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thoughts-of-bear · 2 months

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The birthday gift

A Halsin x reader fanfiction | Explicit, 18+ | 7k words A/N: Okay since the Halsin brainrot has had its hold on me for ages, I started this fic on my birthday in december, not expecting to ever finish it because I have literally never finished anything I've started writing before- until now. I got inspired to write this by this post (for the birthday part, the smut part is my own horny imagination) and well, this is the final product. Since it's my first time publishing any of my writing and writing smut at all, please be kind with me XD Summary: Your companions prepare a surprise birthday party for you, Halsin sees you in your new dress, you two dancing leads to him confessing his feelings for you and a very happy ending... CW: halsin x f!reader, virgin reader, halsin eating pussy, fingering, p in v sex, breeding, rough sex i guess, halsin being the man he is, all that stuff idk what to write here really

I hope you enjoy it, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

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You and your companions had finally reached Baldur’s Gate. It’s still morning when you enter Rivington that day and the streets are busy with all kinds of people, many seemingly refugees from Elturel and farther away, here to find shelter in the city. As you continue down the road to the village in front of the city gates, you are stopped by a little red-headed girl.

“Erm. ‘Scuse me, I can’t find my mum.” She looks worn out and as if she has recently been crying.

“Where did you last see her?” you ask as you bend down to her, smiling to show you want to help.

“She went to go get some herbs - for her spots” she gestures towards her face. “She was sick. And she was supposed to come back the same day.” She pauses before adding, “That was last tenday though.”

“Let’s go find a guard. They’ll be able to help you”, you propose.

The girl shakes her head. “Guards blow like petards. They don’t help us.”

Your heart sinks at these words. It seems all these people were here because the city wouldn’t take them in. And the guards are no help either, apparently. You wonder what happened to your city, where once everyone was welcome.

Halsin sighs and shakes his head in disapproval. “This city is a poor place to be in need of help. Even the guards can’t be trusted to protect the most vulnerable.”

You silently agree and think of how you could help that girl. You decide to spare a few coins, so she can buy herself some food.

“I don’t know where your mum is, but here - take a few coins”, you offer her, not able to tell her that her mother is most likely dead. Halsin smiles at you warmly as you shoot him a quick glance, the sight making your heart skip a beat.

“Oh - erm. Thank you so much! I don’t have anything and you can’t do anything without any coin”, the little girl exclaims, bobbing on her toes and suddenly looking a little less tired. “I’ll pay you back. When I find my mum.” She turns around and bolts. “No need, it’s a gift!” you call after her but she has already vanished in the crowd.

You finally arrive at Wyrm’s Rock Crossing in the evening, after you had snuck past one of the new city guards - the so-called Steel Watch - and promised to investigate the murder of the local Ilmater priest. Another incident that seems to fuel the hate towards the refugees.

And that isn’t even all. The city is closed, even for you as a Baldurian, and to get in you’d need an Admission Pass - or wings. You sigh. You just want to get into the city, rent a room in the Elfsong and think about what to do next, now that the Absolute’s army must soon be upon the city.

It’s all too much and too little time. And you can’t just turn away from the people you met in Rivington either, they need help just as much as you need to find out how to beat the Absolute’s Chosen and get rid of the tadpoles.

When you make your way around camp that evening, checking up on your companions, Halsin notices your exhaustion, the way you slump your shoulders and how your usually impeccable stance falters. He wants to relieve you of at least a bit of the tension, so when you walk over to him, he offers you a massage. The things he wants to say to you can wait until tomorrow.

“Thank you, Halsin”, you accept, his hands turning you around and gently pushing you down to sit on your knees before him. You sigh as his broad hands knead the tension from your back and by the time he is finished, you feel like a sleepy, boneless lump of flesh, muscles completely relaxed. You thank Halsin again before you retire to your bedroll, the hopeful thought that the offer might’ve been more than Halsin’s usual kindness crossing your mind before you drift off to sleep.

The next evening, you were finally inside the city walls. You consider the new information of the day. How you got your hands on an invitation to the celebration at Wyrm’s rock fortress, your disbelief to see that it was Lord Gortash’s coronation as Arch Duke, how he made the tadpoled Duke Ravengard give up his power and how Bane’s Chosen then proposed an alliance against Orin, the shapeshifter that had already approached you in Rivington. You had agreed to kill her, but you definitely wouldn’t leave Gortash his Netherstone. But that is a problem for another day. You had managed to get a room in the Elfsong Tavern and as usual you make your way through it to hear what your companions think of all that had happened today. Most approve of your decision. Halsin is the last person you speak to and as always, he has just the right words to ease your worries. For now, at least.

“Wait-”, he grabs your arm before you can leave. “I didn’t thank you yet.” His large hand is warm and makes your skin tingle where it touches you.

“Thank me? For what?” He chuckles at your puzzled look. “For all that you did in Rivington yesterday. You have so many worries and yet you still go out of your way to help those in need. The way you made that little girl smile, or how you didn’t hesitate to investigate what happened to that Ilmater priest.” A blush creeps up your cheeks as he continues. “I’m afraid Nature’s balance can never be restored in a city like this, but seeing what you do every day without expecting anything in return gives me hope. And for that I thank you.” You smile up at him, lost for words with your heart beating fast.

“I appreciate you saying this. I wish I could to more, to help everyone, but if I can at least do a little good, it’s worth the exhaustion at the end of the day”, you eventually admit with a smile. Halsin grins. “You’re too modest. I wager you don’t even know how extraordinary you truly are.” Your cheeks blush an even deeper red at those words and only when you retire to bed for the evening does your heart resume its normal pace again. But the warm feeling Halsin’s presence gave you remained for the night.

After you had the first proper breakfast since your crash with the Nautiloid, you feel ready to explore the city and find out how to best deal with all your problems. You hadn’t particularly missed the bustle and noise of your old home, but you can’t help feeling safer now that you were in familiar surroundings again.

Gale proposed to go to Sorcerous Sundries, both to find out more about the Elderbrain’s crown and to see what the wizard there wants with your companion Nightsong. Since you don’t have an idea where to find Orin yet, you figure that this is as good as any other thing you could be doing.

The way from Elfsong to the magic shop isn’t far and you still have some time before it opens, so you decide to stop by the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette to update yourself on any news you had missed in your absence and struggle with the Absolute.

Scanning the title page, you notice the date in the corner and your brows shoot up in surprise. Noticing this, Gale asks if you found anything important in the newspaper.

“No, it’s just that I realised today is my birthday and I've completely forgotten about it. That means we have been on the road for more than two months already”, you wonder aloud before you add, “It doesn’t feel that long.”

“Well, then we have to celebrate of course!” Gale exclaims happily. You smile at his enthusiasm but shake your head. “We have bigger problems for now. Let’s see what this Lorroakan wants with Dame Aylin and then get on with our business. Besides,” you shrug, “we didn’t celebrate birthdays in my monastery anyways so I won’t miss anything.”

“If you say so,” Gale replies and you turn your attention back towards the page you were studying before.

You had already forgotten about the conversation as you come into your chamber in the Elfsong, grateful for the few minutes alone during the bath you had taken and the respite for your tired body.

But the moment you enter the room, Karlach and Shadowheart drag you to a set dinner table, laden with the most delicious food you could imagine. There aren’t your ordinary fish heads and the mouldy bread you usually have to call supper, instead delicious smelling pork roasts, pies, glazed carrots and potatoes, deep red apples and more pile atop the table, all lovingly placed around a huge flower bouquet in the middle of it.

You are so overwhelmed by the amount of work your friends must’ve put into this, that you can only stutter a ‘thank you’ before Karlach announces, “Happy birthday soldier! Halsin, Gale and Shadowheart here told us that today is your birthday and you never had a proper party before, so we decided to prepare you a little something!” With a grin she gestures from the table to one of the unoccupied beds, where a few packages are placed.

“You brought me presents too? You really didn’t have to!” you exclaim in surprise. You are so touched that your friends -among all the trouble- still found time to prepare the presents and this party for you that you feel tears well up in your eyes.

“Darling, no need to cry,” Astarion laughs as he pushes you onto your designated chair. “This is a party and not a funeral! Go ahead and enjoy yourself, it’s your special day after all!”

With a sniff and a small chuckle at Astarion’s words you sit down properly. He is right, of course, and you all clearly enjoy having a small break from the worries you faced at the moment.

Smiling hesitantly, you grab some meat and vegetables and start to eat - it really is delicious. You revel in the laughter and conversations with your friends, your weariness from todays fight forgotten for the moment.

When all of you can’t possibly eat any more, Karlach drags you over to the bed with the presents. You can tell she is excited to see if you like the few things your companions managed to get you in the time they had for preparing, so you start unpacking.

The first present contains a book on the monastery you were raised in, with a handwritten note from Gale:

“I’m sure you already know most information this book has to offer, but I thought it might still bring you comfort and remind you of home.” You thank him with a tight hug and carefully place the book into your bag.

The next package is a bottle of the finest liquor of the Elfsong Tavern, plus a sparkler for every one of your companions which Karlach sets of immediately.

Laughing at her shenanigans, you reach for the last and biggest present. It is wrapped in red paper and decorated with a little white bow. You wonder where your companions had managed to find all those things while you carefully pull the paper open. Soon a dress falls out of the packaging and you gaze at it in awe. Your fingers trace the deep forest green fabric, intricate silver and gold patterns weaved into it.

“This is beautiful, thank you, truly!” you say earnestly. You still can’t quite believe that all this should be for you. “I thought you would like it”, smiles Shadowheart. “And I’m certain it will suit you beautifully. Go now - try it on!” she urges you.

You walk to the bathroom which still smells of the quince-scented soap you had used for your bath a few hours before. While changing, you bask in that warm feeling in your chest these moments among your friends always grant you. Whatever problems you had encountered, in your opinion they have all been worth it just for the people you found and let into your heart along the way. As cheesy as that sounds.

You regard yourself in the mirror. The dress is cut low and close-fitting, capturing your cleavage in a very flattering way. Maybe too flattering, if you think about it too much. This isn’t something you’d usually wear, but you have to admit that you like the way the dress looks on you. A bit insecure you go back into your room, where you are greeted with approving cheers and whistles from your friends.

“You look absolutely stunning”, Shadowheart admires. “I knew it would look good on you! Turn around please”, she commands. You do what you are told, with red cheeks at the compliment.

When you face Shadowheart again, you notice Halsin gazing at you with pure admiration - and something else you can’t quite place. You think you notice a golden shimmer in his eyes, but that could be a trick of the light considering all the candles in the room.

“I must admit, your neck looks very tempting in that dress but I know someone who is a lot hungrier for you than me right now”, Astarion remarks with a wicked grin and a sideward glance. You frown at him, though you can’t help your heart skipping a beat at these words. Could he possibly mean Halsin?

“Now, what would a party be without some music and dance?” Wyll interrupts your thoughts and as if these words have summoned her, the bard the party had met in the druid grove appears in the doorway.

“Alfira!” you exclaim happily and immediately rush over to hug her. “I’m so glad you got to Baldur’s Gate alright!”

Alfira grins at you. “Yes, thanks to you and your friends here. When they reached out to me today and told me it was your birthday, I just had to come! Wyll organised everything.” You nod to him in thanks. “Now, I don’t have anything to give you but just tell me what you want to hear and I will play it for you!”

“Thanks, Alfira, that’s more than enough for me”, you beam and lead her into the room towards your group. “Wyll, now is your chance to show me your dancing!” You say as you take his hand and pull him into the middle of the room, then you grab Karlach and Gale and start to move to the tune Alfira started to play. Karlach swirls you around and Wyll shows you the dance moves from court, which -to be honest- remind you a bit of the mating dances you had seen with a few bird species.

Out of breath from all the dancing and laughing, you request a slower tune from the tiefling bard. You manage to persuade Shadowheart to put away her wine for a moment and start to waltz around the room with her. She is quite the good dancer and you wonder where she had learned it, with her being raised in a Sharran temple and everything.

At the next tune, you approach Halsin. With your head light from the wine, you have finally gathered the courage to ask him for what you have secretly thought about the whole time.

Still, you can feel your heart beating in your throat. “Erm…Halsin, w-would you honour me with a dance?” you eventually manage to mumble out shyly.

“Of course, little flower. Whatever your heart desires.” That particular heart skips a beat at his intimate tone. “Although you might wish you hadn’t asked me that once you’ve seen my dancing”, he adds with a chuckle as he takes your hand.

He leads you into the room and starts to swirl you around to the melody of Alfira’s lute. He definitely isn’t as graceful as Shadowheart but certainly not as bad as he has made it sound. But even if he’d had the dancing skills of a bugbear, you wouldn’t have noticed. His large and warm hand around your waist and the smile with which he regards you sends your pulse through the ceiling. His smell of pine and honey and fresh air intoxicates you and it is hard to keep your feet from getting tangled in your dress.

When he leans down to you, you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. “Before you go and mingle again, I still have a present for you. I wasn’t sure if you would even like it”, he admits, “but I have decided to give it to you anyways.” When the tune ends, he leads you to the space in your room where his bed stands and bends down to search his pack.

You think about how long it took you to realise how attracted you are to the druid as you admire his strong back before you. Of course, you have noticed his kindness and compassion and you have always marvelled at the way he drew strength from nature. But only since you had some kind of break these last days have you begun to understand the depth of your affection for the man before you. It runs deeper than mere friendship and the echo of his hands on your back have awoken a hunger inside you that only grows stronger the more you look at Halsin. How desperately you hope that he feels the same way about you…

When he stands up to turn around, you quickly brush away the thought that has sent the heat into your cheeks again.

“You’re the only one who knows of my secret passion”, he begins jokingly, “so I thought you might accept this as my present for your special day.” He hands you a small whittled duck he has apparently made in the hours you were away from camp. You can’t help but tear up at the thought of how much effort he has put into all the details he has carved. There are even small webbed feet on the underside of the little duck.

“Thank you Halsin, this is an amazing gift!” You smile down at the little duck. “You are amazing”, you add quietly.

“With all that you have done for me, I should be the one thanking you night and day.” As you look into his eyes again you see that his gaze is now very solemn. “There was another reason for wanting to speak to you privately. I have lived a very long time. I have taken many lovers. My heart does not stir lightly. But it does now.” Your heart flutters in recognition of his words, the confession sending sparks across your skin.

“I want more than to fight at your side, or to sit around the campfire with you. I want to lay with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine.” Halsin’s gaze on you is intense, filling your chest with a burning heat that slowly spreads lower into your belly, as if the wine you have been drinking suddenly caught on fire inside of you.

Halsin continues, “I think you feel the same way - but tell me I’m wrong and the matter can rest. I do not wish to sour our friendship, but I have to know if it can be something more.”

You stare at him for a moment before you realise that he waits for your answer.

“Y-you’re not wrong, far from it”, you whisper. “I would like that very much.” You smile up at him and he takes your hand in his.

“May I kiss you?” he breathes out, relieved. You nod and he bends down to gently press his lips on yours.

His hand slides up your arm and to your back while he places his other behind your head, gently pulling you closer and deepening the kiss.

You feel his tongue prodding at your lips, demanding entrance and you happily oblige. The feeling of his soft lips on yours sends you spiralling and you can’t stifle the small moan that escapes you. Halsin sends out a silent prayer to Silvanus - if that is all it takes to make you moan, what sounds do you make when he finally gets to taste you? Groaning, his hand on your back slowly wanders lower, a silent question of permission in his eyes. You press your body against his as an answer, feeling the heat radiating off his chest … and lower.

Halsins hand grips your ass firmly, making you gasp, the other joining in and hoisting you up on his hips, turning you both around and pressing your back to the wall. You cannot stop the surprised squeak that escapes your lips at the sudden movement and Halsin presses his mouth on yours to stifle it.

The feeling of the growing bulge in his pants between your legs and the low moan Halsin utters before kissing you even more vigorously sends a shiver down your spine, pressure starting to build between your thighs.

In a desperate attempt to pull him closer, your hands grip Halsin’s hair, arms, everything you can reach. But before you can lose yourself in him, Halsin releases your lips, panting, and rests his forehead against yours.

“I would very much like to continue”, he whispers, his breathing ragged and voice hoarse with desire, “but the others will expect us back and I think you would probably like a bit more privacy.” He sighs and softly kisses your hair. “I will come to your bed when the party has ended, little flower. But don’t expect much sleep”, he adds with a wicked grin. You can only nod as he gently props you back on your feet.

With your head spinning, you get back to the others, averting your eyes from the knowing smirks of Astarion and Shadowheart noticing your ruffled hair and flushed cheeks. You ignore them, trying to engage in some more conversation and one or two dances while the thought of what awaits you won’t leave your head.

When the last of the party finally bids you goodnight, you hurry to bed, awaiting Halsin. You can’t get away from the echoes of his hands on your body, heart already racing again and warmth blooming in your belly. Even if he hadn’t promised you he’d come tonight, you would’ve been unable to sleep.

A soft rustle next to your ear startles you from your thoughts and as you turn your head, you could make out Halsin’s large figure in the dark, crouching beside your bed.

He cuts you off from what you wanted to say by placing a finger on your mouth, his other hand sliding under your back and pulling you into an upright position. With your heart beating into your throat, you take the hand Halsin offers as he gently beckons you to follow him into the corridor outside of the room the party shares, then further into a small but cosy bedroom on the next floor.

The door closes with a click and before you can say anything, Halsin sweeps you up into his arms, pressing you flat against the door and capturing your lips in a kiss that feels like it burns you from the inside.

Halsin’s fresh, earthy scent floods your senses as your tongues intertwine and your hands find their way into his hair, tugging at his braids. You whine when Halsin lets go of your lips, only to gasp as he starts nibbling and placing searing kisses on your jaw while his hands squeeze your ass firmly, bringing your bodies as close together as possible.

You moan at the growing ache between your thighs but plant your small fists against his shoulders anyway, gently pushing him away a bit. Halsin’s eyes, pupils wide and dark with desire, find yours.

“What is it my heart?” he asks, voice hoarse. “Do you want me to stop?” You see no disappointment in his gaze, only worry and your heart swells at how selfless your lover is. You avert your eyes, suddenly embarrassed to tell what troubles you.

“I- I j-just wanted t-to say that … um … well, I- I have never been with someone before”, you mumble eventually, averting your gaze as you blush furiously.

“Silvanus, preserve me”, Halsin groans out before almost dropping you and stumbling backwards, trying to steady himself on the small desk opposite the bed. With wide eyes you regard what is happening before you. Halsin drops to his knees, a deep animalistic growl coming from his lips as his eyes fill with golden light and he transforms into his huge bear form.

You gasp and nearly trip over your feet in an attempt to make room for the bear before you, but the animal fills almost the entire chamber. After finally regaining his composure, Halsin manages to change back into his elf form, with a snarl and a ragged breath coming from his lips.

“Forgive me. I- lost the run of myself.” He shakes his head in disgust at his outbreak, terrified that he has ruined this precious moment with you before it could properly begin, and slowly gets back to his feet. “Sometimes, when blood runs hot enough, it’s difficult to tame the beast. And the thought of you trusting me enough to share your first time with me … well, you saw what happened”, he smiles tentatively, slowly approaching you again with hesitation in his eyes.

“Don’t apologise”, you assure him with a shy smile. “I like it.” If possible, you blush even harder now. “Maybe for another time…?” you add, fidgeting nervously with the front of your dress.

A relieved grin spreads over Halsin’s face. “You like it..?”, he chuckles. “You are full of surprises, little flower.” As he steps forward, he bends down to gently plant a kiss on your cheek, only to proceed to bite at your earlobe which elicits a delicious moan from you.

“I’m glad you think so, but now you’ve made it even harder for me not to outright devour you”, his low voice whispers in your ear. “Nevertheless, I will be gentle. Or at least I’ll try to be.” You swallow hard, arousal sending shivers down your spine.

Halsin’s arms wrap around your waist again as he kisses your jaw, your forehead and nose, until eventually his lips find yours again, his tongue ravaging you like a man starving. His hands, this time directly shoving under your dress, firmly grip your thighs. He ruts against you, growling, his now rock-hard cock pressing against the confinements of his clothing.

His fingers trail higher up, kneading your ass, then stroking the soft skin of your back before slowly wandering even higher. His touch sends jolts through your body and you can feel the heat between your legs, already nearly too much to bear.

His eyes hold an unspoken question and when you nod, Halsin lifts your dress off and brings his mouth down on one of your breasts, the hand that’s not on your back now gently kneading the other, massaging the hardened nipple between his fingers. You mewl at the sensation, impossibly more pressure building between your thighs. Halsin gently bites down at your breast, only to run his tongue over it afterwards to soothe the mark he made. You moan and arch your back, desperately trying to press closer against Halsin’s still overly clothed erection, wanting to feel everything of him.

He growls and his mouth begins to place kisses down your front, between your breasts, on the soft flesh of your belly until he is on his knees before you, his warm breath fanning over you and flooding you with heat.

“More?” he asks, his pupils blown wide with lust, as his thumbs brush the soft skin between your legs. “Please”, you whine, knees almost too weak to stand and your underwear already embarrassingly soaked.

Halsin wastes no time, pressing kisses on the insides of your thighs, his one hand holding you in place and his other slowly -too slowly- sliding your panties down your legs. The sight of you bare and dripping with need before him almost makes him lose control again, makes him want to take you, devour you, fuck you, mark you and then fill you to the brim with his cum but with a groan he wills himself to calm down and be gentle with you. He won’t hurt you. He won’t.

He exhales deeply, lifting one of your legs up and slowly swiping his tongue through your wet folds, which earns him a choked gasp. His nose nudges your clit as his tongue starts stroking, slowly at first, then faster and with more pressure. You can’t help the way each expert swipe of his tongue makes your hips buck into his mouth as countless moans and sighs fall out of your mouth. Halsin growls in response, the vibrations around your sensitive bud making your legs shake. You can barely keep up and the coil in your belly is tightening ever faster with Halsin’s mouth sucking your clit and his tongue inside you.

“You are sweeter than honey, my heart”, he groans as his tongue presses flat against you. “Let me taste you as you come undone on my tongue.” With your mind clouded with lust, all you can do is moan out Halsin’s name and press yourself further against your lover’s mouth.

He understands anyway, now slowly dragging a thick finger through your dripping folds until he stops, teasingly pressing against your entrance. You whine, begging him to fill you, to do anything to release the overwhelming pressure between your thighs. When he finally thrusts into you, you can’t stifle the cry of pleasure that escapes your mouth. With Halsin’s finger now working your cunt open, his mouth continues its ministrations, licking and sucking your clit, soaking your legs with your slick.

With a wicked grin, Halsin inserts a second finger into your quivering hole, pushing inside over and over again, holding you firmly in place as you try to writhe away from the intense pleasure. His fingers coil upwards in response, hitting a spot inside you that makes you see stars.

“Please Halsin…”, you beg, toes curling and legs shaking, “I’m close- I- Oh!“

Moaning into your cunt, Halsin picks up his pace, his fingers pumping in and out of you as his tongue swipes over your clit again and again, bringing you closer to your end.

One more thrust with his fingers and a soft nip of his teeth against the sensitive bud between your legs is all it needs to send you spiralling over the edge. “Ha- Halsin!” you cry out, hips jerking violently and fingers digging into his shoulders as your orgasm hits you with the force of a lightning bolt. He moans at the sensations of your walls contracting around his fingers, the urge to take you and feel you squeeze his cock with your needy cunt almost overwhelming him.

You whine when he pulls his fingers out and stands up, bringing you in for a passionate kiss as you still struggle to regain your breath. Tasting yourself on Halsin’s tongue pulls a small moan from you and an embarrassed heat creeps up your back at the thought of how aroused you already are again.

With a smile, Halsin pulls away. “You are amazing, little flower”, he whispers breathlessly as he picks you up and gently places you on the bed, admiring your flushed body.

If Halsin’s tongue hadn’t just turned your mind to goo, you might have been able to return that compliment, but alas-

“May I go further?” Halsin asks and when you nod he swiftly discards of his clothes, you licking your lips at the sight of the elf naked before you. Your eyes take in his form, from his muscled arms down to the soft curve of his belly and- oh gods. Your eyes widen. You didn’t think he would be that big and the thought of him filling you makes you gulp down a mixture of fear and arousal.

Attentive as always, Halsin notices your insecurity and bends down to press gentle kisses against your ear. “We don’t have to do this, my heart…”, he whispers while he rubs soothing circles into your hips. He looks at you, his expression earnest. You bite your lip, thinking for a moment before answering. “N-no, I want this”, you assure him, your voice still weak but pleading now. The way you look so sweet with your little fangs on your lips makes Halsin feral and he kisses you again, desperate and more passionate this time. He groans into the kiss as he gently spreads your legs for him, lining up his tip with your dripping slit and sliding through your soft folds before stopping just at your entrance. The sensation of his hard length so close to entering you is enough to make your head fall back, eyes squeezed shut. “If it’s getting too much, tell me and I will stop immediately”, he whispers soothingly. “Now relax for me, little flower.”

All thoughts leave your head as Halsin slides in, agonizingly slow. The stretch would be painful if your lover hadn’t prepared you so thoroughly beforehand, but now you only feel pure bliss. Raising your head, you can see that he isn’t even halfway in but gods, you feel so full already that you can’t stifle the choked gasp that escapes your throat.

“You’re doing so well, my heart. Just a little bit more- mngh-!“ Halsin’s growl sends jolts through your spine as he finally bottoms out. You can see just how much effort it takes him to hold back by the way his jaw tenses and his chest is heaving.

“By Silvanus, you’re so tight-!“ A shiver crawls down his back, carrying a wave of soft golden light with it, as Halsin’s eyes light up with his magic for a moment. The thought of how you are able to bring your lover to the precipice of losing control is extremely flattering and you feel yourself clenching around Halsin’s cock, making him grunt in response. Finally somewhat accustoming to his size, you arch your back into the mattress below you. The new angle makes you moan in pleasure as you grip the sheets for support.

“Are you still feeling good, little flower?”, Halsin asks as he slides a hand from your hip under your back to support you. You can only form one thought. “More- please Halsin!” you whine desperately. You don’t have to ask twice, with a low growl he slides out - just to knock the breath out of you with his first, hard thrust. He sets a steady pace, one that leaves you moaning and gasping out his name. Halsin takes your small hands into his, pressing them into the bed beside you to pin you down, pushing into you deep and slow while he places bites and kisses on your throat and chest that will surely leave marks come morning.

Gods, Halsin thought. The sight of your small body sprawled beneath him, split apart by his thick cock while he fucks into you relentlessly is driving him insane. He is growling with every thrust now and each one of them makes you cry out in pleasure. It doesn’t take long until he has you on the precipice of release again, your cunt fluttering around Halsin’s length.

“H- halsin- please! I’m so close!” you can only beg, not sure if you can take much more, your body feeling like it might explode. “Come for me, my heart”, Halsin demands in a gravelly voice before pressing a thumb to your clit, rubbing and massaging until his name leaves your lips in a hoarse cry as your orgasm hits you with full force. Your hips jerk upwards, walls clenching around Halsin as you notice the tears from the overwhelming pleasure streaming down your face. He continues to pound into you, prolonging your release and muttering praises for you under his breath.

Through the fog in your mind you wonder how Halsin still has the energy to keep going, his pace unwavering while you are completely spent, gladly accepting whatever your lover has to give you as long as you’re not required to move.

So, you do not see it coming when Halsin suddenly pulls out of you, the unexpected emptiness making you whine in displeasure, only for him to flip you over and press your chest into the soft bedding while he gently raises your hips.

“I know it’s a lot right now but I need you to cum for me one more time, my heart”, Halsin huffs with a strained voice, pushing inside you once more and grabbing a fistful of your hair to keep you in place. The new position lets him slide even deeper than before and you can’t help the strangled cry that leaves you when Halsin starts pounding into you again, hitting a spot that makes your eyes roll back with blinding pleasure.

“’s too much- please-!” you sob, your poor overstimulated clit still trying to recover from the last orgasm. But Halsin doesn’t relent and you can feel sharp pricks on your hips where his hand grips you, fingers partially wild-shaped into claws and his head thrown back in ecstasy. Seeing just how feral you drive him makes your hole clench around his shaft, the squeeze causing his hips to stutter as a grunt leaves his lips. “Silvanus preserve me”, Halsin pants as he fucks into you even faster, “if you keep squeezing me like that I will not be able to stop myself from claiming you completely, from making you mine and filling you up with my seed.”

You whimper at the image of Halsin pumping his cum into you, fucking it deep into your womb until he is sure that it has taken hold. You cannot pretend you haven’t thought about it before, the idea usually sending an embarrassed heat into your cheeks, but now - gods, now you needed it.

Completely breathless you moan, “Halsin I- ah-! please-! Fill me with your cubs!” These words were the last needed for Halsin to lose himself completely in you, driving himself into you with punishing strokes that cause you to arch yourself into him while moans and whispered curses fall from both your lips. The coil in your stomach is so tight again and when Halsin takes the hand from your hip to softly press on your lower belly you see stars. Your walls clench around Halsin’s cock and you feel him twitch inside you, a sign that he too is close to release. All it takes to send you over the edge is his finger pressed against your clit, your body shaking violently beneath him, toes curling, while waves of ecstasy course through you and you cry out his name.

With a last snap of his hips and a low moan, Halsin comes as well, twitching cock releasing hot spurts of cum inside your still fluttering walls. He continues to pump into you until the aftershocks of your shared orgasm have subsided, before he slowly pulls out. You collapse onto the mattress, exhaustion settling over your overstimulated body.

Halsin gets onto the bed with you, gently gathering you up in his arms and placing your head against his broad chest. “You’ve done so well for me, little flower”, he whispers into your ear, placing soft kisses on your face before he looks your body up and down. One of his hands comes up to stroke a strand of hair away from your damp forehead and to gently lift your chin in order to look you in the eyes. You note worry in his gaze, his brows furrowed in remorse when he plants a feather light kiss on your lips.

“I’ve hurt you”, he states. “I’m so sorry, my heart. I shouldn’t have lost control like that.”

You smile up at him and cuddle deeper into his arms before you shake your head. “Don’t apologise. I loved every second of it. There is no birthday present in this world that can ever match this”, you confess with a shy grin. “Although I have to admit I’m a little sore. You sure did your best to make sure I’m unable to walk tomorrow.”

Halsin chuckles. “I can help with that”, he answers with a sly smile, his free hand sliding down your body to stroke through your soft folds, muttering an incantation under his breath. As the familiar glow of the healing spell engulfs his fingers, you feel a rush of warmth where he touches you. A moan escapes your lips before you could stop it, eliciting a mischievous smirk from your lover as you hide your face against his chest in embarrassment.

“I’d be happy to go again, my love, but I think you need some rest first. Besides, we still have an Elderbrain to kill, so we’ll need our strength tomorrow.” You nod at that, the tiredness in your bones leaving you unable to object, even if you had wanted to. But you know he is right, so when Halsin wraps a blanket around you to carry you to the bathroom, you just relax into his chest, the sound of his steady breathing soothing you.

When the bathtub is filled with warm water, you are already half asleep, barely registering that Halsin is gently cleaning you up, rinsing the sweat from your hair and body and rubbing salve over the bite marks and the bruises on your hips once you are dry again.

You can hear the soft snores and deep breathing from your companions when Halsin brings you back into the room you share, all of them already fast asleep. Absentmindedly you wonder how long you and Halsin have been away, but the thought is gone as soon as Halsin places you on your bed.

“Goodnight, my little flower. Sleep well.” He gives you a kiss and turns to leave. You manage to grab his hand before he does, stopping him in his tracks.

“Stay with me tonight?” you mumble sleepily. Halsin smiles, warmth and adoration filling his chest as he carefully climbs next to you, the bedframe creaking slightly with his additional weight, and wraps his arms around your smaller figure. The thought of how your companions might react in the morning seeing you two in one bed briefly crosses your mind, but Halsin’s steady breathing and the soft pulse of his heart against your back soon drown out anything else as you drift to sleep in his warm embrace.

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

Part 2 is here now!

#bg3 #halsin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 halsin #baldurs gate 3 #halsin silverbough #halsin bg3 #halsin x reader #halsin x tav #halsin smut #halsin fluff #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic

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03jyh23 · 25 days

Text

— starlight, guide light, and everything in between || jeong yunho

In the quiet moments of parenthood, amidst the tears and the laughter, we find strength in each other's arms, and love that knows no bounds.

first-time dad!yunho x first-time mom!reader

genre: angst, fluff

trigger warnings: infant distress/crying; illegitimate child; parental anxiety/panic; emotional distress; breastfeeding; postpartum experiences

words: 3.8 k

reminder: what you're about to read is purely fiction, so let's keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi there! the time has finally come, and im publishing my first Yunho fic 🥹 lately, some kind of maternal instinct seems to have awakened in me, and i had to get it out somehow 😭😭 i guess im getting old. just to clarify, i haven't given birth myself or have kids, so this fic is solely written based on my imagination of what it might feel like postpartum.

love, monika. ♡

if you enjoyed this post, i'd be so grateful for a little love – a like, reblog or comment would truly make my day!

You were dozing off wrapped in Yunho’s arms, your head in the crook of his neck, his smell calming your tired body. Your eyes were heavy, and it was getting harder to fight sleep. His hand was creasing your sides softly, lulling you to sleep. Being curled up on top of your boyfriend was your favorite place on earth. There was something incredibly comforting about being wrapped up in Yunho’s arms, feeling his warmth and steady heartbeat. It's like your own little sanctuary, a safe place where you can let go of all your worries and just be present in the moment. And falling asleep like that, with the gentle rhythm of Yunho's breathing and the soft touch of his hand, felt like drifting off into a dreamland.

It was a little over a month since your life was turned upside down when your little daughter was born. In that short period, every aspect of your world had shifted, reshaped by the arrival of this tiny, precious bundle of joy. The days had blurred together in a whirlwind of feedings, diaper changes, and sleepless nights. Yet amidst the chaos, there were moments of pure magic—how your daughter's eyes would light up with wonder at the world around her, the soft coos and gurgles that melted your heart, and the overwhelming sense of love that filled every corner of your home. But alongside the joy, there were also moments of doubt and uncertainty. Yunho, however, was deeply scared and anxious about becoming a father to a daughter. The mere thought of holding the fragile little being, feeding her, or changing her, filled him with a sense of fear and hesitation. It almost seemed like he was unable, or unwilling, to form an emotional bond with the newborn. This emotional disconnect was not just limited to the baby. Ever since you gave birth, a sense of apprehension and fear had gripped him. It was as if he was afraid to hold you, to touch you, and to confront the changes that your body had undergone postpartum.

The vulnerability that came with postpartum recovery was like nothing you had ever experienced before. Your body felt foreign, every movement was accompanied by a dull ache, a reminder of the physical toll that bringing your daughter into the world had exacted. But it wasn't just the physical changes that left you feeling vulnerable—it was the emotional upheaval as well. The hormonal fluctuations, the sleep deprivation, the overwhelming responsibility of caring for a newborn—all of it combined to create a perfect storm of doubt and insecurity. In those moments of vulnerability, you had expected Yunho to be your rock, your unwavering source of support and comfort. Yet, his actions—or rather, his lack of them—left you feeling more alone than ever. His hesitation to hold your daughter, and his reluctance to look at your postpartum body, all served as a painful reminder of your perceived shortcomings as a mother and a partner. You couldn't help but wonder if Yunho found you unlovable now if the changes wrought by childbirth had somehow diminished your worth in his eyes. It was a cruel thought, born out of fear and insecurity, but it lingered nonetheless, festering like an open wound in your heart. You couldn't help but feel a sense of helplessness wash over you. The distance between you and your boyfriend felt insurmountable, a gaping chasm that threatened to swallow you whole.

That's why today's little nap meant everything to you. For the first time since the birth of Yunmi, Yunho was holding you like this, providing you with the comfort and warmth you longed for.

"Wait, did you hear that?" Yunho’s soft voice disrupted your nap. Not in your right state of mind yet, you just hummed against his neck, your eyes not opening even for a second. With a gentle hand, Yunho shifted you slightly, allowing himself to slip out from beneath your embrace. As he rose from the bed, you blinked groggily, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep that clung to your senses.

"What is it?" you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. Yunho's expression was one of quiet concern as he motioned towards the crib.

"I think she's awake," he whispered, his tone barely audible in the dimly lit room. Your exhaustion weighed heavily on every limb, making even the simplest tasks seem daunting. With a weariness that seemed to seep into your bones, you clung to the pillows, seeking refuge in their soft embrace.

"Could you get her?" you whispered, your voice barely above a hoarse murmur, as you heard the soft cry emanating from the crib. You mustered all your strength to sit up and shake off the tiredness as you looked at Yunho standing still next to the crib, almost as if he was unable to move any closer. Each cry felt like a dagger to your heart, a reminder of your inability to provide the comfort that your daughter so desperately needed.

"I think it's better if you take her," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, his gaze fixed on the wall as if unwilling to meet your eyes. The words struck you like a slap in the face, igniting a firestorm of indignation deep within your chest. Yunho's refusal to take Yunmi stirred a storm of emotions within you. Anger, frustration, hurt—all of it boiled beneath the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment. How could he still refuse to take responsibility for his own daughter? How could he stand there, staring blankly ahead, while you bore the brunt of exhaustion and fatigue?

"Yunho, how can you—" you began as you stood up from the bed, your voice trembling with emotion, but the words caught in your throat, choked off by the weight of your anger and hurt. Tears welled in your eyes, hot and stinging, as you struggled to contain the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. As you approached the crib, your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you fought to maintain control. You leaned over the crib to take Yunmi into your arms and care for her. With a shaky breath, you turned away from Yunho, cradling your daughter close to your chest as you retreated to the living room. You weren't surprised that Yunho stayed behind in the bedroom, his presence a silent reminder of the distance that had grown between you. With a heavy heart, you settled onto the couch, cradling Yunmi in your arms as you prepared to breastfeed her. Your daughter's eyelids drooped as she nursed, the weight of exhaustion finally catching up to her. With each gentle suckle, she grew more and more drowsy, her tiny fingers curling against your skin in a gesture of contentment. As you watched her drift off to sleep, a pang of guilt tugged at your heart. You had expected Yunho to be there for you, to support you through the challenges of motherhood, yet time and time again, he had fallen short of your expectations. Yunmi finally drifted off to sleep, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. With a weary sigh, you leaned back against the pillows, holding your daughter close as you closed your eyes, allowing the exhaustion of the day to finally claim you.

You opened your eyes to see Yunho carefully lifting your daughter from your arms, his movements a mix of awkwardness and tenderness. Despite his initial hesitance, there was a determination in the way he cradled her against his chest as if he wanted to make up for any shortcomings. As he tiptoed back into the bedroom, you couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth in your heart. Despite the challenges you faced, seeing Yunho taking care of your daughter for what you believed was the first time, filled you with hope for the future. You listened as Yunho gently placed your daughter in her crib, his voice humming a soft lullaby as he tucked her in. Drifting back to sleep, you were roused once more by Yunho's quiet voice emanating from the bedroom.

"I have so much I want to say to you," he whispered, his voice barely above a hushed murmur. Yunho gazed down at Yunmi, her small form tucked snugly into her crib, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. ''I'm so sorry for letting you, and your mommy down since day one...'' A sense of awe washed over him as he watched his daughter, the weight of his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "You're my little starlight, and I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. Yunmi is Daddy's precious, shining light in the darkness." He reached out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead, his touch feather-light against her soft skin. "Daddy is really so sorry," he continued, his voice thick with emotion. "Sorry for all the times I've been afraid, for all the moments I've missed. I want you to know that I love you more than anything in this world, and I'll do whatever it takes to be the father you deserve." As he spoke, he felt a surge of love and determination welling up inside him, a newfound sense of purpose ignited by the presence of his daughter. In her innocent slumber, he saw the promise of a future filled with endless possibilities, a future that he vowed to protect and nurture with all his heart. "I may not have all the answers, and I will make mistakes along the way," he whispered, his voice trembling with sincerity. "But I promise to always be here for you, to love you unconditionally, and to cherish every moment we share." With a tender smile, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin for a moment longer. "I love you and Mommy so much. Sleep well, my little starlight," he whispered his voice a soft lullaby that filled the bedroom with warmth and love. "And know that Daddy will always be here, watching over you, every step of the way. From now on Daddy will do his best." As Yunho's words echoed in the quiet of the apartment, you felt a mix of emotions welling up inside you, threatening to overflow. Tears streamed down your face, unnoticed in the darkness, as a tumultuous storm of feelings raged within your heart. Anger simmered beneath the surface, directed not at Yunho, but at yourself. How could you have been so blind to his struggles, so oblivious to the pain he had been carrying? You berated yourself for not recognizing the signs sooner, for not being there for him when he needed you most. But amidst the anger, there was also a profound sense of relief—a weight lifting from your shoulders as you finally understood the depth of Yunho's feelings. For the first time since your daughter was born, you felt truly connected to him, bound together by the shared experience of parenthood and the raw vulnerability of exposing one's innermost fears. And beneath it all, there was love—a love that transcended words and actions, a love that bound you together despite the challenges you faced. Despite the tears and the turmoil, there was a sense of gratitude in knowing that you were not alone—that together, you could weather any storm that came your way.

A little while later, you heard Yunho returning to the living room, his footsteps soft against the floor. A pang of guilt tugged at your heart as you pretended to be asleep, not wanting him to know that you had overheard his heartfelt words to your daughter. You quickly wiped your tears, and kept your breathing slow and steady, willing yourself to remain still as Yunho approached the couch. Soon, his arms enveloped you in a gentle embrace, lifting you bridal-style and carrying you back to your shared bedroom. Settling you onto the bed, he tucked you in with care, ensuring you were comfortable before gently placing the duvet over you. His touch was tender, his actions speaking volumes of his love and devotion. Yunho pressed down a warm kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment against your skin.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion against your forehead. "I'm just so scared to be a father," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. "Scared to hurt her, to make mistakes that she'll never forgive." You felt the weight of his fear pressing down on you, his vulnerability laying bare the depths of his insecurities. With each word, it was as if a window had been opened to his soul, revealing the raw, unfiltered truth of his innermost thoughts and feelings. "I want to be the best father I can be, but... but what if I'm not enough?" His voice cracked with the weight of his uncertainty, his words echoing in the stillness of the room. And then, you felt it—a single tear falling onto your temple, a silent testament to the depth of his pain and fear. In that moment, your heart broke for him, for the struggles he faced and the burdens he carried. "And you," Yunho continued, his voice trembling with emotion, "you've been amazing since day one. I've watched you, seen the way you care for her with such love and devotion. It's like you were born to be a mother, and... and I can't help but feel like I'm falling short." Yunho longed to be the pillar of support you needed, the rock upon which your family could lean in times of trouble. But with each passing day, the weight of his insecurities grew heavier, threatening to crush him beneath their burden. "I'm still so afraid," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper now. "Afraid of letting you down, of letting Yunmi down. But I promise, I'll keep trying. I'll do whatever it takes to be the father she deserves, even if... even if it scares me to my core." In the darkness of the bedroom, his words hung heavy in the air. "I love you so much, Y/N, and I will do better, I will be the support you need." Yunho's voice broke through the silence once again, his words filled with sincerity and remorse.

"And I love you," you finally whispered, your voice filled with tenderness and affection. With a gentle touch, you reached out to wipe away the tears that streaked Yunho's cheeks, your fingers tracing the contours of his face with utmost care.

"You've been awake the entire time?" Yunho's voice broke the silence, his words carrying a mixture of surprise and relief. A shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a hint of uncertainty in his gaze as he met your eyes. You returned his smile, the warmth of his presence washing over you like a gentle breeze.

"Yes," you admitted softly, your voice filled with understanding. "I heard everything." There was no judgment in your words, no recrimination for his vulnerability. Instead, there was only acceptance—a shared acknowledgment of the complexities of love and the struggles that came with it. Yunho's smile widened, a sense of gratitude shining in his eyes.

"Thank you for listening," he whispered, his lips placing yet another kiss on your forehead. "And for being here with me." You reached out to him, your hand finding his in the darkness, a silent reassurance of your love and support.

"Always," you whispered, your voice filled with unwavering devotion. "I'll always be here for you, Yunho. Through thick and thin." Yunho creased your cheek gently, his eyes never leaving yours. "And now get under the covers with me," you giggled mischievously, reaching out to pull Yunho close by his neck. With a playful tug, you caught him off guard, pulling him towards you until he landed on top of you with a soft thud. Yunho's eyes widened in surprise, a startled laugh escaping his lips as he found himself sprawled across the bed, his gaze locked with yours.

"You little trickster," he chuckled, his voice filled with amusement as he shifted to settle beside you under the covers. With a grin, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close until your bodies were pressed together in a warm embrace. The feel of his warmth against your skin sent a shiver of delight down your spine, a feeling of contentment settling over you like a soft blanket. "I haven't kissed you in forever," Yunho murmured, his voice laced with longing as he gazed into your eyes with a mixture of affection and desire. A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your heart fluttering at the thought of his lips against yours.

"Then what are you waiting for?" you teased as you leaned in closer to him. With a tender touch, Yunho cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he drew you closer to him. And then, with a gentle tilt of his head, his lips met yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. At that moment, as you melted into each other's embrace, time seemed to stand still. The world faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the warmth and intimacy of the moment. As you pulled away, breathless and flushed with emotion, you felt a sense of completeness wash over you—a reminder that no matter how long it had been since your last kiss, the love you shared was as strong and passionate as ever. A playful sparkle danced in your eyes as you posed the question, your curiosity piqued by Yunho's endearing nickname for your daughter.

"If she's your starlight, then what does it make me?" you asked, a teasing lilt to your voice as you awaited his response. Yunho's gaze softened as he looked at you, a tender smile gracing his lips.

"You," he said softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection, "you're my guiding light. The one that leads me home, no matter how lost I may feel." Your boyfriend's words washed over you like a gentle caress, filling you with a sense of warmth and love. With a smile of your own, you leaned in closer to him, your heart overflowing with love and gratitude.

"And you," you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, "you're my everything." And as you melted into each other's embrace, surrounded by the quiet intimacy of the night, you knew that no matter what the future held, as long as you had each other, you could weather any storm that came your way.

The sound of Yunmi's cries pierced through the tranquility of the night, pulling you from the depths of sleep with a jolt. You moved to rise from the bed, instinctively driven to tend to your daughter's needs. But before you could fully untangle yourself from the sheets, Yunho's firm grip on your arm halted your movements.

"I'll get her," he murmured, his voice filled with determination as he gently pulled you back towards the bed. You hesitated for a moment, torn between the instinctual urge to rush to Yunmi's side and the desire to trust Yunho to handle the situation. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw a steely resolve there—a determination to prove himself as a capable dad, despite his fears and insecurities. With a silent nod, you allowed yourself to sink back onto the bed, the warmth of Yunho's presence comforting you as you watched him rise to tend to your daughter. As he crossed the room to Yunmi's crib, you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride welling up within you—a recognition of the strength and courage it took for him to step up and take on the role of caregiver. Yunho took her in his arms, gently and tenderly, almost as if he were afraid that his touch alone might hurt her. He held Yunmi close to his chest, rocking gently from side to side, he tried to calm his daughter, yet Yunho's panic escalated as Yunmi's cries persisted, his worry evident in the trembling of his hands and the furrow of his brow.

"Is she okay?" he asked, his voice tight with anxiety.

"She's probably just hungry," you reassured him gently as you stood up for the bed, understanding the depth of his concern. But before you could offer to nurse her yourself, Yunho's response caught you off guard.

"Oh..." he trailed off, his voice filled with uncertainty. "I can't breastfeed her," he murmured, the realization dawning on him as he grappled with the limitations of his role as a father. You reached out to him, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

"It's okay, baby," you assured him softly. "There are other ways you can help soothe her. We can prepare a bottle together, or you can hold her close while I feed her. What's important is that we're both here for her." Yunho nodded, his eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and gratitude.

"Thank you," Yunho whispered, his voice filled with emotion as he passed Yunmi gently into your arms, his eyes still big with worry. "Should I prepare a bottle for her?" You smiled softly at his eagerness to help, appreciating his willingness to step up despite his initial panic.

"I think I'll just breastfeed her for now," you replied, your voice gentle and reassuring. "But thank you for offering." Yunho nodded, a sense of relief washing over him as he watched you cradle Yunmi close, the familiarity of the bond between mother and daughter bringing him a sense of comfort. As you settled into the comfortable position, you nursed Yunmi, Yunho remained by your side, offering silent support and encouragement. As you nursed Yunmi, the gentle rhythm of her feeding lulled both her and Yunho into a peaceful slumber. The soft sounds of her contented suckling mixed with the steady beat of their breathing, creating a tranquil symphony that filled the room. With Yunmi cradled in your arms and Yunho nestled close beside you, you felt a profound sense of contentment wash over you. The warmth of their bodies against yours, the softness of their breath against your skin—it was a moment of pure serenity, a snapshot of the quiet joy that parenthood brought. You allowed yourself to bask in the tranquility of the moment, relishing the feeling of being surrounded by the ones you loved most in the world. In the soft glow of the morning light, you watched over them with a heart full of love, knowing that in this simple embrace, you had everything you ever needed.

"Be patient with him. He's trying," you whispered to your daughter, the words soft and tender as you gazed down at her sleeping form.

#ateez x reader #ateez angst #ateez fanfic #ateez au #ateez fluff #yunho x y/n #yunho x reader #ateez yunho x reader #yunho fluff #yunho angst

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yanderenightmare · 2 months

Text

Notice

I've been a little absent as of late, and though I never really feel a need to explain myself, I thought I would take a moment to answer some of your questions as to what I'm up to and where I've been because this time, I haven't actually been an a break, I've actually been writing like crazy because I plan on publishing a BOOK.

Yes. I know. Craziness.

This book is going to be a collection of short stories, 20 (I think) in total, and will be called Marie's Collection of Erotic Thrillers (it's a long title, ik, but I kinda dig it, though I haven't really decided on it yet).

I think this first book will be an edition of many in the same series. This first book specifically will be an edition called "College Years" and will, as the name suggests, feature stories around the theme of college. Not just classes, classmates, and professors, but that time of our lives in general, so getting into trouble with the police and making dumb decisions regarding the wrong boys etc.

As a rude anon pointed out a little while back, some of my stories, as of late, have been lacking a so-called smutty continuation. And though I absolutely dunked on that anon, there was actually some truth to what they were saying FOR A REASON.

You've probably already guessed, but these stories and their smutty continuations will be present in this new book, including the continuation of Perfect Strangers—the roommate fic—as well as others—among many brand new stories I've never published here.

All of which will feature many different sexy characters such as the strict headmaster who threatens to expel you, hot professors who'll give you an A in exchange for a little something, flirty bullies who don't take no for an answer—as well as fluffier things like nerdy tutors who'll gladly do your homework for you, sweet boyfriends, childhood friends, and clingy fuckbuddies.

I hope you all will support me in this new venture. And, of course, I will let all of you know when this book is up for sale—hopefully on as many platforms as possible. I'll be using draft2draft for this process, and as of now, I think I'll only be making it purchasable as an ebook, but that might change.

The next question you all might be asking is whether I'll be completely signing off from Tumblr, to which I answer, of course NOT. I'll still be writing drafts here and there, but longer works will most likely be reserved for future publishing. I'm hoping "College Years" will be on elf many editions to "Marie's Collection of Erotic Thrillers"

Future editions I'm already thinking of will be one disclosing tales within an Omegaverse. Then, of course, I'll have to make one purely showcasing yanderes, which I think I'll call "Nightmare ed." or "Lovesick ed." or something.

As you all can tell, I'm really excited for this. I hope it will all turn out well. If not, I'll be back on this website acting like nothing ever happened, probably hahaha.

Anyway, I'll be happy to answer any questions regarding this! Hope I have your support just as you've supported me all these years! I really appreciate all your kind words. Even though I don't always post or reply to them, I cherish them. Love you guys!

#nightmare news

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kwonnyangel · 19 days

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[☆] — long way home | c.sc

synopsis ‣ choi seungcheol knew the city roads like the back of his hand. 30 minutes was more than enough time he needed to take you home, but driving slow whilst taking the long route doesn't sound all too bad, especially if it's with you

pairing bf!seungcheol x fem reader

genre fluff, drabble | warnings not proof-read, use of pet-names (baby & love), kissing, reader calls seungcheol a dork lol

wordcount 0.5k

✷ first post ! been reading tumblr fics for a while but its my first time publishing anything :—) idea was sparked by the 5sos song "long way home" and my current obsession over coups heh enjoooy !

you were strolling around the park with seungcheol after having a hearty dinner at the newly opened italian restaurant you've been wanting to visit, followed by a quick stop for coffee on your way to said park.

hands intertwined, stomachs full, and the dim lights casting a glow on your lovely boyfriends face, you felt content.

and a tad bit sleepy.

"cheol, let's go home?"

you softly ask him, your head laying on his shoulder as you watch him snap a picture of a cute dog wearing a vest in an even cuter shade of pink. you make a mental note to look for one for kkuma, maybe you could even turn it into a matching outfit for all three of you.

"come on, baby"

the sound of seungcheol's voice breaks your train of thought and you look to him, his hand extended for you to take.

you gladly do so, jumping on your feet as you swing both of your arms back and forth all the way to the parking lot.

like muscle memory, seungcheol opens your door and buckles your seatbelt for you, not forgetting to send a cheeky wink your way when your eyes interlock as the buckle clicks into position.

"careful now, i've got a boyfriend you know"

"yeah? can he drive as well as i can?"

"for your information, he can!"

"well i'd like to meet this hotshot then, maybe i could snag his number and take him from you"

"hey!"

he giggles at your remark, admiring the way your hand fit in his as he drove through the roads of seoul with ease. you had always praised seungcheol for his driving, never once making you feel dizzy or nauseous especially for a person who gets motion sickness quite easily.

of course he was and is extremely proud about it.

driving together was easily one of your favorite things to do. drives with seungcheol always made you feel like you two were the only people in the world. laughter, intimacy, and conversations about anything under the sun filled the atmosphere of his cozy bmw.

"so we're taking the long way home?"

you ask in a teasing tone, hiding the hint of hoping that he would say yes. you loved drives with your boyfriend you won't let that get to his head, of course.

"you know it. i'd love to get lost and drive forever with you, baby"

a small giggle is elicited from you as seungcheol kisses your knuckle

"well i guess we should start our forever now."

"waaay ahead of you, love. been waiting for our forever... forever."

your smile widens as you spot his dimples, the streetlights casting yet another glow on your boyfriend's pretty face. the lighting gods must love him i guess, you do too.

"you can always make up for that lost time by kissing me everytime we come across a stop sign"

the amusement in his voice is evident as you spot a big red octagon with the word stop in its famous big bold white text.

the car does exactly as the sign says and seungcheol turns to face you, a boyish grin spread across his face, dimples present and everything.

"you're such a dork, cheol!"

that was all you said before flashing him your own signature smile and giving him a kiss that made him forget his name.

seungcheol made sure to pass by every stop sign on your route home after that.

#choi seungcheol #seungcheol fluff #svt fluff #seungcheol x reader #svt #seventeen fluff #seungcheol scenarios #seungcheol imagines #seventeen x reader #svt drabbles #seungcheol drabbles #kwonnyangel

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monstersflashlight · 9 days

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I’ve been imagining aftercare scenarios with the monsters and I wanted to know what aftercare is like after a particularly steamy session. Is there a monster who would be more enthusiastic about aftercare than the others? P.S. I love your work, your monster fics are so great!💖

Hi! I love that question. So, I think aftercare would depend a lot of the monster you are getting frisky with.

Werewolfs are probably the cuddliest of them all, I can see your werewolf boyfriend getting super worried about you after an intense sesion and asking you a thousand times if you are okay, they would fetch you some water (pun intended) and make sure you are nice and comfy before cuddling you. They can get super rough, but also be super sweet about it (like this).

Minotaurs and orcs are probably fifty-fifty. Like, for my OCs (kinda OCs I guess) I think it would depend on what kind of dom they are. The minotaur and orc from the neighbors' story (this one) would be total sweethearts and they would make sure to have you cleaned out and comfy so you are feeling your best for the next time (because they will want to fuck you as soon as possible). And the minotaur who is so in love with his wife he would treat her like a queen during a scene and after (like this). As per the gym slut series (?) (this one), I think the main orc is clearly pretty rough and doesn't care a lot about aftercare in the shorts I've published to this point (that may change in the future, wink wink).

As per succubi and demons, I think they would be the detached style. They would take care of you, but act like they don't mean it, like they aren't worried about you or how you feel, but in reality they would be super worried they hurt you or you were uncomofortable at any point of the session. Same with vampires, they would get extremely worried but act like they don't care about their precious human.

I think dragons and tentacle monsters would be confused about what aftercare really is, they would try but probably fail. Like, in the Kidnapped by a dragon story (this one), the dragon wouldn't know what aftercare is, and will probably just give you some jewelry to make you feel better, just like a penguin gives rocks. A token of affection to show you he cares, but doesn't gasp the full extent of aftercare.

So... Yeah, depends on the monster. I though this answer was going to be short, but I ended up writing too much, like always. This a recurring problem in my life. Hope it wasn't boring. Thanks for asking and for your kind words! I'm glad you enjoy my tiny corner of the internet.

#monster #monster fucker #monster x human #aftercare #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #terato #teratophillia #monster imagine #monster's pet asks

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magpiepills · 1 month

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Only Teasing

EXPLICIT! 18+ MDNI

SMUT (including but not limited to: PIV, light londage, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap (20s and 40s) oral- m and f receiving, slight angst, size kink, fingering, pet names) mentions of alcohol consumption

Summary: you’ve been teasing your neighbor, Joel, but he’s got other ideas.

AN: this is a repost! this is my first published fic! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do, after all the esquire stuff this morning I was inspired to finish the fic that has been easiest to write so far! Many thanks to all of the many wonderful writers who I read, like, reblog for the inspiration and keeping the Pedro fantasies alive!

Word count 1.6

“Look at you, baby, getting so wet and ready for my cock. Do you want it? Tell me what you need.” You try in vain to speak, but with your panties stuffed in your mouth, all you can do is whimper and groan at Joel’s touch. “All y’gotta do is ask.”

All summer, you’ve been doing your best to torment your neighbor, Joel. He’s probably 45 or so, with salt and pepper hair, and tan skin that covers muscles he built as a contractor. What you wouldn’t give to see him man-handling bags of cement and using heavy machinery.

The closest you got was when he came over to help your dad build a gazebo in the back yard. You couldn’t stop yourself from choosing the times he was in the back yard alone to swim or sunbathe, to call your friends to talk about your dates, to suck wantonly on popsicles under the mid-day sun. None of this ever garnered a reaction from Joel and it drove you crazy. You aren’t a narcissist, but you feel like you’re fairly attractive and you’d gotten plenty of attention from boys at college. It’s summer now, though, and you’re back home. You’re bored, you’re horny, and you love the thrill of teasing a hot older guy. You were having fun until the night the gazebo was finished and your dad and Joel celebrated with shots. You had joined them, made small talk with Joel, as innocently as possible. When it was clear your dad couldn’t handle another drink you took him inside and put him to bed.

You didn’t expect to see Joel still there when you came back out, but he was sitting in a chair, drink in his hand, watching you. “Guess he got carried away.” You said, smiling and beginning to fold the towel that was draped over your own seat. Joel didn’t speak for a few moments, just stared hard at you. “Been getting kind of carried away yourself lately, sugar.” You froze at his words. Unsure of what to say, you mustered all your confidence and courage and walked over, easing into his lap, offering yourself to him with a grin. “You ready to quit playin around now?” He didn’t give you a change to answer before lifting you and carrying you next door to his house.

Now you find yourself in his bed, hands tied over your head, and his mouth pressed to your secret heat. You were shocked and turned on by his unabashedly nasty language. No one had ever said such things to you in moments of passion. Joel seemed to bloom into his full self here in the darkness of his bedroom with you beneath him. “I need you to come, and I need it soon, baby girl. Can you give me one more?” You’d already came on his thick fingers, before he stuffed your panties into your mouth to keep you quiet. “That’s it, baby. Good girl” he cooed into your neck, one hand gently at your throat while the other pushes into your slick pussy, tracing his thumb over your swollen clit. It didn’t take long before you came undone and your hips jerked in response. Joel wasted no time and buried his face between your legs, licking a broad path over your folds, backtracking to suck your clit into his hot mouth, flicking his tongue over it as he sucked, and pushing you over the edge when he slid two fingers back into you. Wet, vulgar sounds filled the air. It was too much and not enough. You cried out and bucked against his weight. Joel was mad with lust and hell bent on ruining you. He was tired of your games and he was going to put a stop to it tonight. His hands felt hot as they slid over your hips and up to your breasts, where he rubbed and squeezed them, running his fingers lightly over your nipples, pulling at them until they hardened under his touch before turning his attention back to you. His cock was thick and heavy, straining against his tight boxer briefs, leaving a dark, round spot of pre-cum before he finally released his full length and sinking down on the bed before your face, pressing his member to your lips, rubbing it over the fabric of your panties, before pulling them from your mouth and replacing them unceremoniously with his dick. You moaned and the size of the smooth, hot head and the slightly salty flavor of pre cum. “Suck.” He commanded, and you hesitated for a second before opening wide and taking all you could in your mouth from the angle you were at. You moaned around his cock, sending waves of delight through his hips. He thrust into your mouth, frustrated that he couldn’t get deeper in your throat. “Need you to give me more, sugar. M’gonna untie you, but you gotta be a good girl for me, alright? Can you be real sweet for me? Let me see how good you can suck my cock. See if you can take it all, baby. See if you can earn a fuck.” You nodded quickly, desperation in your eyes.

With one swift motion he loosened the tie that was around your wrists and you dropped down in front of him to bring his cock into your mouth once more. With deliberate breaths and careful movements, you traced swirls and stripes up his length with your tongue until the fat head was at the back of your mouth, then you opened as wide as you could and pushed down further, feeling an ache in your throat that made your eyes water. You were drooling and struggling to breathe, but Joel was ready with encouragement. “That’s it. That’s it sugar. You’re doing so good sucking my cock. I could tell you wanted this. Knew you you were just actin’ up cause you needed your pretty face fucked by a man who knows what he’s doing.” His hand was at the back of your head, not pressing, but not allowing you to retreat. Panic was starting to creep over you when he relented, pulling away all at once with a groan. “You really think you can handle a real man, girl? I’m not one of your little college boys. It’s all fun and games until nobody else ever fucks you like I can. Gonna make you sorry, baby girl.” You didn’t care.

All summer you’d been dreaming of seducing him, and now he had you in his bed, reduced to a needy mess. You’d never seen a cock so big and you couldn’t go on without feeling it stretch and fill you. A whimper fell from your lips. Joel’s eyes were on yours, watching the torment wash over your face when he denied you the only thing you wanted. Slowly and deliberately, he held his throbbing cock, pressing it against your clit, a few taps for good measure as you squirmed, desperate to feel him inside you. Joel looked down at you, amused. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s see if you can handle me.” He notched the fat head at your entrance, and pushed. He moved slowly but with steady pressure until you felt the tip just inside, you were incoherent, head back, eyes squeezed shut, panting. “Be a lot easier if you relax, darlin. Take a deep breath cause you got a lot more to go and I’m not ready to stop.” “Don’t stop Joel, I can take it.” “I know you can baby doll. You’ve been teasing me for weeks, you gotta put your money where your pussy is.” You were sure he was pleased with his little joke, but you couldn’t ask because when he pushed in further, easing out slightly before each forward movement, you saw stars. You’d never felt anything like it, burning and tearing you in half. “You’re so big Joel! So big.” Is all you could get out.

Your dreams of whispering to him until he was wrapped around your finger, intoxicated by your charms, and ready to give you the world for the chance to worship at your altar dashed. He only let you think you were in control until the lights were out. No longer taunting you, he groaned into your neck as he pounded you down into his mattress, your own heavy breaths near his ear. His rhythmic pace faltered, his weight falling heavier and heavier on you. “I’m coming. Where you want it?” “Inside.” His hips jerked again and you felt his release, warm and thick inside you. “Atta girl.”

He rolled over and lay beside you catching his breath in silence, then left the room, leaving a pit in your stomach. Even when he returned with a washcloth for you, you couldn’t think of what to say. You had orgasmed again and again and you’d fucked the man you’d set your sights on, but the way he turned the tables had you disoriented and unsure of what yo do next. “Is that what you wanted? You wanted to fuck a real man, how was it?” You blinked at him, no words forming in response. “No more playing around. I don’t have time. If you want me, you better say so.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou #tlou smut #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #bat writes

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spockandawe · 8 months

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Double edit: actually, that's enough of that.

Edit: I was expecting maybe thirty notes tops. This is a surprise, and one that doesn't delight me. If I hear about any harassment stemming from this post, I'll be more pissed at the harasser than the person this is about.

God. Dammit.

I hate this, let's just out that out there! I'm unhappy that I'm talking about any of this, I'm unhappy there's an issue that's come up at the intersection of media preservation, respecting authors, and one of my favorite book series. And I'm unhappy that I've censored the names in the screenshots I'm about ti post! I'm not happy that I'm helping to slide consequences away from someone who thought this was an acceptable thing to do to a modern working author. But I'm even less happy this is something that happened in the first place, and I'm VERY unhappy the original post has been deleted without a whisper of accountability or apology.

And here's a partial screenshot of the IA page, which has since been removed. I get the excitement to share something you love with a new audience. This isn't the right way to go about it.

First, if Martha Wells' patreon is still in place, I encourage everyone in the strongest possible terms to go sign up for it. It'll charge you one dollar. I've been a member since probably 2018, and I mistakenly believed it was locked to new members (it's labeled 'Currently Closed To New Patrons') until I had reason to look it up last night, when I tripped across this reddit post from earlier this year.

Now. I was looking it up because of this sudden patreon message:

Even if the patreon goes away, I still recommend that people sign up. Explore the stories! They're very fun! Even though the patreon has been dormant for years, I've loved having that repository in place.

In fact, in the interest of full disclosure, what kept me from immediately reblogging last night is that I've felt the same archival urges! I bound a hard copy of these stories earlier this year, and let me quote my own words from that post:

I live in a state of perpetual low key stress over the impermanence of digital media and that goes extra for sites that aren’t designed to work well as archives. I hope, desperately, that someday Martha Wells publishes more raksura, maybe even including these stories! I will buy it immediately. No thoughts, wallet empty. I own all her other raksura books in literally three formats, fingers crossed that by printing this, I can actualize a formal official printing of these stories by the author 😂

So. Archiving, yes. But especially with a living, working author, I would never DREAM of posting a public free-for-all with IA and mediafire links. My most charitable interpretation is that OP thought it was fine since the stories were "free," even though the writeups acknowledge that access costs a dollar. Ao3 is also free. Reposting someone else's fic is still understood to be a dick move.

Last night i was left kind of stunned, and I was hoping to see some kind of response from op this morning taking responsibility, and was... disappointed to see that the post was just deleted. The IA listing was deleted too, and I hadn't actually looked up the mediafire post yet but I'm guessing it's also been nuked. Out of curiosity, I wanted to see if there was anything more in the comments, so I found a surviving reblog. And there was!

So I'm writing this post because I'm... frustrated. Taking down the files is a good step. Posting them publicly was a worse step, but hey. I still more than understand if Martha Wells still deletes her patreon. I don't understand what sending her files of her own stories is meant to accomplish, but whatever. Ascribing a profit-driven motive is driving me up a wall, though. She's financially stable. I read her email, and what i see is frustration that even though it only cost a dollar to access 62k of her work through her own chosen location, control of her writing is being forcibly removed from her. I'm sure that seeing copies sold by third parties wouldn't help, but I don't think that's the root issue.

This is a fandom-heavy website, I'm sure most of us have seen posts about not reposting art when you can share directly from the artist's blog. I've seen posts about stop copying your ao3 faves over to wattpad just because you like reading there better. At a fundamental level, I read the message from Martha Wells as a deep frustration at having no way to share her creative work without someone removing control of it from her hands. And I don't know if there's any way to really take back that damage.

#long post #the books of the raksura #archiving

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kalims · 2 years

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‎˃ ᵕ ˂ . . "i kinda wanna throw my phone across the room 'cause all I see are girls too good to be true"

jealousy, jealousy,

I reckon yuu has atleast some people admiring them for their 'heroic' acts for each dorms, ironically enough

characters. riddle, leona, azul, kalim, vil, idia, malleus.

includes. gn!reader, flowers aren't limited to girls.

cw. each has a student from their dorm/another liking reader, book 5 spoilers? kinda.

note. this was supposed to be for celebrating 4k and originally I had a fic that I was supposed to publish but I got really busy w/ school and stuff so I supposed I'll just drop this 😚 I'm also sick btw *cries

if someone asked you; "what do you think the students see you as?" you'd probably answer, "a wannabe I guess." technically you were sure that you were right about your guess. if there's anything that you'd know about a school that worships villians is that they'd hate someone whose the polar opposite.

which is you, with you basically 'saving' the dorm leaders and all. atleast the person in question didn't seem to pick at you for helping them and not going like 'I don't need your help.'

which is also why you're.. shocked to say the least when some random student you can't say that looks familiar hands you a bouquet of flowers, clearly flushing at your stare. you notice a white envelope tucked into the variety of flowers as well as a box of chocolates.

funnily enough you wondered if twisted wonderland celebrated valentines day on a different month.

albeit the possibly hundred other gazes from the other people. why'd they have to do this in the cafeteria exactly? it would've saved you the trouble if they did it on a more private scale.

you can only smile at them politely. honesty feeling a mixture of embarrassment and shyness cause you've never received such a bold confession yourself. "thank you?" you feel a little bad when they deflate at your short answer to their gifts but nevertheless pleased.

"you're welcome. I tried to pick out the flowers for someone as special as you but it can't compare." they absent-mindedly state. you can't hide the grin on your face, you just met this person and they're already flattering you. it feels nice to be appreciated.

kinda cringe but you take it back this person is really cool.

— riddle rosehearts

bystander number 1. who wants to collar that person by anger, along with jealousy then proceed to stomp away. riddle would actually do that but only when you're not around cause you'd probably not be too happy if he punishes your 'friend' and he wants you to see him as the 😇 reliable young lad everyone loves.

suddenly had the will to impress you and one upped everything the other person did. so they got a 49 on the magical analysis test? that's too bad, riddle got 50. get on his level. so they answer correctly only when called? well riddle's voluntarily raising his hand and getting them all correct. oh they can cook?

oh well. he can do everything else better else than cooking so it doesn't really matter. you'd be a fool to choose someone else over him. but he supposes its part of the charm, infatuatingly enough.

— leona kingscholar

bystander number 2 who either just doesn't care or is secretly really mad. knowing leona it's probably the latter because it's leona and if there's something he hates it's probably getting upped by some random person whom he's clearly better than. you must be really blind if you have the audacity to ramble about said person to him.

went really grumpy for the span of days to weeks. ruggie literally would do anything you ask if it meant that leona's gonna be to his old self, lazy sure but he didn't used to place this much work on him!

your fault or not you'd probably also get affected by his drastic change of attitude. bro literally ignored you as well as everyone else, reverting to his mean self but treating you with more bitterness. it's probably not your fault but he doesn't regret a thing because you actually look upset when he pays you no mind. so you do feel something for him 😒😏. flashbacks to kaeya

— azul ashengrotto

bystander number 3. who's borderlining between wanting to get depressed then crawl in his octo pot to cry and absolutely ruining everything this random cheap made. I mean, really? those aren't even your favorite flowers! where did they get them, at the nearest dollar store? if he were them he'd give you the most expensive flowers you'd ever lay your eyes on!

and that's what he does actually; literally showed up on your doorstep with a handsome smile and gave you the most prettiest flowers you've seen yet. consider yourself charmed! bro literally made you forget about that other person for days until you saw them like a month later which is kinda bizarre..

the twins don't let you know that azul put them up on a 'job' to keep em' away. but it does use for good blackmail material against the jealous octopus.

— kalim al asim

bystander number 4. legit doesn't get jealous. kalim literally is just happy that you have admirers like him because you deserve it! he'd be more upset if you didn't have admirers honestly. okay but lowkey though, he isn't trying to compete at all but you receive a large bouquet, definitely much grander than the one you received and a heartfelt letter tucked into it.

how was that person supposed to win you over when kalim does it better?? ok but this is like the jamil situation in book 5 LOL.

if he actually somehow gets jealous he feels bad because he knows he'll do it better ( not condescending /gen ) so he just resorts to trying to win your affection and forgets about not trying then completely overshadowed the other person's previous attempts. bro only spared a 'I feel bad' look then smiling again because yay! you like him better now :)

— vil schoenheit

bystander number 5. AKA, the one who knows he'll do better and actually does do it better ( condescending ). vil doesn't even bother doing anything cause he trusts you enough to make the.. correct, choice. you do know that he's one of the most sought off person in the world, right? you'd be a fool to not see that.

okay but maybe he is a little paranoid that you actually will choose them so he actually does put in effort..

I mean nearly everyone is scared terrified of rook right? what's one more person to the count? he totally does not purposely send out rook to stalk them so he can expose them on social media .. or make him stall them somewhere so he has the chance to whisk you away and you losing the ability to see them for this day.. oh well, it's better to just spend it with vil since you're free anyways..

— idia shroud

bystander number 6 who was there but actually not there..? physically not present but he was there, somehow.. *looks at camera in the far, FAR corner of the ceiling*. idia doesn't know whether to start crying because you actually looked happy with their CRINGE. confession.. the crying is a more intense period than azul's btw.

or.. actually there's no or, that's just what he's gonna do. close his electronic device, crawl into his bed and cry into his body pillow. fear not. little brother ortho to the rescue! ortho actually suggested destroying any evidence of a 'disappearance' if that poor soul just happened to not be present for years but idia quickly shot that idea down, he actually pondered on agreeing but no way he's gonna let them win by that!

hijacks all their phones, PC's, whatever other stuff so that it's completely off, no other person can fix it besides him. and he's definitely not gonna do that so the person ghosts you for weeks, so you get mad and ghost them irl.. wow his masterplan actually worked. no ortho pls don't force me to 'comfort' them..

— malleus draconia

bystander number 7 who genuinely doesn't see the appeal of this basic little b— human :). like? hello?? he's right here, open your eyes child of man. no need to tolerate the pathetic display they just did that doesn't live up to your very existence, they might as well compare you to gravel on the floor from how poor they executed their weird analogy.

he could legit go on and on about every single feature you have, your eyes, mouth, face, shape.. he would present you a microsoft presentation for it if you ask and it literally is godly description type of thing. you could finish listening to one of them and you'd be in TEARS ☠.

bros so sentimental. he thanks lilia for the advice of microsoft presentation because you now look completely convinced. malleus has the pride to spare the other person a smirk when your attention is fully on him :D.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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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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(sorry that some of these don't work! I have no idea why!)

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dragonmuse · 11 months

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How to be a Dirtbag Fic Writer

I got to do some talking about writing today and I couldn’t stop thinking about it so here are my full thoughts on the matter of being a dirtbag fic writer.

Being the disorganized thoughts of someone two and a half decades into the beautiful mess that is writing fanfic (and a few non-fanfic things too).

What is a dirtbag fic writer?

I am talking about someone who is not cleaning up anything. We show up filthy, fresh out of rooting around in the garden of our imaginations. We probably smell a little from work. We will hand you our hard grown fruits, but we have not washed them and we carried them in the bottom upturned parts of our t-shirts. The fruit is a little bruised. It’s not cut up or put in a bowl yet. But we got it in the house! It’s here. Someone can eat it.

Why dirtbag it? Because the fruit gets in the house. If you’re hemming and hawing, if the idea you want to do seems to be big or you want it perfect and shiny. If you’re imagining a ten thousand step process, so you’re not taking the first step? Dirtbag it.

How do I dirtbag?

That’s the best part. You just write. Sit down. One word after the other. No outline, no plan, no destination. No thought of editing. Just word vomit. Every word is a good word. It’a word that wasn’t there before. Grammar sucks? Who cares. Can’t think of the perfect word? Fuck it, put in the simplest version of what you mean.

Write the idea that you love. The one thing you want to say. Has it been done 3000000 times? WHO CARES human history is long, every idea has been done, probably more than twice. YOU have never written it before. It’s your grubby potato that you clawed out of the ground and guess what someone can still make it into delicious french fries.

Now here’s the critical part. Write as much as you can squeeze out of your brain. One word in front of the other.

And then I challenge you this: at most, read it over once and then put it into the world. Just as it is. AND THIS IS IMPORTANT: DO IT WITHOUT APOLOGY OR CAVEAT. I challenge you, beautiful dirtbag to not pre-emptively apologize. Do not make your work lesser. THAT IS YOUR POTATO! It has eyes and roots and dirt clinging to it because that is what happens. We are dirtbagging it today. Hell really confused people at do #dirtbagwriter on it.

Dirtbag writes id, base, lizard brain. Dig in the fertile garden of your imagination. What is the story you tell yourself before you fall asleep? What’s your anxiety this week? Your fantasy? What is going well? What do you wish things looked like? Who is the feral imaginary character you’ve been crafting to take your frustrations and joys out on?

But, VEE, I wish to have an editor and an outline, use a cool software like scrivener instead of retching up onto a google doc and making it look NICE and PRETTY!

COOL! DO THAT THEN! IF YOU’RE ACTUALLY DOING IT! You should have a process! That’s cool and healthy and necessary for sustainable writing. But if you’re not writing because all of that seems too much? THEN DON’T.

Did you know fic is free? That we do this from love? From sheer desire? For the love of the game? If you have a process, and the words are flowing, amazing, I love that for you, you don’t need this essay. If you don’t, let us continue.

What does dirtbag writing look like?

It’s messy. It’s a little raw and tatty around the edges sometimes. It’s weird. It’s someone else’s first draft. Maybe it winds up being your first draft, Idek, that’s your business.

It’s jokes that make YOU laugh. It’s drama that would make YOU cry if you read it. You are your first commenter. You are your first audience (and possibly continuing pleasure! If you don’t go back and reread your own work sometimes, you might be missing out on one of your favorite authors cause you wrote it for you! Wait until you’re not so close to it. Years sometimes. Then hey, maybe some of this is pretty dang good actually.)

It has mistakes.

Dirtbags make mistakes, but dirtbags have published pieces. They have things other people can read out there.

What if I don’t get good feedback?

Look, the most likely outcome of any new, untried fic writer (and even established writers trying something new-ish) is that you get no feedback. That’s real. Silence. It’s eerie, it’s terrible, it sucks. I don’t want to pretend it doesn’t. But nothing is not negative. It’s a big fic-y ocean out there and we are all wee itty-bitty-sometimes-with-titty fishes.

You should still do it all over again. And again. And again. You get better at writing by writing. You just do. Nothing else replaces it. If your well is dry? Fill it with new things. Go do something new, read a new kind of book, watch a new film, (libraries have so much good shit, you don’t even have to spend money for so many things if you have a library card), just go for a walk in a new direction. Stimulate yourself. Got a cup of something hot and eavesdrop on conversations. Refill yourself with newness.

And hey, speaking of, do you leave comments? Because you get what you give. You can build relationships with people by commenting and that builds community and community means places to get feedback in the end. Comments are gold. They are all we are paid in. Tip your writers with ‘extra kudos’ or ‘this made me laugh’. And hey, when you go back for a re-read so you can tell them your favorite part? Ask yourself how they made that favorite part? What do you like about it? Tone? Metaphor? The structure? Reading teaches us how to write too!

BUT, okay. Sometimes. Sometimes there is actual bad feedback and people suck.

You know the best part about being a dirtbag? Unrepentant block, delete, goodbye. You don’t own anyone with a shitty opinion any of your precious time on this earth. You did it for free, you gave them your dirty, but still delicious fruit and they went ‘ew, this is a dirty strawberry, how could you not make a clean tomato?” Because you didn’t plant fucking tomatoes, did you? Don’t fight, don’t engage. Block. Delete. Goodbye.

If someone in person, looked you in the eye when you brought them a plate of food to share at a party and they said “Why didn’t you bring me MY favorite? This isn’t cooked well at all.” You would probably write up a Reddit AiTA question about it just to hear five thousand people say they were an asshole. Fic is no different

And hey, when you dirtbag it? You know you did. It’s not your most cleaned up perfect version. So who cares what they think? You might make it more shiny and polished next time! You might NOT.

Ok, but what if I don’t finish it?

Fuck it, post it anyway.

What if it’s bad?

Fuck it, post it anyway.

What if it doesn’t make sense?

That’s ART, baby. Fuck it, post it anyway.

What if what I want to write doesn’t work with current fandom norms?

Then someone out there probably needs it! And what the hell is this? The western canon? FUCK IT POST IT ANYWAY*

*Basic human decency is not a ‘fandom norm’. Don’t be racist, sexist, ableist, fat shaming, classist or shitty about anyone's identity on main, okay? Dirtbag writers are KIND first and foremost. Someone saying you are stepping into shit about their identity is not the same as unsolicited crappy feedback about pairings. In the immortal words of Kurt Vonnegut: "God damn it, you've got to be kind.”

You’re being very flippant about something that’s scary.

I know. I know I am. I know it can be scary. But no risk, no reward and hell, you aren’t using your goddamn legal name on the internet are you? (please for the love of fuck do not be using your legal name to write fic) You’ve got on a mask. You’re a superhero. With dirt on your cape.

That niche thing that you think no one cares about? Guaranteed you will find someone else in the world who wants it. Maybe they won’t find it right away. Maybe they will be too shy to comment or even hit a button. But your dirty potato will stick with them. They will make french fries in their head.

You have an audience. But they can’t find you if you have nothing out there.

Go forth. Make.

You have some errors in this essay.

PROBABLY CAUSE I DIRTBAGGED IT. But I picked this strawberry for you out of my brain, so I hope you run it under some cold water and find the good bits and have a nice snack. Or throw it away. Or use it to plant more strawberries (I know that’s not how strawberries work, metaphors break when stretched).

#dirtbagwriter

Go forth and MAKE

#writing #i'm not an expert #I just have been doing this a long time #and these are my feels #please feel free to throw away this strawberry

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maneatrrz · 1 year

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‧₊˚✩ wishing it was you / j. sully

♡ 𓂃 ꒰ wishing it was you! ꒱˚.༄ ೃ jake sully x fem!reader. 5.2k words. ⌒(≧▽° )

𓆩♡𓆪 synopsis: ever since you shared a heartfelt moment, jake has been constantly avoiding you. convinced he's in love with neytiri, you find out it's a lot more complicated after confronting him in the woods: your being is everything he burns for, and it terrifies him. you tempt him in a way you shouldn't, and he's doing everything he can to protect your delicate divinity. but with lips and an attitude like yours, it's becoming taxing for him to resist ditching saintly restraint for a dance with the devil.

content: biblically inaccurate and brotherly!tsu'tey, biblically inaccurate timeline (it's ok guys just go with it it's an au haha), dom!jake sully but also whimpering!jake sully, oral fixation, nipple sucking, hickeys, love bites, vaginal penetration, praising and teasing. slight angst because you both have serious abandonment issues, but an ample amount of fluff and physical affection.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ additional notes: this is my first published writing, and also the first time i've written smut myself-i am more than willing to receive tips, just please keep that in mind and be gentle! i also am a bit rusty on the writing uptake and formatting update, and this is definitely not my best work and i hate this with a visceral anger, but i hope you like it regardless because i spent way too much time on it. mwah, thank you lovelies!

୨✩୧ ; MINORS DNI! fic under the cut!

jake sully.

stupid, jake sully.

you observed him carefully from your seat in the plush, lush forest illuminated by the glittering night sky above you, along with the golden flames in front of you. the affectionately crowned toruk makto was chasing around neytiri, as he was wont to do-you were convinced he was vehemently enamored with her. neytiri on the other hand, was adeptly avoiding his efforts to yank her tail with a feline-like grace, and an effervescent, opaline smile exposing sharp canines. you found it hard to blame him, however. she possessed both the deft and couth you were certain you lacked. she made everything look perfect, and it didn’t help that she was beautiful, either. one look into her scintillating eyes could enrapture you, especially during this oppressive, sultry summer weather. the sweltering heat had persuaded you into thinking she was an angel one too many times. but you guessed in his world, she was.

it was stupid.

he was stupid.

“fuck,” you brought your hand up to the newfound throbbing pressure on your mouth, painting slender fingers with a rich, sanguine color: blood. you had bitten through the roast you were eating and into your poor, faultless lip. “i was thinking way too hard.”

“ponder less over jake sully, and more about how our great mother has let you live another day,” tsu’tey smacked you upside the head playfully, taking a bite out of his sturmbeast steak. you couldn’t help but smile a little-you found comfort in him as the brother you never had. when you had arrived on pandora, you were met with cynic skepticism from him, but you had proven yourself to him eventually. your friendship allowed him to lighten up and be more lively, too. “i am pleasantly surprised a skxawng like you has lived this long, y/n.”

“you literally suck,” you feigned lamentation by placing one hand on your chest, and using the other to wipe intangible tears from the unwarranted libel. it earned you a hearty laugh from tsu’tey, followed by a small fit of coughs. “you’re coughing like an old man. slow down, grandpa. easy on the chuckle.”

“now you suck,” he pushed your shoulder lightly, before panning his head over to jake and neytiri, who were now much farther away. jake’s face looked amorphous in the distance, but tsu’tey could see strong brows furrowed in the haze. he began to wonder if he needed what humans called “glasses”. neytiri clasped jake’s forearm before tugging at him to go further into the thicket, turning their backs on you. he fixed his gaze on you now, rubbing his temples.

“...shit, well, that’s fucking fantastic. your ‘fiancee’ ran away into the woods with the fucking idiot. whatever,” you waved a hand to the distance with a heavy sigh, raising the roast to your mouth. you added with a somber mumble, “this was not how it was supposed to go.”

this was seriously not how it was supposed to go.

it wasn’t-neytiri was promised to tsu’tey, and you…what were you to jake?

you were supposed to explore this world and your new bodies together, and you did, at first. attached at the hip, confused and frightened (although, jake would only say ‘slightly’ for his pride) of the wondrous expanse around you. you would lay in your shared, flimsy little cot as you watched the sable dusk melt into an ethereal aurora, talking about everything and anything. what your lives were like on earth, what you wanted to do when you came back-your own personal bucket lists, intrusive thoughts, your worst jokes, your favorite fruits-everything. you both confessed things you had never even said.

enter neytiri, stage left.

she tried to kill you both. she almost succeeded after jake pushed you out of the way to take the blow for you, but you throwing a water canteen at her alerted her that you were not a threat-you weren’t armed with anything to attack her with, and you certainly couldn’t kill her if you tried with those reflexes. she told you this later and it offended you, but the offense disappeared as you realized you were just happy that you were alive. you were happy that jake was alive. he didn’t have to try and save you.

‘of course i did. i don’t know what i’d do without you,’ was all he said in response, with a soft, darkly warm tone that made something burn low in your chest. it was a memory etched in your mind that never failed to make your limbs deliquesce, turning you into a shallow pool of ardor and elation. only for a brief moment, as your puddle would turn into hoarfrost and coat the ground of your empty heart. it seemed like after that day, that was when you truly watched him fade away.

he stopped sleeping in the cot with you, so you had no one for consolation on gelid nights. he’d take neytiri and tsu’tey on raids and hunts, getting frustrated when you’d ask to accompany them. and when neytiri had explained their rituals and the inner workings of mating that came with it, he started to ignore your entirety, without a single explanation why. it must’ve been her.

it had to be her, right?

“fuck it,” you jolted up switfly, dragging tsu’tey by his arm. “get your ass up and let’s go find them.”

“you are just going to find something you do not want to see,” he planted his feet on the ground firmly, rigid and unmoving to your touch. you turned to look at him, as he furrowed one of his brows. “are you a lecher, y/n? is that what this is?”

“first of all, ew. absolutely not. second of all, are you dumb? if they successfully get down and dirty, she’s no longer promised to you, right?” his ears flicked at your response, finally relenting to your touch. “now let’s go.”

you followed their scent, navigating the underbrush with tsu’tey, who was regretting his decision to come with you. you were supposed to be moving cautiously and quietly, yet you kept walking into leaves and suppressing meltdowns over previously uncovered bugs. he was busy thinking of ways to cover up your pursuit when you stopped suddenly, murmuring in the distance.

“...and i love…so, i don’t…” you could make out bits and pieces of a husky voice’s speech through the trees. the mention of love made your heart beat to an unspoken cadence.

“...then tell…keep waiting…unfair…” the second voice spoke with a higher pitch, but a louder tone, the words poisoned with blatant vexation. you contorted your face and looked to tsu’tey, his visage equally scrunched and perplexed. you ventured further into the thicket, until you could make a slight outline of two bodies through thick blades of green.

“she already hates me, neytiri. it’s not worth it,” the lower voice, now discernable completely as jake, slapped his hands to sides and fidgeted through the leaves. he was painfully nervous-he wasn’t the type of person who froze when he was scared. he dawdled around aimlessly. like an idiot, you added a note to your mental observations. a lying, stupid idiot.

“she is going to hate you more if you do not get it together,” a seethe, accompanied by the flattening of ears and a slap to jake’s head. “you will lose her completely. tell y/n.”

“i can’t.”

“it appears you have no choice. y/n,” neytiri swiftly moved through the grass to reveal your hiding spot, tsu’tey’s mouth pursed and yours agape. the edges of her lips curled up into a demure smile. “i had faith that you would come after us. i did not expect you, however. come with me.”

her tone was that of a mother scolding her child, leading tsu’tey back to camp by his small, tender ear. her chides in na’vi as she stomped would’ve made you giggle if it were not for the looming dread in your sternum, turning towards jake and his solemn, downturned ears.

his stupid ears.

his stupid nose.

his lying mouth.

“i know,” to your short response his eyes widened, cheeks donning an uncharacteristic tint.

“i’m so sorry. i know it’s fucked up of me, but i didn’t know how to-”

“-it’s okay. you don’t need my blessing to mate with neytiri, right? i just would’ve preferred you told me sooner. i knew you liked her, it just sucked. to be left in the dust. i really liked you, you know,” you crossed your arms and pressed them close to your chest, trying to ignore the saline tears welling in your eyes. and then, he laughed.

how could he laugh at a time like this?

he really didn’t care, did he?

jake sully.

stupid, lying jake sully.

“fuck you,” you bursted out, teardrops scalding your cheeks in their wake as you turned to leave.

“wait, i’m not laughing for the reasons you think i am-okay, wait. wait, let me explain,” his fingers brushed your wrist, reaching a little too late. “y/n! let me explain.”

“i literally cannot think of a way you can explain this without looking like a total cunt-ow! let go of me, jake! what the h-” your scorning monologue was brief, as jake pulled you off balance by your tail. you fell back first into the tall grass, head braced by jake’s hand underneath it. his hips pinned you to the ground by your own, one leg in between your own. broad shoulders loomed over you and cut out of your peripheral. you felt so…small, underneath him. it increased the growing ache in your lower abdomen, fueled by neither hurt, nor fear. you tried to squeeze your legs together to negate the pooling sensation-you shouldn’t have felt like this. this was a bad idea.

“so, uh, as i was saying…” he trailed off as you rolled your head to the side, refusing to look at him. “can you just look at me?”

“no.”

“fine,” he shook his head slightly with a tsk sound, assessing your body and the way it seemed to be engulfed by his own-even as a na’vi, you were so tiny in comparison to him. just as he seemed to be lost enough in his own thoughts for you to make your escape, he shifted your position abruptly. whipping your head towards him, it felt like all of his weight was on you: his nails dug into your thighs as he pulled them apart and past his torso-now, he was directly in between your legs. jake leaned forward onto his forearms, your lips millimeters apart from one another. you had no choice but to look into rich, amber eyes. either that, or focus on the way his hips were pistoned deeper into yours, fabric unwilling to spare you the feeling of his length rubbing against your clothed sex.

“as you were saying,” you cleared your throat, scratching an itch on the top of your head. he smirked, pleased with his ability to make you yield. his smirk quickly faded, replaced by a more stoic expression.

“remember the day we almost died?”

“you mean, one of the last days you pretended that you knew me?” you scoffed, and he narrowed his eyes at you for a split moment. “yeah, i remember.”

“i didn’t care if i died, but,” he began to fidget nervously, involuntarily exacerbating the wanton throb. yet, you were too focused on his words to notice. “i cared if you died, and i cared a lot, a lot more than i was supposed to. and that started fucking with me.”

you tilted your head with a doe-eyed expression that made jake tense up with a potent, unsolicited salacity. his ensnarement tactic was working painfully against him. his loincloth was growing increasingly more soiled in a messy, debauched ring.

“so i, uh…i ran, like an idiot,” jake’s breath hiked to a dry growl, shifting weight between legs. “i didn’t want to get you hurt. because if i did let myself and i let something happen to you, not only would i lose you, i would lose myself. i would lose everything i believe in. so, i tried to stay away from you.”

“well, i mean. you did just regain the ability to walk again. i’d wanna run, too,” you snickered in attempt to lighten the mood, unable to handle the sonorous tone of his words. jake rolled his eyes, holding back a smile. he thought that shouldn’t have been as funny to him as it was. “i’m so funny.”

“yeah, whatever. anyways,” he took a deep breath, knowing damn well you were right. “as we settled into omatikayan land, neytiri told us about customs, and picking a mate. how i would eventually claim a woman. i started avoiding you right around ‘mating’ season, so it was hard.”

“...okay? what does this have to do with me?” there was too much emotional clamor inhabiting your brain to properly absorb what he was saying. “ohhh…so you claimed neytiri right after ignoring my existence, and now you want to rub salt in the wound because you’re a dickhead-i’m so smart.”

“no-you have got to be dumber than me, holy shit,” he bit his lip in discontempt. either you genuinely were painfully oblivious to the situation, or you wanted him to spell it out for you. he had a notion that it was a reasonable mixture of both. “you literally just disregarded the last few things i’ve said. if it’s time for me to claim a woman, why would i claim neytiri? why would it be hard to stop talking to you?”

“chill out bitch, damn. i’m not the one who pretended someone didn’t exist for several months, watch your mouth. i’m listening though,” you weren’t really. “you’d claim her because you fell in love with her, and then maybe, i don’t know-your conscience thought it was a little weird to completely drop person and cling onto the next? surprised you have one. we’re running in circles.”

“but i wouldn’t claim a woman i didn’t want. i don’t want neytiri.”

“cool…? i don’t know what to say to you.”

“you just want me to say it outright for you, don’t you?”

“that would be particularly helpful, yes. i think if we did this from the beginning it would’ve helped.”

“if i was around you, i would’ve gone against my better judgment and claimed you in a heartbeat. to be blunt, i wanted to fuck you really bad.”

“wow! that seriously took a hard turn,” that was not the most appropriate reaction, but it was all you could utter.

was this how it was supposed to go?

your lips parted slightly, and jake immediately fixated on them. while he was noticing how roseate and plush they looked, you were having an internal dilemma at lightspeed. you thought this man hated you, and this whole time it was the stark opposite? were you the stupid one? were you the idiot? no, you couldn’t be. when you came down from your catatonic spell-well, it was more like you hit the ground violently, you minded jake’s position in between your legs. you also minded the soaked, wet state of your loincloth. “you wanted me like that?”

“yes, i did. but seeing you was a reminder that i couldn’t have you, and i wanted you so bad,” you watched jake’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed and nodded, looking down at you with a darker stare. it was one you had never seen from him. a more predatory gaze. “i shouldn’t have wanted you, and i wanted you so bad. it’s only gotten worse.”

you assessed his gaze. it was as if he was ready to ravage you and everything that you were in that moment, right there. perhaps that gave you the courage to push his limits-how depraved was he, truly? how much restraint did he have, when it came to you?

“and all this time i’ve been sucking on a bottle of pink whitney, wishing it was you,” you ran your hands over the grooves in his arms, separating each mammoth, rigid muscle. you took one of his hands in both of yours, running his calloused finger over your inner thigh slightly-enough to pick up the sticky substance that threatened to gush out of you. “but now, we’re here. you’ve starved me as much as you’ve starved yourself. so, what are you going to do? what you should do, or what you want to?”

he growled just above a dull roar, trying to battle his ache and the dilemma of forbidden pining. god, how he wanted you. he ached for you, with such an illicit thirst-to devour you, one kiss at a time. your fingers skimmed the pressed outline of his aching tip through his loincloth, which elicited a frantic, breathy gasp from jake. “you can be gentle, or you can be rough. you don’t have to think about anything. actually, i’m pretty sure you’ve been thinking way too much.”

“you don’t know what you’re doing to me,” it came out as more of a dark, tenebrous moan that made you giggle. he stared down at your slick, tempting essence. he wanted to indulge in you, the delicacy that you were to him. yet a quick taste would never be just that-he’d want all of you. he looked back up at you, with the same predatory leer. you brought jake’s hand up to his mouth, feeling the ache worsen as he licked them clean with a groan.

“or, maybe i do.”

his hands worked their way up your thighs. your breath shortened as you let your eyes graze his hands-large, azure, and veiny. the position jake’s hands on your legs seemed natural, as if they were right where they belonged. he gripped your thighs, massaging the innermost part with his thumbs. his lips chose to travel to your collarbone and continue their conquest upwards, leaving carmine bruises, love bites, and tender kisses in their wake. he stopped when he was positioned face-to-face. your heart beat out of your chest as you felt lustrous yellow eyes linger on your own, and then your lips. he brushed them against yours.

“i’ve waited for this forever, you know,” he caressed your cheeks with his thumbs. “you’re so beautiful. as humans, or big blue people. whatever we are, and wherever we are, you’ve always stunned me. every rational thought i have blurs when i look at you, it’s like you put a spell on me. you’re enchanting, and it’s unreal.”

“you think so?” your ears perked up coyly as you felt your lips curve into a smile. that was probably the nicest thing anyone had said to you in awhile, or the history of ever, even. your honeyed reaction made his tail flick around in back of him, enamored by your visage. it continued to swish, curling prettily.

“oh, honey. i know you are. my pretty, pretty baby,” he kissed your nose, giving you a grin. his tongue ran over your bottom lip with a soft bite, before intertwining his lips with yours.

suddenly the air was thick and hot; infernal. you weren’t the worst kisser, but god, you felt like you paled in comparison to jake fucking sully. his tongue spoke to you a simple, yet tantalizing and tantric mantra that mesmerized you. veiny hands danced a viennese waltz against soft skin, retracing the path that led to your lips. he let his hands trail back down to your thighs, fingers grazing your sodden, clothed clit.

“you wanted me so bad, huh? all wet for me?” you nodded as he played with the string on your loincloth, before pulling it off and to the side.

“well, i fucking needed you, oh,” he let out a husky moan and ran his fingers over your lips, before parting them. “look at you-what a perfect pussy. i’m going to fucking ruin you.”

he thumbed your engorged, tender clit with one hand, while sliding in the middle & ring finger of the other into your warm, messy cunt. it was all so overwhelming-your faint titillated whimpers and whines, paired with the sound of fingers enveloped in slick folds. your voice was muted and low in an attempt to preserve the sanity and sleep of those in the relatively adjacent camp. but in the stillness of the night, the hot cacophony of your saccharine sweet voice and his frenetic movements that produced such wet, obscene noises, were resound upon jake’s ears. he thought it was akin to that of a siren’s beguiling melody.

“i want…w-want…mm,” you babbled, jake looking at you, yet unrelenting in his pace. the way he pumped his fingers was heavenly, but you needed more. “…you. inside me, please.”

“don’t worry. i’ll fuck that pretty pussy soon. but first…” he unclasped your chest piece with one hand, throwing it to the side while he kneaded one of your boobs. he flicked your nipple with his tongue before swirling it around the sensitive nub, latching onto it. he drove his fingers in and out of your squelching cunt with the occasional curl. two fingers alone already made you feel so full, sucking them in as you pulsed around them.

“i fucking love your tits. you’re latching onto my fingers,” it was like he could read your mind. smirking at your rampant, tiny mewls, he switched breasts, continuing the onslaught on your throbbing pussy. “let me focus on this boob, though. she needs love, too.”

“sisters, not twins, yeah? something like that,” he rasped through his teeth, lapping and sucking. your vision began to get hazy overcome by the torturous intoxication his touch brought, “you know what? doesn’t matter. your tits are gorgeous.”

he released his hold with a pop, leaning back to look at your disheveled countenance, exhaling raggedly. he placed his fingers in his mouth to relish in your sapid taste once more, while his eyes traced every inch of your body. your mouth hung in an O shape, lips plump and glossy. your eyes glossed over. your hair was frizzy and unkempt. you were nothing akin to the meticulously crafted countenance you slaved away for every day. he created a breathtaking mess out of you, which made him wretch with such a frenetic, venereal hunger.

he needed to fuck you stupid.

he needed to tear you apart.

“so pretty,” you murmured as he untied his loincloth, unsheathing his length in its entirety. the shaft same color as the rest of his body, a mixture of azure and sapphire stripes. it was unreasonably thick and lengthy, and had two veins leading to his blushing indigo tip. it throbbed as precum dripped down its side, and onto big balls. it was practically begging for solace in the form of your tongue swirling around it and hollowing your cheeks. “i want a taste.”

“you’re so sweet babydoll. but no,” his denial of your request was met with a disappointed whine and pouty lips. “i really should fuck that mouth of yours for all the shit you talk, but it can wait another day. i need to be inside you right now.”

his breath hitched as he watched his length disappear inside of you with a slicked sound.

“holy shit. you’re so fucking tight, jesus fucking christ,” jake seethed between breaths, panting. he dug his nails into your hips, writhing five hot points of pressure with his grip. his thrusts were slow but with intention, stretching your walls and hitting your core. you stared down at the way his thigh muscles tensed while he snapped his hips. you bit back a moan, your vision blurring slightly from the jolting motion, and your legs threatening to buckle. “dear god-fuck. oh, fuck. fuck, baby.”

“you feel so fucking good, and you’re taking my cock so fucking well,” he let one hand go and trailed it slow up your torso and stopped at your shoulders, quickening his strokes and making your eyes roll back. his fingers ghosted your neck with a dark laugh and a groan, “oh, fuck-what a good fucking girl. you like that, sweet thing?”

“jake,” you pleaded as he rutted into you, raking your nails across his back. you wrapped your legs around him, desperate for release. “this feels so good. oh, jake, ’m gonna…”

“oh god, i fucking love the way you say my name. go ahead and come for me, baby,” he buried his head into the crook of your neck, pumping deeper into you at an unadulterated and alacritous pace. jake pressed kisses to your neck while he felt you squirm and twitch on his length, muffling whines and moans. your glistening cunt tightened around him, like it was luring his cock further into you. he didn’t know how much further it could go. “make a mess all over my cock. it’s all yours, sweet thing. always has been. now use it like it is.”

it was hard for you to give any sort of intelligible vocalization (unlike pussydrunk jake, who seemed to be a little too loud, groaning fuck and i wanna cum over and over) while your eyelids fluttered and blood roared in your ears. you were having a sensory overload, and couldn’t help but drown in the pleasure. from the hickeys he pressed lightly over your taut collarbone with wet lips and the way his cock hit your g-spot, to all the husked whimpers jake let out while throwing his head back and the sound of skin hitting skin, you were in bliss. he was able to quell and rouse the insatiable ache that pooled low inside you, all at once. you were arched and unraveling with a splintering rapture, your own juices mixing with the warm, creamy seed that painted even the innermost corners of your walls.

“wow,” he looked down at your angelic, supine image through long eyelashes, panting. you relaxed your spine, coaxing his cock out of you gently. he was so desperate and unprincipled when it came to you that he probably would’ve stayed inside you the whole night. and you were far too exhausted for that.

“you sure as hell can have a taste of me now, holy shit,” his eyes were glued to your puffy cunt, watching his cum veneer it with a milky white. he swiped his finger in a swipe up your lips, holding his findings to your mouth. you licked it with a small mewl before contorting your face, bleating out a blegh.

“salty?” broad shoulders rose to the rhythm of a hearty laugh as you nodded, pushing the hair out of your face. “it’s cum, baby. i eat like a starved dog. don’t expect much next time.”

“that’s so tragic for me.”

“yeah, yeah. are you okay, though? do you need anything, sweet thing?”

“i need a hug,” you pulled him back towards you, and splayed your hands on his back. with a soft laugh, you traced the welts from your scratches before playing with his tousled mess of hair. the smell of sweat and a rich, earthy scent pervaded your senses as you meticulously picked out the stray blades of grass from each strand. “i’m sorry for fucking up your back.”

“what, are you kiddin’ me? don’t apologize. i’m gonna wear this shit like a medal. tell everybody my pretty girl gave ‘em to me.”

“you say that like you’re not gonna go back to your regularly scheduled ignoring y/n routine. i know you’ll leave eventually,” you huffed, slapping a hand on the newly damp grass to search for your chestpiece. he brought your hand back to his hair, kissing your forehead.

“and you say that like everything hasn’t changed. what’s the point of this if we part?”

“an extra notch under your belt, or something? i have not a clue, toruk makto. oh, congratulations on that, by the way,” you turned your head away from him to spare your tears. for some reason, it suddenly hurt to look at him. the last thing you wanted him to see was your hysterical sobs, after you just bore every other part of yourself to him. you’d have nothing else when he’d go.

he wasn’t really going to stay, was he? no one ever stayed for long. and it would be rather bold to think jake sully out of all people would stay for long, too.

you swallowed, clearing your throat. “i don't expect you to stay. i know i made a big deal about it, but...it really would make a lot more sense to marry neytiri.”

“oh, shut the fuck up," a playful eye roll. "i already told you, silly. i don’t want neytiri. i want you.”

“here-we can get up, and pretend that this didn’t happen, okay? we’ll say you got beat the fuck up by an animal, or something-”

“y/n,” he tilted you gently by your jaw, forcing you to face him. “i want you.”

“-and we can say you were brave and fought him because you’re the hero,” you choked out a sob. “you’re the hero, and i was just there as a witness. the nobody to scoff at; the outsider. i’m nothing to those people. i’m nothing compared to you.”

you were scared. truly, you did not want to see him go, but if you trusted him and loved him with your entirety, and one day he would no longer be there, it would break your heart into pieces. and your heart had already been broken quite enough. ah. so this was jake’s reasoning.

maybe you were the stupid one.

maybe you were both stupid.

yeah, definitely the latter.

“hey, hey, hey. enough of that bullshit. take a deep breath,” jake scooped you up slowly, repositioning you to cuddle in his lap. he tipped your head to lay a kiss against your lips, before pressing your head against his chest. you tried to sync your breathing to the cadence of his own chest rising and falling. he placed a caressing hand on the small of your back, rocking slowly. “i’m not scared anymore, and i’m going anywhere. i love you, y/n. you could never be nothing to me.”

you looked up at him, eyes widening. ‘i love you, y/n.’

there was something about the way he said it, paired with his fluttering, onyx eyelashes adorning gorgeously deep amber eyes. it was like a profound nocturne he sang just for you. there was something about the way he complimented you in a warm, sheltered whisper that tasted like a dulcet dream. it was a sonnet he read just for you. like a poet who lived and died for you.

just for you.

yet, foolishly-for moons, and moons, the poet restrained himself from telling you that your visage was his muse, due to his own trepidation. all he needed to do was trust in you, and let go.

maybe you did, too.

“you promise?” a gentle plead was all you could get out as he wiped your tears.

“i promise. and i’ll seal it with a kiss. or maybe a couple,” he brought your hand up to his mouth, kissing it gingerly. “you are my everything. and that is nothing to scoff at.”

home was not a city, or a state. home was not even a planet, like earth or pandora.

home was jake.

home was jake sully.

stupid, jake sully.

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