lip, feeling tears well up from how fortunate and relieved you felt.
“Nonsense, dove,” Remus smiles warmly at you, “it’s not any trouble, it would be more for us since we’d be worrying about you all night, otherwise,” comforted by their reassurance, you let them walk you home and gave them each a hug and one last word of thanks at your doorstep before you waved them off and slipped inside. Safe and sound, you smile to yourself at the thought of your heroes in tattoos.
NEXT : 02 | THANK YOU
A/N : im practically exposing how james, sirius and remus are comfort characters to me. please stay safe my loves and this is not me trying to romanticise stalking or assault in any way
NAVI. | HEROES IN TATTOOS SERIES
#𐂂 : TIMESTAMP#☆ : TIMESTAMP#☽ : TIMESTAMP#sirius x reader#james potter x reader#marauders#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin#sirius black#james potter#sirius black fic#james potter fic#remus lupin fic#marauders fic#marauders x reader#the marauders#poly marauders#poly marauders x reader#fanfiction#marauders fanfiction#hp marauders
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punk! miguel x innocent! reader
word count: 879
TW: nsfw, smoking, hair-pulling, corruption, swearing, creampie.
request: @sukioyakio ★
A/N: this isn't edited and is poorly made so i'm so sorry. also can i just say thank you so much for over 600 notes on my first drabble?? oh my gosh?? anyways, enjoy and welcome to the club! ^^
imagine punk! miguel being the 'bad rep' of the school. in the 3rd year of college, he took physics, chemistry and spanish language. he would smoke behind the science classrooms, refuse to wear clothes that he calls 'society norms' like a blazer or a button up, and instead wear a black leather jacket with pins like 'pink floyd', or 'anarchist' all around it. he would yell, slander and mock almost every teacher whenever he's in class (which is very rare).
most of the girls honestly adored him, apart from the odd popular girl or two finding him too 'annoying' or too 'muscly' for their liking. he didn't give two shits, he already knew his body count was probably higher then their grades.
but then there's you. sweet, innocent little y/n. where most college students spent their weekends partying, you spent it in your dorm room re-reading 'moby dick' for the 6th time. you took phsycology, english literature and spanish language. and if you were completely honest, the only reason you chose spanish language is because your boyfriend at the time (now ex) was spanish. god, did you regret picking it for him.
you noticed miguel, like every other person in the school would. but your first time was different. you were running late, extremely late for your first class of the day. damn you, alarm. that's when you noticed miguel, outside science block, groaning.
despite being late, you took a curious peek at what the man was groaning about.
'stupid fucking lighter..' he mumbled, trying to light his cigarette, but failing. you knew better then to interfere, to even speak to the most intimidating man in college. but, for some reason, you ended up giving him your lighter.
'thanks, you smoke? i can give you one for a trade.' miguel said, as you smiled so sweetly. you explained how you didn't smoke, or did anything like that, and that you only carried a lighter 'just in case of emergencies'.
that's when miguel's interest in you piqued. you were such a sweet, innocent girl, and that drove something in him. something that he didn't realise he wanted. he usually only went for girls with his taste and style, girls he'd meet at festivals or clubs and were either high as heck or sexy goths. but you, you were different.
soon enough, he realised you were only in his spanish language classes, and that you weren't the best at it. perfect. your weakness was miguel's strength.
that's how you ended up in this situation. bent over miguell's desk in his dorm, mumbling his name as hee proceeded to sbuse his way into your sweet cunt.
'you want to tutor me..? that would be so nice miguel!' you had said so excitedly, there was a spanish exam coming up and miguel so kindly offered to tutor you the friday night. and being so naive and quite desperate for the help, you happily accepted.
his room was filled with different posters and signs like his favourite bands, anarchistic posters, stickers saying things like 'fuck the government!'. his leather jacket was discarded somewhere on the messy floor, as his hands grasped your hips to push you even deeper onto his cock.
'm-miguel.. m-miguel please!' you whined, your mascara running down your face.
he just chuckled, as he pulled your hair lightly, moving you onto the bed as he laid you down on your back, as he started bullying into your pussy once again. he was so mean.
your light blue dress was somewhere on the floor, ripped to shreds. it was your favourite dress, but you had other things to think about at the moment.
'yeah.. you like that, cariño? you like being fucked like a slut? not used to being so used, are you?' miguel teased, as you just moaned in response. he hadn't realised that fucking a cute little angel could be this enticing. fuck, he could get used to this.
'i.. miguel! i-i've never-' 'shh.. i know, i know, a sweet girl like you hasn't ever been treated this way.. i'm sorry for being so rough, but i dunno.. the way you're tightening around me suggests you like the harshness..' he said, his hand wiping your mascara-smudged cheeks. your body was submitting to him in every way possible, and he felt like a starved predator being fed for the first time in years.
'i-is it normal to feel l-like this..?' you whimpered, eyes shut from the pleasure. 'yes.. yes my sweet girl it's very normal to feel like this.. let me give you all the pleasure you've missed out on.' miguel whispered in your ear, as he started thrusting faster and faster, pushing you over to the edge.
you let out a loud moan, your back arching as you came. the way you clenched onto him drove miguel over the edge too. his thrusts became erratic and sloppy, as he let out one more groan as he came deep inside you.
you were panting, your eyes still shut. he pulled out slowly, placing a sweet kiss on your temple. 'god you're so cute..' miguel whispered to you, as you just whimpered in response. he chuckled deeply.
god, he might just get addicted to such a good innocent little thing like you.
♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎
#atsv miguel#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara smut#miguel x reader#miguel o'hara x fem!reader#miguel spiderverse#miguel spiderman#spider verse#spider man: across the spider verse#miguel smut#female reader#fem reader#smut#spider man 2099#spiderman atsv
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🌊 LUV2SWIM ☀️
I could not have expected to enjoy the Poolside Splash kit as much as I did. As soon as I got my hands on it I knew I wanted to take it even further. Of course the speedos needed a bulge on them, but I actually loved the whole vibe and theme and decided I wanted to do my own spin on the whole thing. I had originally planned to put this off for a week since I’m going on vacation next week and didn’t think I’d have time, but inspiration hit like a truck and I just couldn’t sleep until I finished this.
Luv2Swim is 9 items from the kit all edited & recolored in a new palette I created just for this very creatively called…SPLASH. I’ve got to have my neutrals so you’ll see some of that as well as a selection of brighter shades and pastels. Something for everybody I hope! Also made a selection of 15 prints I really loved to use here. Some of them you will have seen on some previous items and some are brand new finds.
If you’re curious about what you’ll get, here’s a breakdown.
4 speedos: Personally I was really only a fan of the one speedo shape, however I’m so glad we got as many as we did. If course 2 of them are flagged feminine but I swapped that over for these items. Added a bulge to all of them of course. Also one of them seemed to be completely missing a specular map so I learned how to make one and added that too. You’ll get all the original EA swatches as well as a second package in SPLASH + prints.
2 trunks: I’ll be honest I didn’t do much with these. The shorter trunks got a very minor mesh edit to make em a lil fuller in the front but the longer ones got nothing really lol. That said they both come in the same solids/prints swatches as mentioned before, as well as 14 “extras”, that is a few cute gradients and color blocked styles as well. Also added a specular to the shorter trunks because…trunks should be shiny!! I didn’t add specular to the longer trunks as..frankly the kinda read more as sweatpants to me and sweat pants should absolutely NOT be shiny. (Also the longer shorts are literally just me taking the exact item from EA and making it BGC..that was an accident but..oh well you’re welcome!)
2 tops: Thank tank top is absolutely my favorite in the game now by far! I loved that open shirt too we always need more of those! Just recolored these in 20 solids each and added a bit of shiny to the open shirt cause I feel like it should be kinda silky looking no?
1 sandal: The shoes EA have been making lately have been so good, but these are absolutely my new faves!! That chunky ass sole is just…chefs kiss! This was recolored in SPLASH colors as well as 15 prints across the strap and a handful of color blocked swatches (the same ones the trunks came in)
Again everything is BGC and has all maps but LODs are…well..nothing is particularly high poly so it’ll be fine I promise (I mean it’s mostly speedos so that’s like... no poly lol)
Anyway I hope you guys enjoy!
📂 SFS
#ts4cc#the sims 4#poolside splash#ts4 male cc#windenbro#bro#dropping cc at like 4:30 am so i can finally go the fuck to SLEEP
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girl at home | mat barzal | part 4
pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader
summary: you’re eighteen when you find yourself pregnant after Mat leaves for hockey. nearly eight years later, Mat finds out about your daughter and you have to deal with the consequences of not telling him about her.
warnings: not edited, angst, mentions of alcohol, pregnancy, food
word count: 1.3k
authors note: sorry it's late & short but i was sick and then had writers block. i hope u guys like it!! if u like it let me know but if you hate it also let me know.
also HUGE thanks to @barzysbaby for the help with this chapter!! it probably wouldn't have been finished without your help!
if anyone wants to be added or taken off the tag list, let me know! you can shoot me a dm, send an ask or fill out my tag list form.
requests are open 🫶🏻
masterlist masterpost ask box taglist form
After your unexpected heart-to-heart with Mat, you begin to realize that you’re starting to tread on some thin ice with your relationship with him. Letting those feelings you’d tucked away start to come back was a recipe for disaster because you had Nora to think about. If he really wanted to be a part of her life, the two of you couldn’t start a relationship because if it went wrong, it would ruin the opportunity for him to be in her life comfortably.
However, the problem is how perceptive Nora can be.
Letting yourself have ‘just one moment’ with Mat last night was a bad idea because you wake up on the couch the next morning, Mat holding you close, and a grumpy six-year-old demanding breakfast.
“Eggs please,” Nora demands, curious eyes watching you and Mat. When you make no move to get up off the couch and get her breakfast, she stomps a foot and crosses her arms.
“Grandma said I could have eggs for breakfast,” she says and then pauses before adding: “and she said I could have pancakes. Chocolate chip pancakes.”
“You’re not at grandma’s, are you?” you reply, watching her frown.
“Well then can you bring me to grandma’s?” she replies without missing a beat.
You open your mouth to tell her no, you won’t be bringing her to grandmas with that attitude when Mat interrupts.
“I’ll make some pancakes,” he mumbles sleepily, sitting up and pulling you with him. You turn to tell him no but your mouth goes dry because you forgot how good he looks in the morning. You’re staring long enough that he notices and a smirk tugs at his mouth but he doesn’t say anything, instead standing up and offering a hand to Nora.
“Let’s go make mom some pancakes,” he says and she smiles up at him and it’s just so damn domestic that you want to cry.
You watch them walk over to the kitchen and start preparing the ingredients while you sit there, trying to pull yourself together. He’s falling so seamlessly into being a parent that you can’t decide how to feel. His attentiveness and patience with her could be temporary and then when he realizes how hard being a parent really is, you’ll be left to clean up the mess he leaves behind. On the other hand, he might be serious about the entire thing and everything could work out.
Nora's giggles catch your attention and you look to see Mat cracking an egg on her forehead like the video he had sent you a few days ago, claiming that he would try it on Nora. Almost as if he can sense that you’re watching them, he looks up and catches your eye and grins, tilting his head slightly.
“You wanna help or just sit there all morning?” he teases so you stand up and make your way to the kitchen to stand next to Nora, kissing the forehead when she grins up at you.
“How can I help?”
. . .
It was inevitable that the hockey world would catch wind that Mathew Barzal had a child. Whether it was his now ex-girlfriend, or just someone from home that spilled the beans, suddenly all the sports sites had articles up about it. They can't legally say Nora’s name or show photos of her because she’s still a minor, but they can definitely dig up old high school pictures and find your instagram.
It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together for people to realize that you were his baby mama. You had to turn your social media accounts private because you were suddenly having people comment on your photos, and sending DM’s. Most of them weren’t the nicest, accusing you of kid-trapping Mat and while you knew that it was useless to be upset over it, it was hard. They didn’t and would never know the details but it bothered you to no end, and unfortunately, you took your frustration out on Mat, who took whatever you threw at him. You said things you regretted the next morning and he would just smile and tell you it was fine.
But it wasn’t, and everything crashed down about two weeks after the first article was posted. You woke up to your phone buzzing, calls and texts from your mom, Jax, some other friends and even Liana.
And a single text from Mat that had just two words, and a link attached.
baby daddy: I'm sorry. instagram.com/matbarzal
It was a statement, clearly written by a PR Manager from the Islanders organization. The statement basically said that Mathew Barzal did not in fact have a child. It was just a rumor floating around that a disgruntled fan spread. A lot of people called it bullshit, saying that it was PR cleaning up a mess, which technically they were doing. Then, there were the fans and journalists who did believe the statement and tried to take back whatever they may have said that was mean.
It wasn’t the things other people were saying about it though, it was what Mat wasn’t saying. After the post, he ghosted you for four days, ignoring all the texts and calls even when they were about Nora. Liana and Nadia still asked to see Nora on the weekend that she normally does so you dropped her off Friday evening, noticing that Mat’s car was nowhere to be seen. Nadia and Liana didn’t say anything about the situation, just thanking you for letting Nora stay over for the night and promising to call if anything came up. You didn’t have anything planned so you went back to your apartment, hoping to catch up on some overdue work you’d been letting pile up.
Halfway through writing a draft for a chapter, there’s a knock on your door. You’re once again suspecting it to be Nadia or Liana with Nora but you come face to face with Mat.
Again.
His eyes are trained on the ground, refusing to meet yours. There are a thousand things you want to say, most of them not nice at all but what comes out is: “beer?”
His head shoots up, clearly not expecting that response from you but he nods his head and walks in when you step to the side. He toes off his shoes and walks straight towards the kitchen. By instinct, he opens the fridge to get himself a drink and then pauses, looking at you sheepishly.
“Beer?”
“Water,” you reply and he nods, passing you a bottle of water. You both sit at the kitchen island, drinking your respectable drinks in silence until he clears his throat.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know that they were going to write that. Our public relations manager wrote it and just told me to post it. My agent asked her to clean things up a little because it was getting out of hand. I didn’t want to hurt you or Nora, I swear.”
“It’s too late for that,” you say sharply. “You said you want to be in Nora’s life but she can’t be a secret, Mat! You can’t say you want to try, and then turn around and tell the world that she’s not yours. If you’re not going to be in this one-hundred percent, then you shouldn’t be here at all.”
He must take your last statement as a dismissal because he stands up, slips his shoes on and leaves, closing the door a little harder than necessary.
You sit in silence far too long, part of you foolishly hoping that Mat will come back but you know he won’t. Not today at least. So, you go back to working on your draft but you can’t focus. Part of you wants to try and put yourself in his shoes, to try and understand why he didn’t fight harder against what public relations wanted but you can’t. You can’t imagine not being Nora’s mom and you wonder if maybe this is the way out he was hoping for. Maybe he decided that being a parent was fun for a little while, but when he understood the real consequences and struggles that come along with it, he realized he didn’t want it. That he didn’t want Nora.
Maybe this is his out.
tag list: @literatureluster @dasiysthings @barzyblogbabe @teapartydreams @diary-of-jj @heatherawoowoo @fallinallincurls @topguncultleader @shadowsndaisies @lovinbarzal
#hockey imagines#allies writing#nhl fanfiction#hockey fanfiction#nhl imagines#hockey imagine#mat barzal x reader#mat barzal imagine#mat barzal fic#mat barzal fanfiction#hockey fics#hockey fic
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Dangerous Woman
a/n note: inspo is also from this delicious edit from topxzae on tiktok and this performance by ashley wagner. btw, i've switched my style of writing a bit and i've made it a bit more direct for i hope you don't mind + i was feeling a lil lazy so i did the sex scene in a third person pov.
Pairing: Captain!Hockey Player!Coriolanus Snow x Figure Skater!Reader
Summary: Y/N Y/L/N and Coriolanus Snow have been in an established relationship for about 5 months. Lately, things have been very stressful for Coriolanus in his job as a captain of keeping everyone in line. Today is his day off and all he wants is to spend time with his girlfriend. What started out as a sweet catch up turned a lot spicier after Y/N noticed how her boyfriend looks at her.
Fic Type: Smut (NSFW) 18+, Established relationship, Love struck Coryo, Reader slaying it on the ice (i’m kinda imagining her as an Alexandra Trusova kinda gal so do what you want with that info)
Warnings: unprotected sex (don’t do this guys, use a condom. reader is on birth control), rough pushing, harsh, cunnilingus (female and male receiving), lmk if i missed anything else
Word Count: 1.9k
Inspo: Heavily inspired by Icebreaker (my newest obsession) and the stereotype in the skating world with hockey players looking at figure skaters when they practise (horny bf and gf edition).
Disclaimer: Credits and the idea of this are based off Icebreaker so all credits go to Hannah Grace and her team. This is a spinoff of her idea turned into an established relationship version for Coriolanus Snow and Y/N Y/L/N.
Additional Info (ONLY FOR THOSE WHO HAVE READ ICEBREAKER): In this universe, there is no rivalry. All collegiate teams share the same rink and there is a bond with the hockey and the skating team prior to this occurrence.
I do not own Coriolanus Snow or Y/N Y/L/N (cuz it’s you, boo). All credits go to Suzanne Collins and her team. Song credits also go to Ariana Grande and her team.
I do not allow my works to be republished or translated under any circumstances. Any instances of this happening and YOU WILL BE BLOCKEDDD.
Also, ageless and empty blogs will be BLOCKED as this is a 18+ fic. Report my fics for no good reason and you’re blocked cuz if u don’t like it, LEAVEEEE.
Y/N and Coriolanus have been a strong couple for about 5 months now. With all that time passing, there must be some things they have learned about each other, as well as things they have not learned about each other. Weirdly enough, Coriolanus has never seen Y/N skate because of the divide in their schedule between the hockey team and figure skating team.
Coriolanus is the captain of the collegiate Academy hockey team, which makes the job more difficult for him because of how hard he has to strangle and wrangle a bunch of frat guys to go on the ice and play. This leads to him trying to find his teammates a lot, which means that he doesn’t have time to see his girlfriend skate because by the time he gets there, Y/N’s already packing up her stuff and giving him a kiss goodbye before leaving. This frustrates him. However, it doesn’t look like it would be much of an issue going forward.
Lately, the team has been going on a losing streak. About 3/4 of the team are either high or drunk off their ass in college parties and it’s driving Coriolanus crazy as it’s making them lose. Their coach has demanded that they stop it, Coriolanus even putting it as a ban but it’s still not making the younger hockey members realise that. As a result, Coach Highbottom and Coriolanus have made a decision to make them sit on the bench and think about their actions, which works great for Coriolanus since it creates a window of space in which he can get more alone time and even show up earlier to watch his girlfriend practice.
Today was the day in which Coriolanus got his free time, so he chose to watch his girlfriend train for her test skates after getting them a small box of cronuts and a coffee for both him and girlfriend as a little date after her practice before she has to go back to her dorm to study.
Coriolanus strolled into the ice rink as if he owned it that day, confident in his strides as he didn’t show his excitement in seeing his girlfriend practice in fear of people seeing how weak he was for his girlfriend. As he walked to the stands by the rink, he saw his girlfriend glide across the rink as she stretched her hands in the most delicate way possible while practising her program with her coach looking at her intensely from the stands.
“More, Y/N! More!” “Straighten the back of the knee!” “Smile!” “Don’t be so sloppy!” Coach Gaul screamed from the side of the ice rink as Y/N glided past her to do her quad before doing her triple axel flawlessly. Coriolanus sat on the edge of the stand, looking at his girlfriend almost as if he was observing her before he suddenly heard a bunch of little giggles and laughs beside him as he turned to look at the bunch of junior girls who stopped their off-ice stretching to look at his girlfriend practising her program.
“She’s so pretty..” “Literally, how does she do that?” “Oh my god, her boyfriend is so hot, someone get me a hockey boyfriend please” “I wonder how big his d-” “Oh my god, Sasha! Don’t say that!” The girls whispered amongst each other as they giggled as if they were girls from middle school. Coriolanus smirked as he pretended to cough, making all the girls look at him horrified that they realised that he heard their conversation. They all walk away with their heads down as Coach Gaul’s assistant calls the girls to start their warm-ups on the ice, making Coriolanus smirk even harder.
Coriolanus walks towards the side of the rink as he puts his hands in the pocket of his sweatpants as he watches his girlfriend converse with her coach, waiting for feedback while he stands there, entranced by her beauty. As she glides back on the ice, Coriolanus feels himself getting hard as he watches her practise her routine with her hands behind her back, making his mind go crazy with the possibility of the things they could do. Mind you, by this point they’ve hooked up quite a few times.
As Y/N comes towards the end of her routine, she finally notices her boyfriend as she gives him a small wave before doing her final moves, her coach clapping on the side of the rink. “Good job, Y/N. There are some technical things we need to work on but you’ve improved. Now, go take your leave.” Y/N nods as she bids her coach goodbye before running towards her boyfriend and tackling him with a bone-crushing hug, her boyfriend hugging her back just as hard as she squeals, “I can't believe you’re here! I thought you were on an off-day with the guys today!”
Coriolanus chuckles in a distracted way as he chides while stroking her hair, “Yeah, that’s true but the one thing I didn’t tell you was that I actually wanted to watch my darling skate today. How are you, sweetheart? Anything hurting? I brought us some donuts and coffee for breakfast?” Y/N groaned as she looked up at her boyfriend with a grateful smile, “You didn’t need to get me anything, love. I know you’ve been busy lately.. You know I’m all fine, right? I’m not a broken doll” She jokes as she raises her eyebrow, making her boyfriend smirk as he leaned down to give his girlfriend a peck on her lips before saying, “I know that, baby. But I was thinking we can do a little something as a treat for you doing so well in your practice so far.” He said in a dazed tone as he took a glance at her ass before giving it a slap, making Y/N glare at him from her current stance. Coriolanus’s dick got harder after hearing her groan as it reminded him of the several intimate interactions that he had with his girlfriend. Little did he know, Y/N saw his aching dick right as she came up to him, making the situation much more interesting as she noticed how he looked at her. Knowing how hard he’s been working, she wanted to give him a chance to relax after a long week of training.
The tension between them got a little more heated after that slap as both Y/N’s and Coriolanus’s looked at each other in a much more sensual way, their eyes having a particular sheen over it before a cough from Y/N disrupted the moment. “Okay, then. Let me get my stuff from the locker. I’ll see you later, captain…” Y/N said as she turned around and walked away, her hips swaying just a bit more to tempt her boyfriend into joining her in the locker. Coriolanus immediately took notice of this as he followed her, Y/N stopping at one point to grab his hand and interlock his fingers with hers as they made their way to the locker.
Thankfully, no one was in the locker by that time as all the skaters were on the rink preparing to start practising their programs. Y/N closed the door behind her as Coriolanus pinned her towards her door as he wrapped his hands in her hair and kissed her while her hands pressed up against his chest as she smiled into the kiss. Wet, squelching sounds echoed around the room as their tongues moulded against each other in perfect sequence as if they were made for each other. As they made out, they peeled off each other’s clothes slowly as they were wrapped up in this bubble where they were the only ones there and no one else existed.
By the time they pulled away from each other, they were both down to their underwear. Coriolanus crouched down as he peeled Y/N’s lacy red panties off her as licked a line up her slit, tasting the sweet nectar hidden under her skate wear as he hummed in satisfaction before sucking on her clit, making Y/N see stars as her moans echoed around the room. Y/N reached down to cradle her boyfriend’s head as he worked her up to a beautiful, soul-capturing orgasm, making her heave big sighs while coming down her high.
Y/N and Coriolanus gave each other a deep kiss as she tasted herself on his tongue before it was her turn to kneel down and give his aching hardness the love that it deserves. She kissed her way down his abs as she pulled down his boxers, revealing his aching, hard dick leaking with pre-cum in all its glory. The veins were clearly invisible as Y/N hummed in satisfaction before she licked the tip of his dick, savouring the taste of his pre-cum as she moaned. She continued this a few times before she went deeper and deeper until her throat reached the base of his cock, making Coriolanus groan with great pleasure as she gagged occasionally and started to work him into an orgasm by pulling her head in and out of his dick in a once slow motion before building up her speed in a way she knew her boyfriend liked.
“Ugh, so good, baby… Keep doing that, you’re gonna make me cum, sweetheart.” Coriolanus groaned as he wrapped his hand around a bunch of her hair as he guided her in and out of his dick. His groans and her moans echoed around the room as the atmosphere got dirtier before Coriolanus pushed her head closer than it’s ever been before he came with one final groan, making Y/N moan even louder at seeing his satisfaction in her efforts to please him.
As Coriolanus came down from his orgasm, Y/N pulled her mouth off him as she wiped her mouth clean of her saliva before jutting out her tongue, letting him see that she swallowed it all before she laughed a little at her boyfriend’s dark glance at her. Coriolanus’s head turned around to the side as his groan this time was animalistic as he grabbed his girlfriend from her place on her knees before him and smashed his lips with her before he turned her around and pushed her towards the door before shoving his now hard length into her in one thrust.
Both Y/N and Coriolanus let out a groan as they wrapped their arms around each other as he pushed his dick in and out of her pussy as her ass bounced back towards his dick with her force. The room now echoed with the sound of skin slapping around it, along with her louder moans and his harsher groans as he turned her face to the side before capturing her lips in another searing kiss as they both come with him holding her tits in his hands and bringing her as close to him as possible.
Y/N and Coriolanus breathed heavily as they came down from their euphoric orgasm. Coriolanus cradled Y/N’s face as he leaned in and captured her lips in little kisses as he checked over her to see if she was okay. After making sure she was okay, he grabbed a bunch of tissue paper as he cleaned them up before he helped her pack up her skating luggage before they opened the door and left the rink wrapped up in each other’s love. Little did they know, both Coach Gaul and her assistant were staring at them appalled as they overheard them while going to the bathroom a while ago.
#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow x reader#hunger games#tbosas fanfiction#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#coriolanus snow smut#coriolanus snow imagine#coriolanus snow x you#coryo x reader#Spotify
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Caught in the Act
Pairings: Eddie x Henderson!Fem!Reader
Word count: 1.3k
Summary: Eddie cancels the campaign and Dustin, along with Mike and Lucas, wants to know what is so important to tear the strict Dungeon Master away from his beloved club.
Warnings: implied sexual themes, profanity, um idk let me know if i missed anything lol
edit: crying over how sweet everyone is! And my first post to reach 1k notes accckkkkk!!
The campaign that was originally set for tonight had been pushed for whatever reason and the gang had nowhere else to go. They had already let their parents know that they’ll be out late so why waste the chance for some late night exploring?
“What if we go to The Hideout. It’s a popular hang out spot now, right?” Lucas kicked a pebble from under his sneakers.
“I bet Eddie’s there. Think of it.” Dustin nodded as he tried to convince the other two. “He never moves the meetings for anything or anyone. Gives us shit for not attending and suddenly he’s not free tonight? I call bull.”
“We’ll catch him in the act. Then he won’t have anything on us next time.” Lucas agreed as his palm met Dustin’s and they chuckled in excitement.
“And what if he’s not there?” They both turned to Mike who had his hands stuffed in his pockets, shrugging.
“Then he’s not there! We’ll just come back to your place and, I don’t know, do something. Besides, I’ll need a ride home from Y/N. She’s doing some project with Nancy.”
With a half-assed back up plan, the trio set off towards the infamous pub in their Hellfire shirts. The place was littered with people both young and old.
They walked into the place with heads held high as people they recognised from school watched them tread like they owned the place. In addition to being a school night, they were also freshmen. What better way to earn the cool points by being seen at a place as intimidating as The Hideout.
“Let’s just see if he’s here and get outta here.” Mike slightly yelled over the loud music playing in the background, lungs already clouded by the nearby smoke by several lit cigarettes.
They quickly scanned the place but it didn’t take long to spot the messy mop of hair that stood out in all of Hawkins.
“Eddie! You lying son of a bitch!” Dustin yelled as they jogged toward the bar, laughing. “We got you!”
At first, Eddie was confused as to why he’s hearing the freshman’s voice at a place he never expected to but his emotion was quickly replaced with an obvious panic as he turned to address the boys without fully turning his body away from the bar.
With a tight lipped smile, he spoke. “Henderson, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in bed in like, what? Twenty minutes?”
He looked at his wristwatch as he fixed a few strands of hair stuck to his face and mouth, his bangs slightly stuck to his forehead with sweat.
“Aren’t we supposed to be doing the campaign?” They crossed their arms as they examine him with shit eating grins etched on their faces. They caught him.
“Well, things happen and you know… things happened.”
As Eddie somewhat explained, Dustin’s eyes linger on the pair of legs dangling over Eddie’s hips. He couldn’t see anything else as the person ducked behind Eddie’s broad back. He tried peering over but Eddie was quick to block him.
Though Dustin quickly realised that he didn’t need to see who it was to know. It was those pristine white sneakers he loathed seeing resting in the shoe racks by the front door. He’d always wanted to smear the underside of his shoes on your white ones just so it wasn’t so clean.
Though he knew you’d kill him because they were your favorite pair. The one you always wore with the stupidly coordinated outfits to school as his friends snickered at him about you being neat and presentable while he was the other way around.
The type to be recognised from a crowd of people. The type to be lined up with the likes of Nancy Wheeler and Chrissy Cunningham. The good, perfect girls of Hawkins High.
“Y/N?” He blurted out and despite the loud music, you heard him clearly. Mike and Lucas shifted their gaze between Dustin, Eddie and eventually, you.
Over Eddie’s shoulder, you waved. “Dustin! Funny seeing you here.”
Eddie finally parted with the bar and stepped to the side with his hand on his nape while you jump off from the counter, smoothing over your skirt that rode up your leg.
“What the hell, Y/N? Aren’t you supposed to be with Nancy?” Dustin was frantic.
Tonight was all about catching their strict dungeon master knee deep in his hypocritical bullshit but what he found was like stepping on a lego or cow shit. Either way, he was disgusted by the idea of whatever you and eddie were doing when they arrived or even before they arrived.
“Look, I think we’re all somewhere we’re not supposed be tonight.” You put a hand on his shoulder as you looked Mike and Lucas in the eye.
Their eyes darted everywhere else except yours. Maybe it was the fact that they know they’re not supposed to be in an adult-only place or the fact that your bra was peeking from your unbuttoned shirt that was now all scrunched up. Who knows?
“You’re not telling on me are you, Dusty?” You ask your brother who had is mouth agape.
“I mean, The Hideout is not really the place mom would be thrilled to see you in either. You and I would be in great trouble and you can kiss that free trip to Utah goodbye.” You nod slowly as you laid out the facts. “Think about it.”
You promised to be Dustin’s ride to Utah during the spring break in exchange for him covering for your ass from the many times he caught your bedroom empty and windows opened during unholy hours of the night. He didn’t question it then.
Dustin peered behind you and saw Eddie leaning on the bar where you sat earlier. His lips curved in what looked to be an apologetic smile. Upon seeing Dustin’s face, he let out a two finger salute.
Eddie had thought of the many ways he’d let the secret loose on your little brother but this was not one of the ideal scenarios. Somehow, he felt bad for the way it turned out but glad that the cat’s out of the bag.
Dustin sighs and nods.
“Good.” You take off his cap and shuffle his curly hair, earning a groan. “Be home by 10.”
“Eleven.” He bargained, sizing up to you.
Considering tonight’s events, you thought of letting him off easy.
“And lunch is on you for a month.”
“No.”
“Two months.”
“No.”
“A week.”
“Fine.”
With that, they hurried out of the bar, pushing one another to get out as fast as they could. You could hear them talk amongst themselves as they ran out.
“Holy shit, Eddie’s dating your sister.”
“Holy shit, Eddie’s dating my sister.”
“Wait, does that mean she’s the hot girlfriend Eddie was talking about.”
The gushing drowned out and you face Eddie who was sipping at his canned beer.
“We scarred him.” He chuckled. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this.”
“You talk about me?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, is that bad?”
You nodded as you caged him with your arms at either side of the counter.
“Looks like you got it bad, Munson.”
You catch his lips with yours, slick with a tinge of bitterness from the beer but it drowns in the sweet taste of Eddie’s soft lips. His bottom lip caught in between your teeth as he let out a groan, hands smoothing over the arch of your back.
Like no one was watching, you guide Eddie’s hands further past what is considered appropriate in a public setting.
He jerks his hand away while looking around, checking for any watchful eyes as the scene unfolded. You cup his cheek and put his hand back on the curve of your ass, skirt starting to ride up your leg once more as you spread them slightly to make way for Eddie in between.
“I have to go back on stage in five.” He whispers, hot breath fanning your face.
“Then, I guess we’d have to be quick.”
You don’t know how you’ll face your brother over breakfast tomorrow like nothing happened the night before. But you let the thoughts of tomorrow fly over your head as you were already pulling Eddie to one of the empty bathroom stalls.
masterlist
a/n: haha omg i was washing the dishes when i thought of this. when i tell you i stopped my chores to write this asap. i'd forget in a second if i didn't <3
#eddie imagine#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x reader#eddie x fem!reader#eddie x reader#eddie x you#eddie x y/n#eddie munson#eddie stranger things#eddie x henderson!reader#eddie munson x henderson!reader#eddie fluff#eddie smut#dustin henderson#dustin x sister!reader#stranger things x fem!reader#stranger things x you#stranger things x y/n
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— LOVE, TENDERLY ; ITOSHI RIN
-1.2k, hurt/comfort, fight with parents mentioned, reader wants to pursue a literary career, insecurities and second guessing about choices in life, crying reader and gentle rin
a/n- I saw a reel on insta where the bf was wiping his gf's mascara and it was so cute that I was fuelled to write this. I'm literally writing after 2 months so pls spare me. Also I love rin. REBLOGS + INTERACTIONS ARE HIGHLY APPRECIATED!!
you could always count on your lover to support your decisions. Rin was your biggest admirer, he was all you could ask for and more.
When the doorbell of his apartment rang approximately at around 10:41 in the night, Rin scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion.
He was not expecting anyone this late. He looked up at the door in suspicion when the doorbell rang again.
Taking his reading glasses off and putting his book down on the coffee table, he uttered a 'coming' before walking off to open the door.
His eyes widened in shock, concern and a little bit of fear at what he saw.
There you were, standing on the other side, arms wrapped around yourself as you sniffled. You were supposed to be at a family dinner. But you were standing in front of him, mascara and eyeliner running down your very glossy and very red eyes, staining your cheeks black.
The sight in front of him, made Rin's heart drop as a sense of unpleasantness and worry consumed him whole.
"Hi," you croaked out, wiping the fresh tear that streamed down your face which in turn smudged the black makeup residues.
"I'm sorry, I..I just didn't know where to go. I didn't want to be alone. Can I come in?" Your arms tightened around yourself as you looked at him hopefully.
Your words broke his chain of thoughts as he pulled you inside and locked his door.
He sat you down on the sofa and gave you some water which you gratefully drank. You didn't quite realise how scratchy and dry your throat had been until you drank the water.
"Thank you," you offered him a gentle smile.
"Wait here," with that he seemed to disappear somewhere only coming back with a packet of wet wipes.
He sat down and took your face in his hands, inspecting it thoroughly before taking out a wet wipe.
"Dinner went south? Mhm?" He asked, voice gentle like the cool breeze of an autumn's day. It soothed you a bit.
"Yea..." You replied in a murmur, feeling the damp wipe against your already tear dampened face.
Rin's hands worked skillfully as he gently wiped off the runny mascara from around your eyes and cheeks. There was a shared silence between you two that was comfortable, welcomed even.
"I want you to look up for me," he said and you obliged. "Want to tell me what happened?"
"Got into a fight with my mum. She said stuff about me trying to pursue a literary career," you felt your chest tighten as the earlier fight with your mum, who you thought would support your decisions, replayed in your brain.
Rin only hummed, urging you to continue as he slowly went to wipe the other side of your face.
"She said it's not a promising career, would not sustain my life and who knows if it could work out. She said it's better as a hobby, something that I do in my free time. She's so sure I'll fail Rin, I'm scared," your voice broke as a fresh stream of tears fell down your eyes. You bit your lip to suppress any sound from coming out.
"I was so sure that I wanted to do this and now...now I'm second guessing. I mean, what am I even doing with my life? What if she's correct and nothing works out?" You inhaled, exhaling shakily from your mouth. Your breaths were heavy and Rin was livid that someone could break you this badly.
He remembered all the days and nights you spent working on your unfinished debut novel draft, scraping, editing and doing it all over again till you believed it to be perfect. He was there through your writing blocks and how you felt helpless when it happened. He would read your work for you, smiling at you proudly because that's what he was. He was always so proud of you. He always provided you with comfort whenever you needed it. You need it now more than ever.
He kept the wipe down as he finished removing your makeup and wiped away your tears with his hands. He rested his hand on your cheek then. Calloused as they were due to years of football training, they blossomed in you a feeling of solace. A much needed one. You closed your eyes, leaning into his hands as you took it in.
"I think you are wonderful," he rubbed his thumb against your cheek in a comforting motion.
"I think you're wonderful and absolutely brilliant at what you do. Your writing is splendid y/n and never ever let anyone make you think or feel otherwise," you let out a breathy laugh at his words as you opened your eyes to look at him.
"Oh no no don't laugh. I'm dead serious right now," and he was. He was absolutely focussed on your face and he spoke from his heart, with all his heart.
"You have a way with words and you execute them brilliantly. As far as not knowing if it will work out goes, really, of how many things are we absolutely sure about? Life is unpredictable. What if it does work out? That's a fair possibility isn't it?" He tilted his head as he smiled at you, bringing a small smile to your own lips. You didn't even notice but your sniffling and your tears had stopped.
"I know that but it's just so aggravating you know? She just gave me this reality check. She said everything I sometimes feel so insecure about like I don't know, voicing out my worst fears or something," you sighed as you flopped back on the sofa pillow sighing.
"Tell me about having a shitty family," he pushed back his fringes — which messily fell over his eyes again — as he fell beside you, putting his legs up on the coffee table.
"Tell me something Rin," you rested your head against his shoulder, snuggling against his muscular body, his arms engulfing your figure and bringing you closer.
"How do I know everything will be worth it?"
"You don't and that's the beauty of it," he looked down at your face, placing a kiss on your temple.
"You know I never knew if football would be right for me. I knew I was skilled but there were these thoughts in the crevices of my mind that would crawl up to the surface sometimes and I would worry. It took practice, a whole lot of shaping and belief."
"You have to believe in yourself. You have to believe in your dreams. Keep writing, no matter who says what, no matter what happens. You are skilled, you are smart and you have so much potential. Sometimes the thoughts will crawl up but you've got to push them down okay? And when you're the biggest author out there with bestseller books and millions of fans around the world, remember I was your first fan. Also, always your biggest one," He placed another kiss on your forehead as you were left in awe of the words he spoke. You could only grin at his softly smiling visage.
"What?" He whispered.
"I never knew you had a way with words," you took his face in your hands, looking up at him with adoration and love.
He mimicked the look on your face as he slowly wrapped his hand around your wrist, leaving a chaste kiss on your fingers.
"Eh. I try. Gotta watch out for my love now don't I?"
#itoshi rin#rin x reader#itoshi rin x you#rin x you#rin fluff#bllk#bllk fluff#blue lock#blue lock fluff#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#blue lock rin#itoshi rin fluff#itoshi rin x y/n#bllk x y/n#bllk rin#rin angst#itoshi rin angst#rin imagines#itoshi rin x reader#—storytelling🌙
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BE WARY OF ART STEALERS!
can’t stress this enough but I’m sure some of you have seen this person around lately
DO NOT LIKE OR REBLOG THEIR POSTS.
this account basically takes ninjago art (or what they think is ninjago art) from artists all around the internet without permission and posts them on their account in batches. When asked if the art was theirs, they said yes
This is a bold faced lie. Whoever this person was didn’t take the time to remove watermarks and it’s incredibly obvious they’re stealing other peoples work. Some watermarks are blatantly obvious.
One of them wasn’t even ninjago art, it was ATLA art I believe.
Included the full image for this one so y’all can see the account for proof (though honestly you could easily go to the account and find one with somebody else’s watermark within seconds) and also see how this person is gaining off of other peoples work. This stolen art should NOT have 35 notes.
Don’t support this person. Support the actual artists the art belongs to. Many of them can be found by the watermarks!
I recommend people block them, or if you want to keep an eye on the situation I recommend you always check the account posting the art before liking or reblogging right now. Going off of style or recognizability will NOT help you because they’re stealing from other artists with various art styles - and some of them are also here on tumblr.
I don’t like doing this and I don’t know how many people it’ll even reach but PLEASE be careful of who you support right now.
It also goes to show that you might want to do background checks if someone is acting suspicious! Obviously don’t make your judgement off of a vibe but if someone is posting with little to no words and just posting art at insane frequencies with watermarks or styles that don’t seem to line up, maybe you should look into it before supporting them. Of course, sometimes it’ll be a false alarm, but it’s better to be safe than sorry!
It’s not just this person, I’ve noticed other instances of art theft recently, so I would also like to remind artists to watermark their works!
My recommendation is to have an obvious watermark that people WILL see if it gets stolen by someone careless (I.e like this instance) and I recommend having it overlap with several different colors and shading and such so that it’s more difficult to edit out. I also might recommend hiding smaller watermarks inside your work that are less obvious so that if more careful people do edit out the first watermark, you can still have a fail safe.
UPDATE: Im pretty sure the main person behind the theft was either banned or deleted their account. I will be keeping this up for a bit so people can learn from this instance. While the original person is gone, art theft is still something that can and will happen. Let this be a reminder that you should always watermark any art you post to the internet if you don’t want it stolen! An unwatermarked piece of art is harder to trace back to the artist than a watermarked one. Even if watermarks can be removed, they discourage people from theft. If a work has no watermarks, people can and will try to get away with it, and the only way anybody will know is if they’ve seen the original artist post the work before. Of course, some people might not care while stealing, but it will tell people something’s up.
#ninjago#ninjago cole#cole ninjago#jay walker#ninjago jay#ninjago kai#jay ninjago#kai jiang#lego ninjago#ninjago zane#lloyd ninjago#lloyd garmadon#ninjago lloyd#kai smith#ninjago nya#nya ninjago#nya jiang#nya smith#important#art theft
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Tatort Saarbrücken (Spatort) English subtitles - 2024 edition (episodes 1-5)
For all international fans who want to watch Tatort Saabrücken (of annual tumblr trending fame) but don't speak German, fear not:
Send me a DM and I can send you a link for English subs :)
(Please do not send asks as I can't post them publicly and I've had the unfortunate experience of privately posted ones eating links or disappearing into the tumblr void, never to be seen again...)
For return customers: as of today (04 Feb 2024) the newest episode (#5 - Der Fluch des Geldes (FdG)) is now live! The Drive link is still the same and the ReadMe has been updated as well, so check that out for links and guides as always.
And as always: THIS IS AN UNOFFICIAL FAN PROJECT THAT I DO AS A HOBBY - PLEASE DO NOT POST THE LINK OR THE FILES PUBLICLY!
More info under the cut
You can pass them along to other people privately (though please also ask them not to post them and to let anyone else they'd like to share them with know as well!), but I really don't want any beef with the channel (which is publicly funded and can afford far fancier lawyers than me, who is none-funded and can afford no lawyers) because these are not official in any capacity nor do I want to leave anyone with the impression that these could be official. They're a simple homemade attempt at letting non-German-speaking fans participate in the epic highs and lows of Spatort because there currently are no official English subtitles. Any mistakes are entirely my own, I don't own any of the copyrights to Tatort or any of their characters or plots, yadda yadda.
That being said, if you notice any typos, translation errors, missing or out of date links or anything else, please do let me know so I can update the files accordingly!
As I've gotten a few messages this year apologizing for being late: if anyone sees this in the future - yes, this is still up to date. You can shoot me a message at any time of the year and I will get back to you as soon as I can (usually within 24-48 h). If you still haven't heard from me after a week (especially if there's still new posts coming in on the blog) feel free to poke me again - I promise I'm not ignoring you, I most likely just haven't seen the notification.
If you want to filter spoilers for the new episode in the meantime, block #spatort spoilers to avoid seeing them on this blog (I generally use this tag for posts related to new episodes in between the official release and uploading the subtitles)
#tatort saarbrücken#spatort#tatort subtitles#spatort subtitles#der fluch des geldes#die kälte der erde#das herz der schlange#der herr des waldes#das fleißige lieschen#fdg#kde#hds#hdw#dfl#in the unlikely event that this blog should go dead entirely:#there are loads of people out there by now who have the link#a post on the Spatort tag that you're looking for the link but I'm no longer responding should be enough for the right people to find you
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Hi!
I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!
I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!
I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.
I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!
'Til it Hurts
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader
Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?
Word Count: 12.5k
Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...
A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag.
It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had.
God, you’d never have friends like that again.
Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen.
They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up.
Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.
Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.
At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment.
A city now filled with killers.
“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”
The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil.
Not good.
Shit. Karver, where did you go!?
Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US.
If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.
You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air.
But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed.
Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy.
This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.
“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.”
Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been.
So that was where you came in.
God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.
Mostly because of situations like this.
“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.”
Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty.
None of this was going to plan.
You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.
Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back.
The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips.
3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…
Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple.
A man, then.
“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”
You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses.
With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing.
Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured.
“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper.
A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same.
“You’ll never get it out of me-”
“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”
“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”
There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come.
You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?
Have they seen murder?
But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.
You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.
“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.
Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death.
Your mark has been met.
The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow.
“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze.
You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman.
The Reaper.
Oh, what would they think of you now?
You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times.
In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all.
Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries.
—
The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete.
“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling.
Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.
“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set.
Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”
Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group.
“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”
“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”
“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”
“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”
“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”
An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play.
Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.
Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.
“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching.
“Hm,” their command affirms.
Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.
Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–
“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–”
The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different.
Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances.
“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.
Brows furrow.
Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit.
“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.
“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys.
Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant.
An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.
Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.
“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”
“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat.
“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate.
Price grunts under his breath.
“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask.
Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?
“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?”
Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over.
Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.
Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves.
“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion.
“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.
“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’.
Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand.
“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.
“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”
“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”
“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”
“You’re right. It’s not.”
“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”
“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”
The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all.
But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.
“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.”
A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell.
“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.
The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate.
“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”
“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.”
Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer.
“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?”
“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.
Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book.
You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit.
Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over.
Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted.
The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm.
Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before.
“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”
“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows.
Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture.
“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.”
It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head.
Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant.
The room is more silent than Ghost is.
“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.”
The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow.
“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.
“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”
The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.”
Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time.
He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered.
But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague.
Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.
Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim.
You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes.
He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal.
His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.
“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.”
Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.
‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.
Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.
—
You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders.
Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now!
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.”
In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do.
Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping.
Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself.
The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission.
And Ghost.
Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks.
But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt.
Mutt was the worst of them.
Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work?
The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky.
You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.
What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?
Your ears twitch.
“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”
“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens. He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.
“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.”
“Sir!”
After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been.
Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back.
Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself.
You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest.
Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly.
Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.
—
It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.
Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily.
There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time.
Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen.
But there were ups to this constant downward slope.
It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.
“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.
Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market.
You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.”
Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks.
The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters.
You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky.
Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull.
“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”
Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean.
Your eyebrows furrow.
He was never mean to me.
There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…
You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.
Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.
No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt.
You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant.
A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.
Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!
“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”
By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.
“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”
But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.
You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.
“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice.
You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked.
A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point.
If I had known…you frown.
Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.
“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.”
The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it.
Like blood lining the street.
You force yourself to run faster.
—
You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you.
Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you.
The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.
But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.
Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?
Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver.
But you didn’t look away.
“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins.
Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch.
“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days.
Your Captain scurries after.
“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.
At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type.
But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude.
You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.
The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle.
The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case.
‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth.
And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement.
You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?
“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?”
Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.
“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.”
You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.
“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms.
Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.
“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.
“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?”
“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.
‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’
Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?
Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.
“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.
“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat.
‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’
You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves.
The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.
And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.
—
When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report.
Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued.
I need new intel. Badly.
About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom.
On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.
Your cheeks heat.
He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?
As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.
Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.
Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.
Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race?
Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute.
What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted?
The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.
Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound.
A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?
When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.
“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”
“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.”
Hadn’t he changed even a little bit?
“Now that’s dark.”
“Never said it wasn’t.”
Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights.
There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore.
They had died a long time ago.
“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you.
Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.
Stop that.
“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?”
“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”
“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.
“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”
“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.
What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?
The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.
He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how.
She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left.
But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely.
Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath.
Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.
When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets.
His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.
“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles.
He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare.
You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.
What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious.
But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.
“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.
“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.”
Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”
He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.
“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”
“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh.
“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”
“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”
“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.
“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow.
He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way.
Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around.
Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.
At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.
Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you.
You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.
Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around.
You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led.
Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.
“Well, where are we–”
“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it.
Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after.
Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you.
Boxed in.
Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it.
One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you.
You don’t bother watching him drop.
Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it.
But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you.
Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps.
You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.
“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.
Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious.
Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah!
“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”
“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!”
“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”
“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs.
Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement.
A wide grin is stuck on you.
Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.
Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…
“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.”
He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant.
Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that.
A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?
“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow.
Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee.
Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.
“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”
Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.
Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time.
Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter.
How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant.
All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now.
“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.
“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip?
His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side.
There were few people worthy of that.
You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate.
You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years.
Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated.
You’d never had sex before.
And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.
He sighs heavily and follows in silence.
—
When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks.
They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet.
You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.
You could forget about it. You should.
But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.
If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors.
Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!
You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth.
Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.
But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong.
It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.
But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…
“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”
Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.
Why did they do this to you?
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#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#ghost fanfiction#cod x you#cod mw22#cod smut#cod x reader#cod#mw2 fanfic#mw2 2022#mw2#mw2 x reader#call of duty mwii#cod mw2#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty mw2#call of duty x you#ghost mw2#captain johnathan price#johnny soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#kate laswell#simon riley#ghost x you#ghost cod#cod fanfic#x reader smut#x fem!reader#x female reader
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okay I’m here like two business days later with that request because my adhd brain forgot about it lmao
GHOSTFACE!! YOONGI!! I added the picture of yoongi because I had a very ~specific~ yoongi look in mind when thinking of this loll. I’m thinking Halloween party vibes?? or any other way that a costume would make sense. idk I’m making this request late at night so my brain is half turned off. I’m kind of letting you take the reins here and make it as spooky as you feel comfortable with. like I said I’d love to see your take on this because I love your mind <3
You've had your eyes set on Yoongi for as long as you can remember. What you didn't know is that he's had his eyes on you, too.
↳ pairing: yoongi x f!reader
↳ rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | halloween | friends to... (?) | light smut | angst | dead dove
↳ wc/date: 1.4k | October 2023
↳ warnings: dubcon, knife play, blood play, yandere vibes, mc is afraid but also turned on, mc is confused and so am i, slut shaming, humiliation, lowkey gaslighting/victim-blaming, a toxic relationship at the least, vaginal fingering, open ending, i wrote this half asleep and without editing
↳ notes: i have no idea what the fuck this is 🥲 pls forgive me. idk how this happened
↳ masterlist / taglist
↳ what was jai listening to? freak - sub urban ft. rei ami
Halloween 2023 Masterlist
Clink. Clink. Clink.
The wind kicks dry leaves across the sidewalk, swirling them around your feet. Twisting your torso around, you glance over your shoulder as you walk. One of your red stiletto heels falls in the crack between the slabs of concrete. Pain blooms in your ankle when you wobble. The sound of you sucking a breath through your clenched teeth is the only thing disrupting the still, crisp autumn air.
Until you hear it again.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
It sounds like metal on metal, perhaps the jingle of keys or buckles knocking into each other as someone walks.
Alcohol warms your cheeks and chest despite how revealing your red corset and miniskirt are. Still, you know that the sound following you ever since you left Jungkook’s Halloween party is real and not some alcohol-induced paranoia from walking home alone at two in the morning on Halloween.
Jungkook hadn’t wanted you to walk, but finding an Uber so late at night would be impossible, and everyone else at the party had been too drunk to drive you home.
Two blocks isn’t much at all.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
The sidewalk is empty when you twist around and try not to trip again. Streetlights cast shadows across the grass that could be people. Or animals. Or monsters. Creatures of the night.
Taking a deep breath, you quickly unlock the gate that opens to wooden stairs leading to the backdoor of your apartment on the second floor. You rush up the stairs as quickly as you can in the stupid heels your best friend convinced you to wear because they’re sexy, and you both thought they might help you catch the eye of a certain boy.
It wasn’t worth the trouble, though. The certain boy barely looked your way.
For a second too long, you stall, fumbling with your keys to find the one that will unlock your backdoor. Your fingers feel numb from the cold, and your reflexes are dulled by whatever was in the punch Hoseok made. Perhaps that’s why you don’t know what looms behind you until its body has yours pressed against your door.
Sticking your hands out, you try to stop yourself from hitting your face. It works, but now your arms are trapped between your body and the door. Your keys fall with a hollow thud, and for a heartbeat, the world is silent, like every creature in existence is holding its breath.
Every creature except for the one crowding you against the door. It breathes, hot and heavy, against the shell of your ear, scattering goosebumps across your skin. You’re burning up from its body heat, the creature big and firmly pressed against every inch of you.
But what makes your knees tremble isn’t the oppressive force of this thing sticking to you like a second skin. It’s the clink and then something cool and sharp pressed against your throat.
You can’t swallow down your nerves without fear of your throat bobbing against what you guess is a large knife.
“Are you scared?” a voice whispers. Soft lips brush the tip of your ear. Then a nose, buttoned and cold, drags along the side of your neck. “You’re being such a good girl, didn’t even scream.”
Fear clutches your heart, but that voice strokes a fire in your core. It’s sick how you shiver against the man’s chest because you know it isn’t only because you’re scared of him.
“You’re not funny, Yoongi,” you say with a shaky breath and do your best not to move too much when you talk.
Yoongi chuckles into your shoulder, where he’s nuzzled his face. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
The knife glides down your throat at the point with not enough pressure to break the skin but just enough for it to feel uncomfortable.
“Are you gonna let me in?”
It’s not a real knife. Yoongi is your friend; he wouldn’t threaten you. Or, at least, you think he’s your friend. He’d ignored you all night, though.
“Did you seriously follow me all the way here at two in the morning just to scare me?” You elbow him out of the way so you can bend down to retrieve your keys.
“Yeah,” Yoongi admits with a gummy smile.
Inside your apartment, you can get a better look at him. His costume is just his regular clothes with a Ghostface mask, though he isn’t wearing the mask anymore. It’s tied to one of his belt loops. The side bumps against the metal of his belt when he walks.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
“You’re ridiculous.”
Yoongi’s grin grows. “Jungkook didn’t want you walking by yourself.”
“Then why didn’t you walk with me instead of following me around like a creep?”
You kick off your heels and take ginger steps toward the kitchen, the balls of your feet throbbing. Out of the corner of your eye, Yoongi shrugs. His pretty black hair falls against his shoulders and curls into his eyelashes when he tilts his head to watch you.
“You knew I was there,” he doesn’t ask, just smiles when you roll your eyes.
Catching your wrist, Yoongi stops you from crossing the living room to the kitchen. His grip on you is bruising when he yanks you into his chest. It’s claustrophobic and makes your stomach churn when you twist your wrist, and Yoongi doesn’t let go.
“I’m thirsty.” Your voice comes out as a whisper, can’t manage to get any louder. “Let me go.”
“Interesting,” Yoongi murmurs. “I’m thirsty, too.”
You follow his eyes when he drops his chin to peer between your bodies. At the same time, you feel the cool edge of the knife drag up your thigh. The tip eventually catches on the edge of your miniskirt. In one swift motion, Yoongi flicks the knife up and cuts through the thin, stretchy fabric. A thin line of blood sprouts from the shallow cut his knife makes up the inside of your thigh.
“Oh my god,” you whimper, watching little dribbles of blood trickle down your leg. Heat spreads from the cut across your thigh and unfurls in your stomach.
The dim lighting of your living room reflects in warm tones within Yoongi’s dark irises. Squeezing your wrist even tighter, he walks you backward until your legs hit the edge of your couch.
“You liked it,” Yoongi points out with a tut of his tongue, his tone condescending and judgemental. The shame it stirs in your chest makes it hard for you to breathe. “Let me press you up against the door. Mark you up with this,” he twirls the knife around, making a show of how loosely he grasps it.
“Yoongi.”
Yoongi brings the knife to your lips to silence you. The tip glistens with your blood.
“Keep quiet like a good girl for me, okay, sweetheart?” Yoongi kneels on the couch in between your spread legs. The position forces your ruined skirt higher up your thighs, exposing your sheer red thong.
You watch in amazement as Yoongi drags the tip of his knife up your inner thigh until he reaches the edge of your thong. Lightly, he drags the tip along your clothed pussy. It doesn’t cut you, but you can’t stop shaking because it could, and you don't know what that would mean for you if you admitted that you kind of want it to.
“Why are you–”
“Shhh, don’t play so innocent,” Yoongi murmurs. He leans forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “You dressed up so pretty for me. Look so good in red; I wanted to see more of it on you.”
The knife presses against the crease of your inner thigh and slices upward, giving you another shallow cut while cutting you loose from your thong.
You moan when Yoongi drags his cold fingers along your folds, dig your nails into his forearm when he plunges two fingers into your pussy and makes your muscles flutter.
“So wet for me, fuck, you’re such a slut,” Yoongi moans as your pussy greedily sucks in his fingers despite the press of the bloodied blade against your throat.
"Yoongi, please," you buck into his hand, urging him to fuck you faster. Your thighs sting from the cuts, and your legs are wet with little streams of blood, but you've never felt so close to an orgasm so quickly in your life.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take good care of you.”
Halloween 2023 Masterlist
all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & AO3
do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work
#jai asks#souryoong#yoongi x reader#bts fanfic#yoongi fanfic#yoongi angst#yoongi smut#bts angst#bts smut#jai writes#gimmethatagustd#ash!#halloween 2023#ghostface killers
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