#Pointing Dogs Volume Two

[krautjunker]

Pointing Dogs

Buchvorstellung von Aleksey Morozov Warum der Pointer „Pointer“ heißt, ist klar. Der Name kommt vom englischen Verb „to point“ – „zeigen“ oder „deuten“. Was der Hund genau macht – wenn er vorsteht, zeigt er dem Jäger, wo das Rebhuhn oder ein jeglicher Vogel, auf den gejagt wird, sich befindet. Aber warum heißt der Setter „Setter“? Manche glauben, dass der Name von dem Verb „to sit“, also…

[cybertron-after-dark]

YOUR DOODLES ARE SO SILLY GOOFY CUTIE

Anon this ask fueled me to knock out a whole page of doodles, here's the result with closeups

[ladsonlads]

Impartial Hearts | Sylus - Part One

Pairing -> Boss Sylus x Non MC Reader

Parts -> Part One | Part Two

Synopsis -> You’ve been working as Onychinus’s accountant for two years, and you’ve been carrying two heavy secrets for a third of it. You were in love with your boss, and your mother was dying.

A/N -> Guys this shit is just sad icl I need to lay off the sad songs... anyways, reader is not MC but MC is mentioned I called her 'Miss Hunter' or 'MC' bc I couldn't come up with a name, sorry.

EDIT: Thanks for all the love <33333 I honestly didn’t expect so many people to want a part two, I promise it’s in the works and I’ll try to get it out ASAP.

Trigger Warnings -> Death mentioned, heart issues mentioned.

Word Count -> 7.3K

“I’m sorry, what?” The question slipped out of your lips without much of an attempt from your brain to restrain it. You regretted that instantly.

“Watch your tone, Y/N.” The scarily low timbre in Sylus’s voice threatened retribution if you didn’t.

“Sorry… It’s just that— are you sure? I feel like this is a decision that requires a little bit more contemplation. Like getting a dog!” You tried to backpedal, but from the look of Sylus’s narrowing eyes, he wasn’t happy with your response. 

“Are you comparing her to a dog?” There was a threat thinly encased in Sylus’s question and under the thick layers of fear, you felt the slightest pang of jealousy that the he felt so strongly about defending her honour. 

What a dramatic and far-fetched conclusion. You wanted to say, but instead you bit your tongue. 

“N-No! Of course not. Not at all. I’m just wondering if wiring her such a significant sum from your equity account is a good idea when you met her—” You make a show of glancing at your shabby watch “— 13 hours ago is a sound decision.”

“So you’re questioning my judgement? Is that it?” 

You couldn’t blame him for being difficult, you walked right into that one. 

“No! Well… yes?” One would think that after two years of working for Sylus, you’d have the ability to stand your ground against him. But there was only so far someone could push a man like Sylus before he deemed you irredeemable. The consequence of which involved a hollow point in your skull. 

“Wrong answer. Wire it. Now. I’ll deal with your insubordination later.” He quickly left the room that doubled as your ‘office’; you shared it with the twins who liked to use it as their reprieve from crime. You wouldn’t have minded had they chosen less rambunctious ways of cooling-down, like reading or watching a show. Instead they’d play-fight, actually fight, play video games on the loudest volume or — the worst option of all — karaoke. 

The sarcastic yes sir died on your tongue as quickly as it crossed your mind. You pissed him off far more than usual today, and he was already way more tense since her arrival. 

Miss Hunter. Sylus kept her first name under lock-and-key, said it was safer that way. You barely caught a glimpse of her as Sylus dragged her out of his office, which was across from yours. From the glimpse you did catch, she was beautiful. Fair skin, jet black hair, a fit body. Her outfit, which was the Hunter’s Association standard issue uniform, had never looked so good. 

From what you knew from shameless eavesdropping, she was extremely important to Sylus. She was part of some critical master plan you weren’t privy to. 

You hated her.

Albeit, completely unfounded, your hatred for her stemmed from an ugly feeling you could not shake. In the two years you worked as an accountant for Onychinus, Sylus touched you once. Correction, you touched him once accidentally when you had too much to drink with the twins after work. You were taking careful steps to the bar to pour yourself another glass of a gross vodka raspberry mixture when you tripped on the edge of one of Sylus’s extremely expensive rugs. Your feet pedalled forward in an attempt to keep you upright, and you clashed right into Sylus who was innocently scrolling through his phone on the wall next to the bar. 

You could recall the fear you felt vividly. You almost felt the same wedge lodged in your throat. Sylus quickly removed you from him, steadying you with his cold palms on your shoulders (an action that made you blush like a schoolgirl) before verbally deeming you cut-off from all liquor from the night.

That was the full extent of all physical contact you’d had with Sylus in two whole years, meanwhile it took Miss Hunter less than 24-hours before he was holding her hand. God, you hated her.

“Oi, Y/N, we’re using the company card for lunch today.” Luke quickly yelled out to you from the hallway, too engrossed in your self-loathing and plain old regular loathing, you forgot to remind Luke that they only had $40 left on their weekly lunch budget. 

Knowing the twins, they wouldn’t have cared anyway, creating yet another problem you had to fix.

Looking at the excel sheet that contained this month’s trial balance, you shivered at the thought of having to deal with Sylus’s wrath at yet another monthly increase in expenses. So, you shifted the remaining balance on your lunch budget, a generous $255, into the twin’s joint account. It was only Thursday morning, and they’d managed to max-out their $1000 budget. 

You hated them too.

You looked through your drawer in hopes you had a leftover snack that could sadly double as your lunch and felt a wave of relief at the sight of a protein bar. 

It wasn’t like Sylus didn’t pay you enough to afford your own lunch, in fact he was the most generous employer you’d ever had. But the only thing bigger than his bank account was corporate greed, and the blood-sucking heathens at Akso hospital were milking you dry.

Life in the N109 Zone wasn’t easy for most people, especially your mother who raised you all on her own after your father left. She worked 3 jobs to put you through university in Linkon, so the least you could do was use every last cent you made on ensuring she had the best medical treatment money could buy. 

Your mother had a bad heart ever since she was born, it was a hereditary condition that would sometimes skip a generation only to show up in the next. She had an atrial septal defect, or in another words, a hole in her heart. You were born with one too, although yours was much smaller. She’d undergone several surgeries to repair the hole, but it reopened, and now the scar tissue surrounding the surgical site was obstructing her arteries. She was now on bypass patiently awaiting a heart transplant you couldn’t quite afford, but you’d make it happen. You were sure of it. 

With half the protein bar in your mouth, you began to call Dr Zayne, the cardiovascular surgeon who was overseeing your mother’s care. You called him for updates on your mother and the transplant list every day, since a train ticket to Linkon was too big an expense to justify, you’d settle for Dr Zayne’s cold recollections of your mother’s heart function. 

“Ah, Miss L/N, I was beginning to think you weren’t going to call today.” The dead-pan sarcasm dripped from his tone. 

“Your bedside manner needs serious work.” You bit back. You weren’t sure when or how your relationship with your mother’s doctor turned so hostile, but you figured the busy chief of surgery was annoyed by your constant calls. 

“Need I remind you, Y/N, you’re not the patient.” 

“There isn’t a waking second I’m not thinking about the patient, Dr Zayne.” 

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air at your confession. You didn’t mean to make him feel guilty, in all honesty, you looked forward to the banter before the updates on your mom, it helped ease the nerves. 

“Do you want to see her?”

“Of course, but I’m working a lot.”

“No, I mean right now.”

“Are you finally letting me borrow the hospital helicopter?”

“No, but I will let you borrow my phone so you can FaceTime her.”

His kind offer caught you off guard. “Really?!”

“Sure, you caught me in a rare moment where I don’t have someplace to be.”

“It must be Christmas.”

“Rarer than Christmas. Think solar eclipse.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Now give me my mother.”

Zayne kept his promise, and you spoke to your mother for your entire lunch break, and then some. You would’ve continued talking to her until the sunset if not for Sylus’s interruption. 

“I don’t pay you to FaceTime your friends, Y/N.”

“Sorry, I have to go. Talk to you later. I love you!” Your mother rasped out that she loved you too before you quickly hung up the phone. 

“Sorry.” Your apology fell on deaf ears as Sylus took slow, deliberate steps toward your desk. 

“Do you hate this job?” Sylus’s asked this deceivingly innocuous question while sliding a finger across the mahogany tabletop. 

“Um… no?” You placed your hands in your lap as you answered to hide the slight tremor. 

“You sound unsure.” 

“I like this job very much.” You made the declaration with as much confidence as you could muster. Your mood was already depleted from seeing your mother’s sick face for the first time in months. She wasn’t looking any healthier, and Zayne told you she’d barely moved up the list. 

107. There were 107 people who’s lives were more important than the woman who raised you. You were well aware that wasn’t the way they calculated the metric, but it didn’t make the number hurt any less. 

Sylus let out an sigh that suggested whatever he’d say next was a much tamer version of what he truly wanted to say. “Then I’d suggest you start acting like it. Remember, sweetheart, everyone’s replaceable. Especially you.” 

His comment stung like antiseptic on an open wound, though you were sure that was his intention. 

“Right. Of course. I won’t let you down.” 

“For your sake, I hope not. The twins told me they went to that seafood buffet for lunch, you haven’t let them go over the budget again, have you?” 

You quickly pulled up the online banking account connected to the company card. You saw the $189.95 charge for the seafood buffet and swallowed the lump in your throat. 

“Nope, it’s all dandy.” You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. He noticed. 

“Good. You wire that money like I asked?” The venom in his tone alleviated, and you were glad at least one thing seemed to have worked out for you that day. 

But alas, your joy was short-lived.

“Yes, an hour ago, but it’s still processing until you put in your access code.” You moved away from the computer to give him room to step around and put in the code like he usually did. However, his feet never moved from their position in front of your desk.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Just like that, his voice was all venom again. 

You were beginning to grow agitated with his misplaced anger constantly being taken out on you. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, he’d tear into you like a bear would a boxing bag and then act like everything was fine the next day. You never got an apology, you knew not to expect one. 

But lately these fits of unbridled rage came about more often than not, and Sylus took a shovel to your mole hill of resolve every time. 

“I always need your access code on transfers over $500,000. I’ve never told you before, I just assumed—” 

“Are you stupid?” You didn’t bother answering the mean rhetorical question. “What about this transaction seemed usual to you? Did I not convey my urgency effectively earlier? Or are there rocks where your brain should be?” His voice never went up in volume, but you could tell he was angry. Livid even. Seething with fury at your supposed incompetence. 

Your eyes welled up with tears at his outburst. Normally you could take whatever insults he’d throw at you with little outward reaction, but you were particularly sensitive from the sandwich-shaped hole in your stomach, and the maternal hole in your heart which ached every second, reminding you of the much bigger one your mother bore.

Before you could stop it, a tear rolled down your cheek, and the second you registered the sensation you quickly went to wipe it. 

“Stop crying.” Sylus ordered.

“I’m not—crying.” Your voice betrayed you, a hitch in your throat interrupting the sentence. The tears began to stream down faster, so fast your hands couldn’t keep up. 

You prepared yourself for a speech about how weak you were, how he wouldn’t tolerate such inane shows of infirmity. But all Sylus did was watch as you embarrassingly tried to pull yourself together. 

You weren’t sure how much time passed before Sylus moved next to you, hunching down to input his code into the transaction. His eyes glanced at the second monitor, displaying the company card’s account, and he zeroed in at the twin’s charge, and your lack thereof.

“Did you have lunch?” Sylus’s voice was softer, you attributed that to the fact that he was inches away from you. The question was so out of left-field it actually caused your tears to cease. 

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t use the card.” Your eyes followed his to the bank statement and you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Oh, I had some extra cash on me I wanted to get rid of.”

“You’re supposed to use the card, Y/N. That’s what it’s for.”

“It’s fine, I’ll have an extra big lunch tomorrow. Granted you’re not firing me?” You were only half-joking, but you could’ve sworn you saw the corners of his lips perk up in an almost-smile before he shut it straight down. 

“I won’t fire you if you tell me what’s got you this upset? I’m not so proud as to assume it was me.” It was that moment you realised Sylus was capable of feeling empathy. He was aware of how hurtful he was being all those times he’d berate you over the smallest inconveniences for virtually no reason, and he simply didn’t care. 

It was far worse to know that he did possess empathy, but chose not to extend it to you. 

“It’s just that time of the month.” You lied, convincingly. You’d mull over your blatant betrayal to feminism later, but for now you needed a means of shutting this inquiry down and quickly. You didn’t want anyone knowing about your mom, you were sure the pity would destroy you. She wasn’t going to die, and you didn’t want people to treat you like she might. 

Sylus waited for the transfer to clear before he left. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when the door closed behind him.

“Are you sure we only have $105 on our lunch budget.” Luke’s question grated on your frayed nerves.

“$105 and five cents.” Your distinction didn’t do much help. 

“Come on, can’t you do your weird accounty magic and make more appear? We want steak.” Kiernan’s plea wasn’t helping either. You’d exhausted every last option, anything else would definitely cause alarms when Sylus eventually reviewed the accounts. 

“I already did all I could, I gave you an extra $255!” And a fat good that did you, now you were hungry and annoyed.

“Well, we both know there’s plenty more where that came from.”

There really wasn’t, but you didn’t tell them that. 

“I’m sorry, $105 is all you’ve got.” 

“Fine. But we’re very unhappy with you, Y/N. Very unhappy.” Luke chastised you, but you couldn’t even pretend to care. 

“Better you than Sylus, now please leave.” The twins opened their mouths with a retort, but a domineering voice interrupted them. 

“You heard her. Beat it and stop bothering my accountant.” 

The twins scurried at the sound of Sylus’s voice, and you wondered how much of that conversation he overheard.

“So, where did that extra $255 come from, Y/N?”

Too much of the conversation. Way too much. 

“My budget.” You cut your losses and told him the truth. Any other answer would have surely pissed him off. 

“I give you $300 for the whole week. Your sandwich costs $15. Either you haven’t been eating, or you've been paying out of your own pocket against my orders. Which is it?” 

Well, that was a lose-lose situation if there ever was one. You didn’t want to deal with the questions about why you were skipping meals, so you lied again. You always were an exceptional liar, your mother taught you that the less people knew about you, the less they had to hurt you with.

“I made too much food for dinner so I had leftovers. It’s no biggie.” You didn’t even look up from your screen as the lie left your lips. 

“What leftovers?” He asked. 

“Pasta.” You answered. 

“What kind?”

“Alfredo.”

“With mushrooms?”

“Yeah.”

“You hate mushrooms.” 

Shit. Why did he know that?

“I had a change of heart.”

“You’re lying.”

You bit your lip in worry, wondering how you were going to get yourself out of this one.

You stalled as much as you could, pretending to be engrossed in something on your screen, until the sound of Sylus’s phone ringing broke the tension. 

You internally thanked every deity that could possibly be watching over you as he took the call, and prayed to all of them that it would be something urgent. 

You heard the faint sounds of a feminine voice through his phone.

“Kitten, where are you?”

Wait, who’s kitten? 

“Just calm down, tell me where you are.” Sylus didn’t even give you a second glance as he quickly stormed out of your office. Leaving you to mull over the intimate pet name, knowing exactly who it was intended for.

As Sylus left the room you reflected on the cacophony your feelings created in your mind. You weren’t sure when you developed such strong feelings for Sylus — or why. His personality was the antithesis of yours. Where he would free fall off of the proverbial cliff of his life without a second thought, every risk you took was meticulously calculated. Where he was rough and respected, you were sort of a pushover. Where his deadpan sense of humour tended to elicit more fear than laughter, you had an awkward habit of cracking jokes in situations they were not appropriate.

You were polar opposites, two parallel lines that were destined never to intertwine. You figured that was why everything hurt so much around him. He wasn’t right for you, but he would be right for someone else. 

The envy you’d carried for so long began to subside for the first time in years. Sylus had an array of estranged lovers that he’d bring around his mansion every once in a while, and now Miss Hunter. But for the first time the reminder of that fact didn’t hurt as much as it usually did. 

It was Mid-September and you warned yourself that if you couldn’t eliminate all the romantic feelings you had for Sylus by the end of Autumn, you’d cut your losses and quit. 

Of course, you’d have to find another job that paid just as well, but you were willing to cross that bridge when it came to it. There was only so much turmoil your fragile heart could take, and if you were dead, your mother would be as good as dead too. 

Happy with your iron-clad plan, you opened up your notes app and began to draft ‘Operation Sylus: No More’. You could change the name later.

Operation Sylus: No More

The foolproof guide of getting rid of all feelings Sylus related by the end of November. 

Step 1: avoid Sylus and all thoughts of him at all costs.

Step 2: no more funny jokes, his laugh is seriously deadly. 

Step 3: force yourself to remember Miss Hunter in moments of weakness. She’s the one he really wants. 

Step 4: try to find love elsewhere, like the corner shop owner, he may be in his 50s and happily married but he’s kind of a silver-fox!

Step 5: do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be alone with Sylus for too long.

You looked back at your list, proud of the relatively easy steps to follow. This should be a cakewalk. Whoever said you couldn’t be the master of your own feelings clearly never met you. 

“Boss needs you in his office. He says bring your laptop.” Kiernan’s voice broke your focus. You were almost finished with the end of year report for this financial year, a task Sylus forced you to complete annually. It was meaningless, considering Onychinus wasn’t necessarily a legitimate business listed on the stock exchange, but you took it seriously nonetheless. 

“Okay, I’ll be right there.” You felt Kiernan’s eyes bore into you as you continued to make minor edits to the report. You’d sleep so much better once this 180 page document was out of your life. 

“He needs you now, Y/N. We’re both toast if you make him wait.” You sighed and couldn’t help but roll your eyes at Sylus’s lack of empathy for your large workload. 

You berated your past self for being so eager for this role, completing far too many tasks far too quickly, and setting the precedent that you were some sort of accounting machine. You really should learn to stick to the bare minimum. 

You walked over to the door leading to his office, and gave it a soft rap with your knuckles. The door opened by itself, or rather with the help of Sylus’s evol, to the sight of him leaning back in his chair, with Miss Hunter sitting directly in front of him on his desk.

Step 3 of your guide felt less like a friendly reminder and more like a stab in the gut. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man.

“We don’t have all day, sit down, Y/N.” Sylus’s command woke you from your trance, and you hoped your envy wasn’t as obvious as you thought it was. 

This was the first time you’d seen Miss Hunter up close, and when your eyes travelled to meet hers, she gave you a warm smile. You felt like the shittiest person to exist for ever hating her.

Your eyes scanned the room for somewhere to sit. The chairs opposite his seemed like they would intrude on the intimate moment he was clearly having with Miss Hunter, so you settled on an armchair in the corner that had a coffee table in front of it. 

Sylus sighed and didn’t even bother to ask you to move before he used his evol to whisk you up and deposit your body onto the chair at his table like a rag doll. You hated when he used his evol on you, it felt like the arms of a prickly cactus. 

“In a few minutes, I’ll be getting a phone call from a possible investor. He’s extremely exclusive and known for running tests on his potential partners before agreeing to invest with them. My intel suggests he’s going to propose a joint project, but the numbers he’ll give me will be far off. I need to counter-propose numbers that would generate a high return and quickly, or he’ll hang up and I’ll never hear from him again. So, open up your laptop and prepare, because if you tank this for me, there will no longer be a place for you here. Understood?”

When Sylus did things like that, it made it easier to love him a little less. He could be a complete and utter dick sometimes, and while you’d learned to accept it as a human flaw, recently it seemed more like a permanent predisposition. 

Perhaps Sylus was nice to you because you were entertaining, now that he had someone better to occupy his time, you were nothing more than a forgotten bygone. 

“Yeah, I got it.” You opened up an excel sheet with a project analysis template. These were the types of questions you’d get in your first year accounting courses but you let Sylus think it was much harder than it actually was — just to make him sweat. 

When the phone rang, Sylus’s muscles grew tense and Miss Hunter gave him a comforting squeeze on his shoulder. You bit your lip to hide the sudden scowl on your face. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man.

Your eyes bore into your excel sheet with an intensity that would’ve produced laser beams in an alternate reality. You focused entirely on the calculations, listening intently to the brassy voice of the investor on the phone. 

It didn’t take you long to generate the minimum initial investment they’d need to generate some form of return, as well as the payback period. You wrote the numbers down on a notepad, and you let him do the rest. 

When you heard the investor let out a humorous ‘I’m impressed’ you packed up your laptop and left the room without so much as a wave. You felt Sylus and Miss Hunter’s eyes follow you out of the room, but you didn’t bother looking back.

You felt the thin line between love and hate begin to grow blurry. Where Sylus was concerned, your feelings were as clear as the muddy water in a swamp. Maybe two and a half months was too much time. You needed these feelings gone expeditiously. 

You decided to take your lunch early, and you left the extravagant mansion that doubled as HQ to find your bike. You couldn’t really afford a car, or a license, but your bright yellow bike could do everything a car could for a fraction of the price. You were in the process of strapping up your helmet when Luke walked up. 

“What’s up with you lately?” His question was inevitable. You wondered how long it would take for someone to notice that you were fighting internal battles on every front. Your mother’s health, Sylus’s sudden chronic asshole syndrome flareup, your dwindling bank account. 

“Nothing, I’ve just been tired.”

“Well, we’re having a few friends over tonight. Just a small group, if you’re not too tired, you should come.” Luke was the more sociable twin, and he was most likely extending this invitation to you out of pity, but you’d take anything over being trapped in your own mind. 

“Will there be alcohol?” You quipped.

“Duh.” Luke’s response brought the first genuine smile to your face in weeks. 

“I’ll be there.” After your agreement, you cycled away toward the corner shop for lunch.

It was a quaint bakery/deli run by a Turkish man who you knew on a first name basis. He was aged-like-fine-wine handsome. Features weathered tastefully by age, with a full head of hair that quelled your fears of your future children inheriting the early onset male pattern baldness gene. 

But when you entered the store and saw Mr Demir, there were no butterflies. Your heart didn’t skip a beat. Your hands didn’t even quiver as you paid for the sandwich. In fact, they were so steady you figured you could give Dr Zayne a run for his money. 

Speaking of Dr Zayne, his daily updates were growing scarcer in detail, and you were worried that something was wrong. He insisted he was just busy and since your mother had moved up to 93 on the transplant list, you let it slide. 

“You know you’re allowed to try the other sandwiches, right?” Mr Demir’s handsome face contorted into a teasing smile, and if he didn’t own this shop with his beautiful wife, you might’ve asked him to marry you then and there. 

“I like this one. Your family is very talented.” You smiled at him, but it seemed even he could tell that it wasn’t genuine.

“You’re getting skinnier you know, and you haven’t been coming as often. Is something wrong or are you cheating on me with a salad store?” His joke brought a giggle out of you. 

You never thought that people noticed you in a way that was significant. You felt as if you were akin to a missing bird poster on a telephone pole in the middle of a busy street. People would glance at it, remember how common and undistinguishable birds are, and forget it ever existed.

Mr Demir’s concern warmed your heart, and you promised that if you ever won the lottery, you would give him half. 

“I’ve just been cooking more, that’s all. Thank you Mr Demir, say hello to your wife for me!” You gave him a small wave as you exited the shop and the weight suffocating your chest was a little lighter.

Mr Demir’s family had boundless love to share, and while their shop was small, they were happy. Maybe things would work out for you and your mother after all. 

The rest of the workday passed by like a fever dream. You finally managed to complete the annual report, a copy of it sitting in Sylus’s email, surely unopened. He left soon after that phone call with Miss Hunter, you didn’t bother to ask where.

The mansion was empty when you turned off the last monitor, and you thought you’d start pre-gaming early. Sylus always warned all of you that his bar was off-limits unless he stated otherwise, but the man had so much alcohol, you doubted he’d ever notice. 

He only drank red wine and whiskey, and you hated wine, so you settled for an almost full bottle of whiskey. You took one sip and realised you couldn’t stand the taste either, but it was still better than the wine, so you chugged glass after glass like they were shots. 

The heavy alcohol burned your throat on the way down and continued to burn in your stomach, but the feeling kept you warm so you didn’t really mind. You’d consumed half the bottle by the time the twins returned with two other men and one girl following in suit.  

“Y/N! Good, you’re here. Help me set up the drinks on the table.” You nodded your head at Luke’s request, knowing your speech would likely be slurred. 

You helped him line up the bottles of cheap tequila, vodka, fireball and a fear-inducing amount of absinthe. These cheap spirits were much more your speed.

“Alright, we’re starting with truth or dare. Pick your poison and sit around the coffee table.” Kiernan’s announcement had everyone scattering around the coffee table with cups in hand. You opted for the fireball, too scared to mix alcohol this early in the night. 

You recognised everyone from another one of the twin’s impromptu parties. They only ever threw them when they were sure Sylus would be gone overnight. You didn’t let yourself dwell on where he was or who he was with. 

The game was more entertaining than you expected, everyone had interesting questions, and when it came to dares, the twins always had something sadistic in mind. 

It was your turn when they decided to up the stakes. You were already wasted, so you committed to answering whatever question they pummelled at you. 

“Truth.”

“You’re so boring, you always pick truth.” Luke whined, his arm shaking yours in protest.

“That’s because I’m scared of your dares.”

Luke rolled his eyes but conceded.

“Fine. How many people have you slept with?”

All conversations came to a stifling halt as everyone’s eyes landed on you. Far too embarrassed to tell 5 people you barely knew that you were still a virgin, you changed your answer. There was nothing to be ashamed of, but you knew the twins would mercilessly make fun of you, and you didn't have the energy to explain that between the constant pressure to succeed for your mother, and her eventual illness, your love life had been placed on the back-burner.

“Dare.”

“You know the rules, if you switch options and refuse to do it, you have to finish everyone’s drinks.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hit me.” You glared at Luke with determination. You should’ve known that when everyone was this drunk, the dares could only get progressively more outrageous.

“I dare you to call Sylus and tell him you crashed his McLaren.” Luke looked proud of his dare, and the smile dropped from your face instantly. 

Even Kiernan’s eyes flashed with concern before he broke out into an obnoxious laugh.

“Oh- Holy shit! That’s gold.” The words left Kieran’s mouth in-between his laughter. Everyone around the table looked at you eagerly.

You knew if you finished off everyone’s cups you’d definitely die, or worse, throw up. 

“Fine.” Too drunk to realise the implications of what you were doing, you dialled Sylus. There was also the chance he just didn’t pick up, but four and a half rings later his annoyed voice resounded through the speaker of your phone. 

“What is it?” From the sound of Sylus’s tone, you’d interrupted something important. You bit down the bitter feelings that threatened to spill out, and stuck to the objective.

“I have something to tell you, but you have to promise you won’t get mad.” There was no universe in which Sylus couldn’t tell you were drunk.

In all honesty, your phone call was a welcome reprieve from his mind-numbingly boring conversation with Linkon’s politicians. He’d offered to attend this event with MC with little thought as to what it would pertain. His eyes raked over her baby pink dress, and since he couldn’t get her out of it just yet, he entertained your drunk rambling.

“I don’t have to do anything.” Sylus expected you to apologise, but all he heard was a sound foreign to him. Were you laughing? Sylus heard indecipherable voices in the background, and he found himself wondering who was making you laugh. 

“True. Okay well, you know that dark grey sports car you love soooooooooooo much?” Nice going, Y/N, remind him just how much he loves this car. You thought. The phone was on speaker, per the requests of the fellow attendees. 

Everyone bit back laughs at the situation which was extremely unfunny to anyone with a blood alcohol level under 0.05. 

“What did you do?” Sylus’s question had a deadly underpinning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“I crashed it!” At your exclamation, the room exploded in laughter, and you muted the microphone quickly before Sylus could hear it.

“You crashed it?”

You quickly unmuted to add. “Yup! Absolutely totalled.”

“Are you okay? Where are you? I’m coming.” 

The laughter immediately died down. That was not how he was supposed to react, not at all. 

Luke and Kiernan gestured for you to shut it down and you quickly began to backtrack.

“No! No you don’t have to come home. I’m fine. It was just a prank.”

“Oh, so you’re at my place?” ShitShitShitShitShit.

“Yes… The twins and I had too much to drink and we thought it would be funny to prank you. I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have interrupted your night.”

You braced yourself for the angry lecture on how Sylus’s time was more valuable the rarest ruby, but it never came.

“Just you and the twins, right?”

Luke and Kiernan gestured for you to agree.

“Yes.”

“You should probably call an exorcist.” Were you drunk or did he actually just tell you to call an exorcist?

“Huh?” Everyone in the room looked just as perplexed.

“You know, since those three other people in my living room must be apparitions.” 

“You didn’t rig the camera?” Kiernan’s shrill scream was definitely registered by the phone’s mic. 

“Fuck! I forgot.” Luke exclaimed in response as they scrambled to pack everything up. 

“Um…” With everyone frantically running around the room, you were left to deal with Sylus’s wrath alone.

“How come you never laugh when you’re with me?” And with that question you were convinced the alcohol had induced auditory hallucinations.

“You’re not very funny.” You decided to play along, after all, imaginary Sylus was much more fun than the real one.

“Hmm, I thought I was.”

“Nope. All your jokes end in someone dying, and usually that someone is me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, those aren’t jokes.” That was something real Sylus would say. Damn, these auditory hallucinations were realistic.

“I know, I really thought you were going to kill me last week.” You let out an involuntary snort at the hilarious image of your head on a pike. 

“Why’s that?”

“Because I screwed up that wire transfer to Miss Hunter. You were soooo mad. You must reaaaalllyyyy like her.”

“I guess I do.” The line went quiet on both ends after that. 

This auditory hallucination was no fun following his confession, so you hung up. Sylus called a few times after, but you never noticed. The room began spinning and your eyes began watering, so you curled up on the floor until your head stopped pounding, but by then you were fast asleep.

Sylus returned to his mansion the next morning to find your office empty. It was still an hour before you were due to start, but you were always early. 

With an internal promise to check again in an hour, he walked toward the living room. It didn’t take long before he noticed a mop of light brown hair on his rug.

He walked toward your sleeping form with indignation, only to find every ounce of anger sucked out of him when he knelt down to find your sleeping face. 

He hadn’t been that close to you in what felt like forever. Was your face always that pale? His eyes caressed your under eye bags, and your hollow cheeks. He could’ve sworn they were fuller when he hired you. What happened to you? 

Before Sylus could give in to the urge to wake you up and ask, your phone made a sound from the coffee table. He picked it up and saw you were getting a call from Zayne.

Who the fuck was Zayne?

He answered the phone before he could think it through.

“Oh, Y/N, good. I’ve been trying to reach you since last night.”

“You should’ve taken the hint.” Sylus couldn’t help the bite in his tone. He wasn’t sure why he was so angry at this Zayne, but his emotions were beginning to confuse him more often than he cared to admit.

“Who’s this?”

Sylus could’ve said that he was your boss. He should’ve said that he was your boss. But what he said instead…

“Y/N’s mine.” His employee, but that distinction didn’t seem necessary in the moment.

“Well, could you tell her to call me back as soon as possible. I have urgent news about her mother.”

The comment about her mother perplexed Sylus even more. 

“Who are you?”

“I’m her mother’s heart surgeon. I have to go, have her call me soon.” Sylus felt stupid for the unnecessary show of hostility, but he only had more questions following Zayne’s answer.

It seemed the conversation was enough to wake you up from your slumber, and the moment you registered your surroundings, the headache you had was amplified tenfold. Your muscles hurt from sleeping on the hard floor, and you were sure your legs had morphed into jelly. 

You were never drinking again.

“Well hello, sleeping beauty.” Sylus watched as you groggily rubbed your eyes. The right side of your face had an indent matching the pattern of his rug, and your hair was dishevelled. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Sylus. I’m so sorry.” You spoke through a yawn before cradling your head in your hands. The world needed to stop spinning.

Sylus shoved an open bottle of water in your face, and you greedily snatched the peace offering before he had time to change his mind.

“Zayne called, said he had some news about your mother.”

You shot straight up, spilling some water in the process.

“What did he say? Where’s my phone?” You glanced at large Sylus’s hand which was wrapped around said phone. If you weren’t so worried about your mother, you might’ve found the sight of Sylus holding something covered in a floral case amusing. Powering through the piercing pain in your temple, you held your hand out.

“Please give it back.” 

“What’s wrong with your mother?”

“Please Sylus, I can’t do this right now.” You tried to lunge for the phone, but he was faster. Raising his hand above his head and well out of your reach. 

“You’ll have this back once you answer my question.”

“She has the flu. Now give it back.” You jumped up in a feeble attempt to retrieve the phone, but he was just so goddamn tall. 

“I didn’t know flu treatment protocol involved heart surgery now. Guess I need to brush up on the latest medical news.” His sardonic tone made you scoff. Only Sylus could be such a dick while your mother's life was in limbo.

Curse Dr Zayne and his blabbermouth. 

If it wasn’t for the severe hangover, you might’ve been able to think of an explanation. But you were so nervous you felt sick and you needed to know the news Dr Zayne had.

“Fine. She needs a heart transplant, she’s on coronary bypass and if she doesn’t get a heart soon she’ll die. Is that good enough for you?” You continued to try to reach the phone, not bothering to check Sylus’s reaction to your confession. 

He dropped the phone in your hand and you all but sprinted out of the living room to make the phone call.

The line rang once, twice, three times before Zayne picked up.

“Y/N?”

“Yes! What’s wrong? Is my mom okay? Tell me she’s okay.”

“Slow down, she’s alive, but she had a cardiac event. Not a heart attack, but it still did some damage. Her condition is worse, much worse, Y/N. I’m sorry.” 

Your back slumped against the wall of the hallway and you felt your knees give in as you slid to the floor. 

“How long does she have?” The tears streaming down your face fell onto your shirt, leaving uncomfortable wet spots in their wake.

“A few weeks, a month’s top. But this did move her to the top of the list. She might get a transplant in time.” Zayne must have heard the sadness in your voice if he’d offered words of encouragement. He never did that. 

“Thank you. I’m going to come see her.”

“I’ll get the nurses to bring in an extra bed. I’ll see you soon, Y/N.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond so you hung up instead. The pain in your head was now but a mere memory as your heart began to splinter into a million little pieces. 

There was so much you still had to do. You needed to buy your mom her first ever house, and help her plant the prettiest flowers in the garden. You had to get her the dog she always dreamed about and the outdoor swing she missed from her childhood home. She still had to walk you down the aisle and sing your future children the lullabies she sang to you. She couldn’t go. Not yet. 

You didn’t even notice Sylus enter the hallway until you felt him sitting down next to you. He wove an arm behind your head, bringing your face into his chest. The intimacy of the act only made you cry harder. The last person to hold you that close was your mom, a few days before she’d collapsed. 

“It hurts.” You choked on your words and they came out muffled against Sylus’s chest.

“What hurts?” He asked. 

“My heart. It really hurts, Sylus.” You sobbed harder. It felt good to finally admit that you weren’t okay. To have someone hold you as your life fell apart around you. 

“Tell me what to do, Y/N. Anything.”

“Can I have some time off?” You took deep breaths as you tried to slow your crying down. You could break down once you reached the other side of this tumultuous predicament. 

The humble request drove Sylus insane. He’d offer you his own heart to save your mother if he wasn’t sure it was severely damaged, and all you could think to ask for was time off. 

“Of course.”

“Can you give me a ride to Linkon?” 

That request was a little better, but still not enough. 

“I’ll take you now, come on.”

“No wait, I need to go home and pack some things. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“You know you can still get a DUI on a pedal bike, right?”

“I’m not drunk.”

“But there’s still alcohol in your system, and you’re very upset. It won’t be safe, I’ll take you home on the way. Let’s go.” He stood up, his hand outstretched toward you. 

And with a heavy heart, you took Sylus’s hand.

[thebluester2020]

ok but reading your latest sdv headcanons has given me an idea. You wrote Sam being horns for farmer in a sundress and it's has unlocked in me the feminine urge to be railed in a sundress. I'd love to see your take on it with the sdv bachelors.

SDV Bachelors x Fucking Farmer In A Sundress Summary: Bachelors to you looking too pretty in a sundress. [Includes; Elliot, Sebastion and Lance (From SDV Expanded)] Warning(s): No established relationships (I'm in a mood for FWB relationships + unrequited love what can I say?), Elliot low-key sluts out the reader, Elliot and the reader are kinda tipsy in his part but the sex is consensual dw, Sebastion is kinda a needy hopeless romantic and jerks off to the thought of the farmer, Alex and the farmer have sex outdoors like true outdoorsy people do 💪. Side notes: I only included three bachelors because- lol I gotta put all my focus on this other SDV fic. It's a bit longer so I need more time on that.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Elliot

The man nearly keels over when he sees you in a sundress. It was when you first introduced yourself to him actually! After that though? He was hooked on you like a drug.

Not necessarily in a perv way but more so in an "I definitely have a crush on them" type of way.

But he more or less keeps it in his pants until he spots you again but this time? It was at the Stardrop Saloon and both you and him were tipsy after sharing a beer.

Tensions were flying and after you placed a hand on his thigh? Y'all were fucking in one of the more secluded rooms in the saloon because y'all didn't have a chance in hell of making it home.

♡ - "Oh Yoba...Fuck—" A choked up uncharacteristically needy whine escaped the lips of the writer as he fucked you on the wooden floors of the Stardrop Saloon.

Despite the tipsy haze his vision had however, no amount of beer could dampen your beauty and the fact that you were the most captivating person in this entire tavern. From the first day he met you to now, those were his thoughts but tonight? Oh, they increased tenfold when you waltzed through the doors, unaware of how you stole his very breath with your outfit.

A simple brown sundress that was mid-thigh length and only had thin spaghetti straps to keep your outfit up upon your shoulders. The deep v-neck of your dress barely leaving your dress to the imagination as small beads of sweet dripped down your skin and between the valley of your chest. Combined with the scent of your perfume, how you looked at him when you sat beside him and the light application of your make-up.

All of it served to make him absolutely dizzy.

To the point where the quickly growing tension between the two of you, fueled by your brief touches and your conversations growing more and more naughty.

There was no way that the two of you could wait to get home to either of your houses.

No, it needed to be handled now.

"Y-You must've wanted this to happen, my dear...didn't you?" He moaned in your ear as his chest was pressed against your back. His thrusts sloppy and rough as he hugged you so tightly you had a mind to think he was trying to bury himself into your skin. "Yoba your sooooooo pretty." He continued to pant into your ear like a dog in heat.

You responded with a breathy moan, your head turning briefly to slot your lips against Elliot's. Quickly, Elliot lightly bit at your lower lip, prompting a gasp from you that allowed his tongue to slip in. His tongue tasting every area inside your mouth before you two parted with a single string of spit still connecting the two of you.

When Elliot's eyes refocused on yours, however, his moans began to increase in volume as his thrusts started to pick up pace in lieu of his impending orgasm. He swore he was falling deeper and deeper into the pit of his crush that he had on you, to the point where he dared to say that he was falling in love with you.

"Y/N...Oh fuck..." Elliot continued to moan your name as he grew closer to his orgasm, his moans getting higher and higher as he struggled to hold onto his sense of self and not spill out the fact he had a bigger crush on you than this moment could portray.

But, you beat him to it. "Elliot...I-I love you, s-so m-much." You said.

Another choked-up grunt spilled from Eliot's lips at the confession before you felt your insides being flooded with a searing heat, his own orgasm pushing you over the edge as you shuddered at the force of your climax. Your vision temporarily went black before you slowly returned back to Earth. Your skin was sticky with sweat whilst your slick drenched the back of your thighs and Elliot's cock.

"So..." Elliot spoke, breaking the post-climax silence. "You love me, hm?"

Sebastion

I'm going to spoil myself a little and imagine he saw you in a sundress once and practically never again.

However, that didn't mean he didn't stop thinking about it.

After seeing you, he developed a crush on you that he was too shy to really do anything about (completely ignoring the way you visited his room constantly to deliver frozen tears to him).

So to satiate his lust for you?

Masturbate ofc, with you being front and center in his mind.

♡ - He's tried so hard to avoid doing this.

But, he feels like a little self-credit is due here. It wasn't like he wanted to be in this position right now! Where he was left alone in the middle of the day due to his family apparently wanting to go to a town event that didn't interest him in the slightest. And although he was currently lying in bed, trying to doze off, his mind wouldn't leave a particular thought of you.

It was around the time when you came to visit his mother for some supplies he believes. The smell of perfume that smelled like lavender and cherries brought him out of his room he admits, Sebastion never smelled anything like it and it was as intoxicating as wine...and like a dog expecting a treat, he followed it out of his room and up the short case of stairs before he peeked around the corner and saw you.

A simple black sundress with a skull plastered on the front where the top of your breasts threatened to spill out.

Suddenly, his mouth was dry and his cock was hard.

Now he was here, in his bed, and hornier than he'd ever been before, and you were the cause. But Sebastion couldn't bring himself to feel too bad afterward when he began to palm himself over his pants, sucking in a sharp breath in-between his teeth as the image of your started to appear in his mind like someone had cast a spell on him.

It was as if you were really there. The smell of your perfume from that day, the sundress, your soft skin and kind smile...everything. And when the vision of you started to trail kisses down his neck and down his front...lifting up the front of his hoodie and everything until you finally reached the place he wanted you to touch most when you wrapped your pretty pink-tinted lips around his leaky cock.

He could've sworn you were really there.

Looking up at him through your long lashes as if he were the most important person in the world, the only one in the world deserving of your time and attention. No matter how unrealistic it may have been, a shut-in like himself? Dating the prettiest person in the valley?

A laugh almost slipped from behind his hand as he covered his lips, his free hand desperately tugging at his dick to the vision of you. Soft pants escaped his lips as he honed in on the image of your head bobbing up and down on his cock, lewd sucking and slurping leaving your lips.

He was so close...sososososo close...until you stopped.

You moved to sit up, winking his way before you lifted up your dress a little and moved to straddle him, pulling your panties to the side before you slipped down onto him.

He nearly came in his pants at the thought of how your wet walls would feel around him. How soft and warm they would be as they hugged his dick so tightly that he feared the air inside his lungs would all but be choked out, his moans increasing in volume and growing increasingly needier and needier as he imagined your soft touches. Your nails raking down his sides and leaving delectable goosebumps in their wake as you moved your hips up and down.

"Y/N...Oh fuck...! Y-Y/N..." Sebastion moaned as you began to quicken your pace, the sound of his name from your lips getting him off more than he was prepared to admit to himself before...there was suddenly a knock at his door. The way the vision in his head slipped away so fast, it nearly made him want to cuss out the person who dared to knock as well as cry at the same time.

Until he heard a familiar "Sebastion? Are you awake? I have a gift for you!" Immediately, his cock twitched at your voice, his brain's imaginations started to conjure back up again as the slightest feeling of...hope, perhaps started to dot his mind.

It seemed he had a bigger crush on you than he thought.

And he prayed that one day, his imagination would come true that you liked him just as much.

Alex

He's bold when he sees you in a sundress. He first sees you in one when he's visiting your farm (Evelyn wanted him to deliver some home-baked cookies to the farmer, how sweet of her)

So check this out, you're doing your farming work and you drop something.

You thinking that no one's around, you get on your hands and knees to fully pick the item up and this steals Alex's breath to the max because he gets a perfect view of your underwear.

A lacy blue thong that, in his mind, couldn't even be considered underwear!

Right then and there, he wants to fuck you.

Luckily, you've been wanting to fuck him as well!

♡ - An unabashed moan left your lips as your hands slightly slipped on the dirt beneath you, the sounds of grunting and slapping from behind you nearly drowning out the sounds of the cicadas from the summer heat.

You'd been attracted to Alex for a while, a simple and sweet-hearted crush that stemmed from the fact that he more or less made his attraction clear to you.

From the way he'd call out your name and invite you to hang out with him, to how he'd initiate close contact with you whenever the both of you were around each other to even now! Even as he pistoned into your needy pussy, your slick dripping down onto the dirt below as he pressed his hand down into the dip in your back to force you into an arch, your heart still got a fuzzy feeling out of your crush for him!

Though...you suspected that, at this moment, calling your attraction a mere "crush" wasn't exactly correct.

"F-Fuck—" Your breath caught in your throat when Alex leaned some of his weight down onto your back, his fingers moving to circle and pinch at your clit.

"Ssshhiiittt." He moaned hotly into your ear, a cocky chuckle following suit choked up aht-aht-ahts left your lips as he sped up his thrusts, a boiling coil beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. "You must've really wanted this to happen, huh farmer? Do you even hear yourself?" Alex said, your cheeks burning even more as Alex suddenly slowed his thrusts to grind his hips into you, the sound of your sticky slick sticking to the front of Alex's thighs making you both want to burst into flames out of sheer embarrassment as well as dig a hole to hide away in.

Of course, however, your newfound lover wasn't going to allow that to happen. Not after he'd been waiting for an opportunity like this to happen since the moment the two of you had met! The sound of your moans slipping from your pretty lips, wet and glistening from your heavy make-out session minutes earlier, the way your breasts bounced underneath you, flushed as pink as your face whilst your hard nipples were practically begging to be played with!

The sheer orgasmic rush that Alex felt...figuring out that the pretty farmer was a whore just waiting to be broken in by the right man. His cock twitched inside of your cunt at the mere thought, his thrusts resuming their original speed as more thoughts of you flashed through his mind.

Maybe a different position, on the bed perhaps? Your fingers dipping into your pussy as you moaned out his name and begged for him to take you against the wall?

Or even him fucking you on a table? In his room?

"A-Alex...~!" You cried out as your pussy began to twitch, a familiar burn beginning to tighten within the pit of your stomach.

"Dirty farmer, don't you dare cum without me." Alex hissed into your ear, a moan escaping his lips afterward. "Y-You need to have some energy to go a few more rounds...I-I'm breaking this pussy in."

At the thought and the act of Alex dragging your further on his cock, his cock pressed up against a spot deep inside of you that made stars appear in your vision. Your body convulsed from the sheer force of your orgasm as your thighs twitched whilst the energy drained from your arms. You would've plopped onto the ground had Alex not held up for your torso, his heavy panting and the warm full feeling inside of you a sign of his orgasm.

"You came a little earlier than me..." He clicked his tongue in false annoyance.

"Guess we have to go again, huh? Let's hope no one comes along farmer girl~"

[lostintransist]

Would love a continuation to your gym antics with maybe possibly Simon meeting Reader and seeing her deliver 23 psychic damage to every creep in the gym.

Then MAYBE they all realize that they’ve all been interested in (respectfully obsessed with) the same person (reader). They witness The Ultimate Douchebag Takedown and watch her do reps with said douchebag’s max weight with so much spark in her eyes. Then they see her be super sweet with a younger beginner or the gym’s dog that roams the shop or some shit

So sometimes stories get away from me and I couldn't figure out why they would all be at a public gym at the same time. My brain kept going, but if they are all together why wouldn't they be on base?? Anyway, my incessant need to answer the unspoken why has led us here. Enjoy! ☺️

If the damn desk jockeys would get off their asses and finish dealing with the fucking problem they would be able to go home. Two weeks in this hotel because the paper pushers wouldn’t approve something more than an economy room in a relatively cheap option. The core of Task Force 141, Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap were nearing blows.

Two queen beds made it hard for any of them to get enough space to stretch out. Everyone took turns rotating who shared with Soap. The man rolled. He didn’t just roll, he would cuddle and then end up sideways in the bed over whoever happened to be sharing with him. Made sleeping rough.

The piss-poor gym/pool set up on the first floor became an outlet for every man. They went in shifts. It wasn’t discussed so much as whoever was the closest to sending a brother through the wall between the bedrooms and the bathroom would nip out to run down their anger on the treadmill or splash laps in the pool.

Now due to the lack of overlapping none of the men knew they had their eye on the same bird. It wouldn’t have helped if they had known.

Price and Ghost ran into you more than once in the hot tub. They would slip into the chilly water and push until their muscles burned and then join you who read or watched something on your phone. Gaz and Soap found you on the treadmill singing quietly as you walked at a speedy clip. Every time the door opened to the gym you stopped singing.

Gaz spoke to you first.

“You can keep singing, don’t mind me. Feel free to turn up the volume on the music too.”

Instead of complying you laugh. Kyle stands near the door, arms folded as he squinted at all the equipment.

“Na, I get a bit shy. Thanks, though.” You offer a smile that is reflected in your eyes. “You here long?”

Gaz laughed through his nose, “Who knows? Trying to get home but the paperwork people at the job are apparently not in the same kind of rush.”

“You too? Damn. What is with them? Do they think I like sleeping on the cardboard they call a mattress?” The animation in your face pulls Gaz in. Bright expressions that show not an iota of mistrust or hiding something.

“They must not travel much for work or they would get us home faster huh?” He crosses the room and points to the treadmill next to you, “Mind if I join you?”

“Go right ahead,” you gesture at the machine. “Conversation would be a nice change.”

The two of you laughed through the last twenty or so minutes of your workout.

Price met you next.

He was one more stupid pun away from unloading his service weapon into his men. He had slammed into the muggy air of the pool room. Without even a glance around he stripped down to his speedo and stomped down the steps into the water. Fucking hotel pools were never deep enough for diving. Five laps and his shoulders burned enough to slow down. Pushing back against gravity he stood. Running a hand over his hair, face, and head, to clear some of the water he looked around for the first time.

There you were, eyes carving lines long his muscles from the hot tub.

“Need something, sweetheart?”

The time it takes you to drag your gaze from the water lapping at his stomach to his eyes sends chills down his spine.

“Na, just enjoying the view. Not often I get a strip tease by accident.”

Price couldn’t help but laugh. He had to have several years on you but the way you look at him has him wishing he were here alone.

“Sometimes a man forgets he might not be the only person in the pool.”

Snorting, you step back and sink lower into the bubbling water.

The bubbles dissipate as you become a floating head.

“Shit,” straightening you look to the wall where the timer is.

“If you don’t mind company I can fix that on my way over?” Price offers, lifting a brow and his cheeks in a smile.

“I would love some company, in fact,” you give him a sultry smile.

Since your face firmly tracks his motion up and out of the pool and to the timer by the time he steps into the heated water his cheeks are as red as his speedo. He is pruned when he finally leaves. You left twenty minutes before he could stand straight without the pressure of his speedo cutting the blood supply off to his everything.

Soap is neck deep in a maladaptive daydream about having a wife and three bairns screeching across the heath as the wind plucks at them when you enter the gym. He moved at a light jog. Feet falling lightly on the belt he isn’t breathing hard.

A clang and ringing of metal is enough to pull Soap back to his body. Glancing over he sees you wincing and pressing your massive water bottle to your chest to stop the metal from singing.

“All good over there?” He lifts both brows as his head tilts slightly.

Your tongue makes an appearance under your top lip as you push a lung full of air from your nose.

“Ever just have one of those days where the seconds take too long to pass?” You looked at him so earnestly that Soap reached out and slowed down to a walking pace.

“Too many damn times. Would a chat help reset the clock watching?”

The fight to keep from your face crumpling had Soap pulling out his threadbare handkerchief and passing it over.

“Time does tricky things to me too,” Soap offered softly.

You pressed the fabric to your nose and coughed to clear your throat and eyes.

“Thanks.” Sniffing you take a shaky breath, “Watching anything interesting lately?”

“Can’t sit still long enough for TV but been seeing the wildest one-person skits on my socials. Favorites have to be a girl’s group chat gone wild and an enemies-to-lovers story with family drama and an ex who won’t get out of the way.”

You light up, hand flying away from your face as you lean toward him.

“Oh my god! Do you think she is the other woman and that’s why she didn’t tell anyone what the hell was going on?”

The time is spent passing back and forth thoughts on stories more interesting than what writers’ rooms had put out in decades.

Ghost meets you last. Well. Yes, he was last but he didn’t really meet you so much as wake trying to avoid being smothered to death.

Falling asleep in the hot tub is not recommended. Even if he could keep his nose above water while sitting at the bottom of the small pool, he shouldn’t fall asleep. He had been the one to share a bed with Soap last night. Instead of swaddling the man like a newborn Ghost had given up on sleeping through the night. Haunted him now.

Eyes snapping open he glares up at you. His head is pinned between your hand and the floor. A quick external assessment tells him that his mask is still on, and the bubbles have stopped. He must have passed out hard.

“Hi,” you study both his eyes before blinking and taking in him. “Since you woke and have normal pupil reactions, I am going to assume you don’t need any naloxone?”

“No.”

“Okay.” The odd look you give him is overshadowed by your fingers sliding off his skin. Damn. Why did that feel so good? “Can you move your long ass legs then so I can enjoy some time in the water?”

Snapping into a sitting position Ghost curses the fact his ears are out. He gets pink in the tips of his ears when embarrassed.

“Sorry.” Ghost ran a hand through his short hair, surprised by the wetness there, “Didn’t sleep much last night.”

A jet caught him in the back. With a grunt he shifted. The pressure from the blasting water left his skin itching. The bubbles were nice though. Stretching his arms along the curve of the tiles he notices your eyes follow his wingspan.

“Do they even make beds big enough for you here?” You question as you step in with a hiss and hand clutching the balance bar.

He doesn’t know why he replies. He isn’t normally this chatty. The lack of sleep must be stealing away his senses and filling him up with a bevy of words.

“I’m not that big.”

You sit across from him. He can feel the drift of your legs in the water above his where they stretch along the bottom.

The glance you send him lands somewhere particular, even with the barrier of the moving water. A slow bob of your head and the lift of your brows accompany your disbelieving tone.

“Must have been the water distortion.”

“Lots of things about me are distorted,” Ghost mutters.

The sputtering laugh you let out has you covering it up with a cough.

“That was terrible. Are all of your jokes that bad?”

“Worse.”

“Ooh, honesty. Well then, let’s hear them?”

Ghost narrows his eyes at you as he tells you the tank joke.

“I see your tank joke and raise you one of my own; two soldiers are in a tank; one looks at the other and says blub.” The waggling of your brows is what tipped him over the edge into snorting.

Back and forth it went until you rub your fingertips together and proclaim yourself cooked. With a smile and a nod you disappear. Ghost spends far too long staring at the ceiling thinking about your hands on him.

They run into you day after day after day. Sometimes in the coffee shop within walking distance or a cafe. But they always run into you alone and never mention you to the others. When orders finally arrive that they can return home each man searched the building over twice looking for you. No luck.

Check-out runs smoothly, leaving them loitering with their gunny sacks in a pile by the complimentary couches and chairs in the lobby. Was there an actual purpose for these couches other than decoration? No one ever seemed to use them. This was the discussion happening between the men that seemed to conveniently forget that their asses sat on the decorations.

Ghost’s eyes widening have everyone looking.

There you are. Backpack over on shoulder and a small suitcase wheeling

Not one of them is confident enough to approach you with the others watching. That leaves all of them waiting and hoping you stop and say hello and here is my number before goodbye.

“Thanks! I had a good stay,” your voice carries over your shoulder to them. Each man tightens up like they were about to breach a building.

Turning a saccharine smile settles on your face as your eyes connect to each man in turn. Striding up to the chair placed neatly between the two couches they sat on you settle both hands on the back, the luggage near your leg.

“Gentlemen, thank you for making the say endurable. I will be sending your warmest regards to Colonel König when I get back to base.” Lifting your hand to your forehead you flick them a bastardized salute and stride out the front door.

The only sound following your pronouncement is the ringing of the phone behind the front desk.

“Did we get fucking honey potted?” Gaz looks at Price, aghast.

“It’s only honey potting if you spill state secrets,” Soap chimes in as he pops his neck slowly.

“Says the man who has been honey-potted before,” Ghost snarked, fingers digging into the weave of his jeans.

“It wasn’t Soap,” Price mutters as his fingers begin to work his mustache, “That John wasn’t SAS.”

“Wait,” Soap looks at each of them with a sharp gaze. “She got all of us? How the hell did she manage that?”

“Looks like KorTac has gotten a better hiring manager,” Price slaps his hands to his thighs, standing. “We will not be discussing this again.”

A chorus of ‘agreed’ and they consider the matter closed.

And other than the time they run into you in the field, that is.

SoapGaz | John Price | Simon | Phillip Graves | Ghost | SoapGaz/Reader NSFW | Phillip Graves NSFW | AO3

Masterlist

[storieswithvenus]

Feeling Forgotten - Tyler Owens x Fem!Storm Chaser Reader

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴

hey! this is the longest ever fic i have ever wrote so i hope it’s good lmao. if you have any suggestions on how to make it better please do comment or send me a message. this one will contain some nsfw content so

TWs: allusions to cheating, flashbacks to sex, use of Y/N, somewhat of an insecure reader but not massively i think, angst, cocky reader at some points

please comment if i have missed any warnings, anyways enjoy!! ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

word count; 1843

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

You watch as your boyfriend Tyler, walks over towards the young blonde woman who had suddenly turned up with Javi, another storm chaser from another group. You couldn’t help but glare over at the sight of your boyfriend smiling down at her, your fists clenching as you watched her smile up at him.

“You’re gonna break your knuckles if you keep clenching them that tight, love”, a voice from beside you speaks, looking to your left to see your best friend Lilly smiling at you sympathetically. “I just don’t understand why he was so drawn to her when we first pulled in, Lills, I really don’t get it,” your tone soft, a frown forming on your face as your shoulders slump down with a mix of confusion and insecurity.

“Do not be getting soft on me now girl, you are THE tornado wrangler's girlfriend, and from what he has told us all, his future wife! So why are you doubting that? Has he given you something to ever question his love for you?” Her voice was sharp, full of questions as she tried to pry the answers out of you, not because she was mad at you, but because she knew how much you truly love him and how much you want a life with him. Lilly had been the one to begrudgingly listen to all the plans you have for yourself and Tyler in the next 5 years.

Firstly; get engaged, then have a small ceremony in your shared hometown, buy a house then have kids.

You feel yourself smile slightly at her constant questions, turning your head back to look at the sight of your boyfriend patting this woman’s shoulder as he made his way over to you. “Can I share a room with you tonight, Lills?”, you ask her with puppy dog eyes. “Y/n, of course you ca-“, she didn’t have time to finish the rest of her sentence before you walked away from her and your boyfriend who was quickly closing in on you two with a bright smile on his face. Tyler catches up to the spot you just stood on, watching as your silhouette walks away to the back of the jeep.

“Is she okay? She hasn’t come to speak to me since we got here.” Tyler looks over towards Lilly, a slight frown on his face, before quickly watching as you grab your duffle bag out of the trunk of the car and set it on the floor. Lilly (again) didn’t have time to finish her sentence before your boyfriend was quickly over beside you, reaching down to grab your bag as he slings it over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes slightly as you roughly close the trunk of the red jeep before turning to him and grabbing the bag off his shoulder. Tyler is quick to stop you by grabbing onto the bag and pulling it back onto his shoulder once more, “Baby, what’s going on? You always let me carry your bags to the motel room? Have I done something?” His voice is slightly shaken and soft, trying to keep the volume as low as possible so that nobody can hear your conversation. You roughly grab the bag off his shoulder and hoist it onto your shoulder, “Why don’t you go see what that new girl wants, huh? Might need a strong man to bring her bag to her room.” Shoving past him, and walking toward Lilly who was waiting for you with her key, leaving your boyfriend behind you, confused as ever.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“You are taking the fucking piss right, Boone?” your blood boiling as you find out that your boyfriend had driven hours away to see this new girl Kate who had apparently left in a hurry after an argument with Javi. Standing up from the edge of your bed you run your hands through your hair. “Y/n, listen he wanted me to tell you-“ he began. “Tell me what? He ran off to see this fucking girl he’s know, what? 3 days? Oh yeah, thanks for the heads up, really appreciate it.” Your eyes glared into him, letting out a groan as he sat there silently looking around at your other friends in the room. You walk into the bathroom and slam the door behind you, due to it being an older motel you were staying at - the slam of the door nearly took it off the hinges.

Turning on the cold tap and splashing your face with the water as you try and calm yourself. Splashing your face a few times before looking up to see yourself in the mirror. Quite frankly, you didn’t look your best. You had been so tired the last few nights due to the early starts with tornados touching down at 5am. Your eyes had black bags under them, your lips were severely chapped, and your hair had at least 3 days of grease still in it. Taking a deep sigh, you reach to the bottom of your shirt, taking it off, and throwing it on the floor. Unclasping your bra, undoing the zip on your jeans pulling down your underwear, and throwing it all onto your shirt, leaving a pile on the corner of the bathroom. Turning around to the shower, reaching over the side of the tub, and turning it on. Grabbing all the essentials you need from your wash bag you had left in the bathroom next to Lillys’.

The water was a nice heat when you got inside the tub, pulling the heist curtain to cover yourself in case someone was to walk in and see you. Putting your head under the shower head and letting the water drench your hair, moving it around slightly to make sure every area was covered. You reach for your shampoo as your mind runs wild at what your boyfriend could be doing with her right now.

Could he be touching her like how he touches you? Could he have his head between her legs and please her how he pleases you? Have his cock in her and watch her face as she enjoys it? You don’t even realize how aggressively you are rubbing the shampoo into your hair, nearly scratching your scalp. Rinsing the shampoo out of your hair as you sigh, trying to fight away the images in your head of him and her, could he really do that to you after 3 years of dating?

Reaching over for your conditioner as you open the bottle, squeezing some out into your hand and rubbing it onto the end of your hair. Leaving it to set in your hair, you reach over to your loofah and squeeze your vanilla-scented body wash all over it, as you start to rub the loofah all over your body - the image of your boyfriend and you in the shower together engulfs your head.

His head lay in the crook of your shoulder, one of his hands holding your waist and the other playing with your nipple between his index and middle fingers, sometimes squeezing it slightly. Your head flew back as you let out a soft moan into his ear, your hand reaching and grabbing onto his forearm as you tried to balance yourself. His low chuckle surrounds the room, letting go of your nipple and trailing down towards the spot you wanted him the most, and just as he was about to reach there-

3 loud bangs are heard on the bathroom door pulling you out of your state of imagination, “Y/n/n, are you okay? I’m sorry for not telling you where he was going, I really am. You’ve been in there for like half an hour, please come out” Boone shouts through the door, his hand continuously banging in the door. “YEAH! I'm okay, I’ll be out now”, you shout back as you rinse the condition out of your hair and the body washes off your body, ignoring the pulsing feeling between your legs.

Pulling the shower curtain out of the road and reaching for your towel, wrapping it around your body you walk towards the door and open it, Boone is standing waiting for you with a sorry look on his face. “Please don’t be mad at me”, he looks into your eyes, which are full of regret and pain. You smile at him slightly, “I’m not mad at you dude, I���m just upset that’s all.” You reason with him, holding onto his shoulder, “he will just have to answer a fuck ton of questions when he gets back.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

You had been sitting in your room all day trying to map out the best mother storms for you and the team to follow when Tyler gets back when there is a soft knock on your door. Getting up and opening the door, “Dexter, really, I am not hungry, I don’t want any lunch.” you look up expecting to see your loveable older friend standing there however, standing there was your boyfriend with a bunch of tulips in his hand and a box of chocolates.

“I’m sorry for leaving, pretty girl,” his voice was full of love, “It was a really stupid thing to do and I should’ve consulted you on the matter before I ran off after her”. Moving to the side to let him into the room, you shut the door behind him.

“Yeah you really should have consulted me about it”, your voice sharp and full of anger, not daring to walk over towards him. He sighs, placing your flowers and chocolates on the messy bed you were just sitting in, walking towards you slowly. “I already know how you’re feeling my love, Lilly got a lot of shouting in when I first got back, I’m sorry I made you feel that way”, his hands placed on your waist as he looks down at you, “I didn’t bring her back if that’s what you are wondering, I told her I had to get back to see my lady.” You lean into him and wrap your arms around his neck and you lay your head on his shoulder, he pulls you closer and runs his finger up and down your spine.

“I love you,” his voice whispered, “I know you’re mad at me, and you have the right to be, but it’s always gonna be you baby, forever and always you”. You pull back away from him to look into his light green eyes, a cocky tone in your voice, “You know, saying sorry won’t make me forgive you that easily, along with flowers and chocolates.” His eyebrow raises at your words, quickly replaced with a smirk and he quickly lifts you up bridal style walking towards Lilly’s bed. “You don’t think she will mind if we use her bed, right?” He asks you in a playful tone before laying you down on the bed.

“I guess we will have to see, won't we?” You reply back as you pull him on top of him attaching your lips to his.

[dewwinchester]

done. | d.w.

summary: you wake up to an empty bedroom, which isn't usually a good sign. but what you might find might not be too bad. OR, dean wants a normal life.

pairing: dean winchester x reader

word count: 1.7k+

warnings: fluff, surprise sam appearance, no specific pronouns used, no use of 'y/n'

a/n: it has been years since i've written any kind of fanfic, so please be gentle with me.

The moment your eyes fluttered open, you knew something wasn't right.

The air was a little too still, and your bed was a little too cold. There was no noise except for the gentle drip, drip, drip of the tap in your bathroom and the occasional rumbling of the bunker's old pipes. The light from your alarm clock illuminated the room in a dim red glow, and after rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you could just make out the time: 03:26.

You sat up slowly, squinting through the darkness to make out your surroundings. Your bedroom was in the same state you had left it in when you'd gone to bed, but there was something missing.

Rather, there was someone missing.

Dean's side of the bed was empty, the sheets strewn around haphazardly. There was no sign of him anywhere, not even the slightest thing to point you in his direction. You wondered if he'd had a nightmare and left the room to clear his thoughts.

You threw the blankets off your legs and shivered as the warmth from the covers instantly left you. Sliding your socked feet into your slippers, you wrapped your robe around your body, sighing in relief as the newfound warmth spread through you.

Despite being the only one in the room, you made sure to sneak out, careful not to make any noise. You tiptoed past Sam's room, knowing the smallest sound would wake him up—pure instinct.

There was no one in the library. Nor was there anyone in the kitchen. For the first time in what felt like a very long time, the bunker was empty. Normally, you were lulled to sleep by the faint clicks from Sam's keyboard or the light chatter from Cas or Jack, both of whom never needed to sleep –

A pang in your heart caused you to stop in your tracks.

Things were different now. The bunker was different. Two of the most important people in your life were gone, and you had no way of seeing them again. Despite your success in literally killing God, you couldn't help but mourn what used to be. You missed your little family, the little life you all made with each other.

You saw a faint flickering light from underneath the door to the "Dean-Cave" and heard a few familiar voices that made a smile creep onto your lips. Pushing the door open, you were greeted with the sight of just the person you were looking for.

Dean was fast asleep on one of the recliners, legs stretched out in front of him and neck craned at an awkward angle. A beer barely rested in his grasp as an episode of Scooby-Doo played on the flatscreen TV. Miracle was protectively curled around his feet, his big brown eyes staring up at you curiously.

You knew better than to wake Dean outright. For all you knew, there was a weapon expertly concealed and within arm's reach. Instead, you tiptoed into the room, reached for the TV remote, and turned down the volume slowly. Then, you took the beer from his hand and placed it on the side table before resting a gentle hand on his pyjama-covered knee, careful not to step on the dog.

"Dean," you whispered, thumb tracing gentle patterns.

Ever alert, Dean's eyes flickered open slowly. He looked around, confused for a moment, before his green eyes landed on you. For a moment, you worried that waking him was a mistake—he needed all the sleep he could get—but the faint smile that tugged on the corner of his mouth told you that you had done the right thing.

"Hey there, sleepyhead."

"Did I wake you?" His voice was laced with sleep, low and gravelly. If it wasn't three o'clock in the morning, your heart would have skipped a beat.

Oh, who were you kidding.

"No, no. You're okay," you smiled, standing back as Dean readjusted his position on the couch. He sat forward and winced as he stretched out his neck, finally rubbing his eyes. Miracle stood up, leaving the room with a huff, no doubt going back to your bedroom. "I woke up and you weren't there. I got worried."

"I'm good."

You raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"I'm good, promise," his tired eyes softened. "Just couldn't sleep before. Couldn't switch off."

You nodded in complete understanding. "Right."

You were going to try and get him to come back to bed—selfishly, you slept better when he was with you—but he just looked so damn comfortable in the recliner, you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

"You stay here," you said, voice still soft as a whisper. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I'm gonna go back to—"

"No, I'm awake now," he said, shooting you a pointed but playful look. He sat back in the recliner and patted his lap before stretching out his arms. "C'mere."

You used every ounce of energy you had to not run over and completely melt into his arms.

You moulded into him like a perfectly crafted puzzle piece, your legs and arms finding the most comfortable position almost instantly. Your head found its perfect spot somewhere just under the dip of his shoulder, and you couldn't help but breathe him in: smoke, beer, linen, and Dean. Your Dean.

"What were you thinkin' about?" you asked gently, wrapping one of your arms around his neck, your other hand intertwining with his. Dean was never really one to share his feelings, and though (with your help) he was starting to get better, there were times when you had to fight tooth and nail to bring down the steel walls he had put up.

According to him, it was one of your best strengths—being able to accept someone in their entirety, despite their faults, no matter how large. Your ability to empathise was beyond anything Dean could imagine. It was one of the reasons he loved and trusted you so deeply.

"Everythin'," he said with a sigh.

"Everything?" you repeated with a furrowed brow.

"Just," he began. "Everything that's happened. To Sammy. To me. To you. It's been a hell of a ride."

You nodded, trying to let your mind flick over the happier moments instead of the darker ones.

"It's been a lot," you agreed.

It was the understatement of the goddamn century.

"And I think about the people we lost," he paused, looking down at your interlaced fingers. "I think about every single one of 'em, all the goddamn time... And I wonder sometimes why I keep goin'."

You frowned, lips parted as you attempted to find some kind of response.

"But then I realised," he continued. "It's you."

You blinked. Once. Then twice. "Me?"

"After everythin', you're still here. I mean, you look at me like I'm some kinda hero or someth—"

"You are, Dean," you reassured. "I mean, you saved the entire world. More than once. You gotta stop saying you're not."

Dean sighed, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "See? All of that, and I’ve got nothin’ to give you."

"You give me everything just by being here. By coming home every day."

"You deserve more."

You rolled your eyes, sitting up to look at him directly with a firm, but loving look. This wasn’t a new conversation; in the past, the two of you had argued over whether or not you deserved Dean, or whether you deserved a life that was a little more sane… a little more normal. A life where you could wake up every day knowing that you didn't have to look over your shoulder and defend your every move.

These arguments usually resulted in screaming matches between the two of you.

Dean raised his hand, stopping you before you even got the chance to speak. "I didn’t mean that... I’ve been thinkin’... after tomorrow, that’s it.”

“What?”

“After tomorrow’s hunt. I’m done.”

You shook your head, disbelief quickly washing across your features. “You mean—?”

“I’m done.”

It felt like the air had been completely knocked from your lungs.

Done? You didn’t think such a concept existed for Dean. He had lived one way his entire life. Hunting was all he knew, all you knew. The idea of starting anew, starting fresh, was… oddly terrifying.

“I got a job application. I’ve filled it out—gonna hand it in at the end of the week.”

You could only shake your head in utter bewilderment.

“I’m tellin’ Sam tomorrow. He’s been thinkin’ about hanging it up too... for a while, I think.”

You had officially forgotten to breathe. You sucked in a deep breath, disguising your shock by clearing your throat. With wide eyes, you looked at Dean, thousands of words on the tip of your tongue, but none of them amounted to what you truly wanted to say.

You couldn't imagine it—waking up in the morning, working a 9-to-5 job, then heading back to a two-bedroom apartment in the middle of some city, drinking coffee, and going to meetings. You couldn't imagine leaving it all behind.

But then you looked at Dean, and for the first time, you noticed a hint of something different in his eyes. A spark of something that you just couldn't put your finger on. It was a look that made your insides buzz with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

"Okay," was all you were able to say. "One more tomorrow. Then we're done."

"Deal."

You fell back into Dean's embrace and listened to the steady thump of his heartbeat. Your brain was filing through a hundred different thoughts at a million miles an hour, but the heaviness of your eyelids began to take over.

After tomorrow, everything would be over.

But everything would begin.

+++

When Sam woke that same morning—mind you, at a way more reasonable time than 3 a.m.—he also woke to a quiet bunker. There was no quiet chatter from you and Dean in the kitchen, no breakfast being made or coffee being brewed. It was silent.

He eventually found the two of you, curled up together on one of the recliners. He couldn’t imagine the position you were in being comfortable in any way, all squished together on the tiny couch, but the peaceful looks on both your faces made him pause.

It was still early, and you hadn’t planned on leaving for another few hours anyway. So Sam left you there. He could get everything ready himself.

Besides, it was only a simple vamp hunt.

a/n: that job application will continue to haunt my dreams

[revelboo]

Does the sparklings get a little playdate inside the Nemesis/Ark? Just bots and cons gathering their young. Would it be a peaceful playdate or a headache for their parents

Hahahaha peaceful…. Yeah, no… it’d be bad

Future Scenario- Play Date: Ark

Various G1 Bots x Reader

• Wincing as your daughter screams in Grimlock’s daughter’s face before running to hide with the Aerialbot’s son, you catch Skyfire’s optics and shrug at his frown. Figure they’re learning boundaries and they’re fine. Most of the toddlers are able to walk even if a few of them are as wobbly as newborn colts. And the volume in the rec room had gone through the roof within ten minutes of turning all the kids loose. Jazz’s kid had approached Cliffjumper’s and the two had chirped uncertainly, making the rest of them braver as their sire’s nudged them toward each other to play. You’d watched the biggest of Grimlock’s triplets transform to chase after Waspinator’s tiny son, who’s now latched onto his sire, chirping in terror. Head turning when you hear Prowl snarling at Streetwise to deal with his kid as his son shoves Prowl’s, the two flaring their barely formed plating at each other before one kid shoves the other in the face and you make a mental note that Prowl’s kid is a biter as they start squabbling.

• Opening your arms as Waspinator deposits your son into your lap, his antenna flattened back just like his sire’s, you kiss him on top of the head. And stand to carry him back out into the fray before your overprotective mate can make your kid as skittish as he is. Ignoring Wasp’s protests and your son fisting your shirt with a whine, you head for where Trailbreaker’s twins are playing with stuffed animals with Hound, Cliffjumper, and Bumblebee’s kids. Because this looks more your son’s speed than play fighting even if you have to pry his tiny servos loose as he chirps in fear, hesitating when Trailbreaker’s daughter offers him a stuffed dog. Optics wide, he grabs it and presses his face against it, tiny wing nubs flicking as the other sparkling warbles, attention back on a stuffed tiger.

• “Pax!” You yell in warning and your son turns to grin at you, optics all mischief. And there he goes, not listening to you. How your kid came out a little demon after your own heart instead of calm and serious like Optimus, you have no idea. But he’s into everything and right now, he’s launching himself at another sparkling, the two of them shrieking and play fighting. Even though the kids are half human, they remind you more of puppies running wild, biting and climbing over each other. Hear someone scream and at least three other kids join in, though you’d bet they have no idea why they’re screaming, just not wanting to be left out.

• Watching your daughter babbling baby nonsense at Blaster’s son right before the kid pulls one of her tiny door wings to make her scream and sending Jazz wading into the chaos to separate them. Because both of them are screaming now, Blaster’s kid wailing and upset about losing his playmate as Jazz cradles your daughter to his chassis and Blaster heads his way, frowning. Trying to convince him to let her play with his son.

• They’re feral. Hands on your hips as your kid takes a toy away from Wheeljack’s and wobbles away with it while Red Alert’s kid points and chirps, apparently tattling. You slowly shake your head. Not really sure what you’d expected, but lord of the flies acted out by toddlers wasn’t it. Glancing at Ratchet as your mate tries to distract Wheeljack’s sobbing sparkling with a different toy, you decide watching the bots struggling almost makes the noise worth it. Because they don’t actually seem to mind the chaos, but then Ratchet had told you that none of them expected to be able to have sparklings, their race slowly dying out until arriving on Earth.

[wileys-russo]

Hi ,

Platonic ingrid / Alexia with mapi and pollito " they are idiots , but they are my idiot , still they are idiots " in park or during matches

Thank you

part of the pollito universe our idiots II a.putellas, m.león, i.engen

"oye nena, you are going to send yourself deaf!" you winced at the pinch to your knee, pulling your headphones down around your neck and sending the older catalan a scowl.

"you told me you did not like my music. this was the solution!" you defended yourself, having been banned from any kind of music control in alexia's car.

personally you felt it was an unfair judgement. it wasn't your fault that the songs you liked to listen to just sounded best at max volume, or that you'd accidentally blown alexia's speaker system trying to prove that point.

"you never listen as it is chica, i need these to work." you whined at the sharp tug on your ear, unclicking your seatbelt and practically diving out of the car away from her, headphones left on your seat.

but of course the moment the door closed and you stood up straight, stretching out with a sigh did someone else grab at you, hands gripping your wrists and forcing your arms to twist behind your head.

"buenas tardes pollito!" the familiar voice cooed in your ear, a wet kiss to your cheek with a loud mwah having you grimacing in disgust and trying to yank your arms free.

"suéltame hijo de puta!" you spat, grunting with the effort of trying to pull away but it was fruitless as she merely laughed at your attempts. "such ugly words." mapi tutted at the language you hauled her way during the struggle, whining as mapi used your hands to make you hit yourself.

"alexia, ayuda!" you called out as the older girl finally emerged from the car, head having been buried in her phone. but as she opened her mouth to no doubt order mapi to let you go, someone else stepped in first.

"maría! let her go, what did i say about picking on her?" you perked up at the norweigans warning, mapi finally letting you go with a huff, hurrying to hide behind the taller girl as you lunged for her.

"well hello." ingrid chuckled as instead you moved to tightly hug her, flipping her girlfriend the finger behind her back and grinning as mapi narrowed her eyes but ultimately couldn't do anything about it with ingrid acting as a barrier between the two of you.

"hermana!" your head whipped around and your eyes lit up as another car door slammed closed, your older sister gabriella opening her arms expectantly as you let go of ingrid and rushed over toward her.

but her face fell and eyes rolled as you dropped to your knees in front and started to coo fondly at the fluffy newfoundland by her side, arms thrown around his neck and kisses pressed against his head as your sister sighed and tapped your shoulder, holding out his leash.

"me alegro de verte imbécil!" the older girl yelled after you as you took your dogs leash and sprinted off toward the park you'd all met up at, alexia chuckling at the sight and greeting your sister with a hug.

"and you are sure you are okay with him for the weekend?" gabriella asked with a frown, alexia nodding but not without a sigh. "she has been begging for weeks for one of them to come and visit, if she had her way all four of them would be here." your captain chuckled, and it was true you'd been pestering her forever to let one of your family dogs come and stay.

you'd been on fire the last few games, scoring five times in three matches and even getting your first start of the season.

then to try and sweeten alexia up more you'd pulled back your usual reckless activities and pranks, your list set aside for the time being as you focused on proving to her that you were responsible.

it was almost scary just how quickly you'd switched up.

you were always as helpful as you could be around the house, forever helping to clean up and even offering to cook (but after last time olga and alexia would politely decline, the bitter memory of your last culinary creation still lingering in their tastebuds and nightmares).

but now even at training you were on your very best behaviour, always offering to help the staff set up and pack down, the first to get boots on the grass and the last to run them off, doing your best not to interrupt anyone or goof off during each session.

plus given that the last time one of your dogs had come for a visit it was you sneaking him in behind alexia's back when she was away for the weekend.

and that resulted in her returning to two missing couch cushions (assumed to be eaten), a suspicious stain on the rug, two smashed vases and a nasty little surprise or three in her bedroom and ensuite that you'd missed and not cleaned up.

so after two weeks of your disturbingly angel like behaviour the midfielder had caved and agreed that one of the dogs could come for a weekend sleepover, but that was all she'd bend to.

of course you'd chosen your favourite, diego. a slobbery newfoundland which when he stood on his two back legs was taller than you were and was deaf in one ear.

but seeing the way your face lit up at the sight of him and hearing your laughter echo across the park as you both raced around it, alexia knew she'd made the right decision.

merely giving your sister a wave goodbye she rolled her eyes again as she bid the others farewell and slipped back into the car, a two and a half drive back to your childhood town ahead of her you made a mental note to call her later to thank her properly.

but for now all you could focus on was diego, ingrid and alexia disappearing to get a coffee as mapi stayed in the park with you, a backpack of diegos things in her hand as you squatted down and began to rifle through it.

"oye nena! what is the command for down?" mapi yelled out, struggling as diego's two front paws sat on her shoulder and she tried not to fall over under his weight, her neck craned away from his tongue which was trying its best to lick at her face.

"diego, bah!" you turned around and yelled, diego immediately dropping into a sitting position as mapi sighed in relief and cooed at him affectionately, scratching behind his ears and grinning at the way his back foot thumped against the ground happily.

"which ear is it?" mapi asked with a frown as you grabbed out his favourite toy, pointing to your right ear and whistling sharply, wiggling the worn leather football at the dog who dropped to his stomach with his tail wagging rapidly.

"go long!" you waved for mapi to back up as she jogged to create some distance between the pair of you. "remember how?" mapi cupped her hands over her mouth as you nodded, adjusting your grip on the NFL ball you'd brought back from your trip to texas in the pre-season.

before the season started properly you'd gone home to see your family for one of your older brothers birthdays, having gotten a cowboys jersey and the ball as him for a present. only the moment you'd stepped past the front door all four dogs had rushed at you, the ball snatched from your hand and rapidly becoming their present now.

"diego. vamos!" you yelled, launching the football toward mapi who side stepped to catch it, diego just arriving in front of her before she'd tossed the ball back to you, diego sprinting between the two of you and barking happily as you threw the ball back and forth.

you were still doing that same thing when ingrid and alexia returned, coffees in hand for all four of you as well as a water bottle for diego who was rapidly running out of steam, merely trotting between the pair of you now.

spotting her girlfriend mapi called it quits, dropping the ball and racing over as you rolled your eyes and went off to retrieve it, diego padding tiredly after you as you clipped his leash back on and tucked the ball under your arm and grabbing his backpack with the other.

grabbing out the portable water bowl you thanked ingrid as she handed you the bottle, pouring some out for diego who collapsed to his stomach, eagerly lapping away as you left him to it beneath the table, well covered with the shade.

"decaf." alexia warned handing you the iced coffee as you rolled your eyes but kept your discontent to yourself.

olga was more than happy to pour you a proper coffee of a morning when alexia wasn't home, but the midfielder herself remained firm in her belief that you had more than enough energy without adding caffeine to it.

"pollito what is this?" mapi pulled a face as she tugged a heavy weighted vest out of the backpack.

"diegos anxiety vest! he gets night terrors and he is scared of thunder, it might storm this weekend." you explained with a shrug as if that was normal, missing the odd look shared between the three older girls at the picnic table.

"ven aquí pequeña, i want to try something." mapi beckoned you over, confusion in your features as she slipped the vest over your head. "amiga what-" alexia started, cut off as there was a loud thud, mapi's fist thumping against the vest and hitting you right in the stomach.

"maría!" ingrid gasped in shock, smacking the back of the defenders neck who choked on a mouthful of coffee and glared at her over her shoulder, coughing and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"qué? that did not hurt her! right?" she looked to you as you nodded in surprise, testing it again by punching yourself now and lighting up as you barely felt a thing.

"tonta! take that off, it smells." alexia sniffed the air and pulled a face, trying to pull it off you as you pushed her hands off, catching mapi's eye and suggestive grin, diegos football in her hands as she cocked an eyebrow at you.

it seemed the two of you had a brief and silent conversation across the table, alexia and ingrid clueless to your plans as you suddenly nodded and eagerly raced off after the tattooed zaragozan.

for once diego didn't follow you, just watching on tiredly from his shady recluse under the table as ingrids foot rubbed gently against his hip.

both ingrid and alexia watched on themselves, curious where this was going as you and mapi talked for a second before doing your handshake which had them both rolling their eyes, the two of you having been working on it as a goal celebration for weeks now.

once again mapi backed up to put some distance between the two of you, winding up to throw the ball as you squatted down ready to catch, the vest still sitting across your chest.

"oh no." ingrid realised first where this was going as mapi launched the ball and started to sprint toward you, the ball caught in your hands as you stood up and clearly braced yourself.

"qué son-" alexia didn't even get to finish her question before it was answered for her, mapi's body hurtling into yours and tackling you down to the ground, shoulder slamming into your stomach as there was a thump, your body hitting the grass.

alexia was up on her feet with a face like thunder, ready to march right over and pull the pair of you off one another, a lecture on the tip of her tongue as mapi rolled off of you and collapsed into a fit of laughter which you soon joined in with.

"estoy bien ale!" you yelled out, spotting alexia ready to make her way over and sending her a thumbs up and a wolfish grin, mapi hopping up and holding out a hand to help you do the same.

"they are idiots." alexia grumbled, a hint of a smile on her face but eyebrows furrowed together as she slowly sat back down with a shake of her head.

mapi's laughter again flew through the air as you'd grabbed her hand to be helped up, the older girl pulling you halfway before letting go and sending you thumping back down onto your back.

"but they are our idiots." ingrid added onto alexia's previous statement with a chuckle of her own, the two of them watching on with small smiles at you and mapi.

"puta!" you managed out between your own laughter, foot lashing out at mapi as she dodged it and tossed the football at you, collapsing beside you as it bounced off your head and you whined, launching at her as the two of you rolled around on the grass wrestling.

"sí. but still, they are idiots."

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 30 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Even though Bradley isn't as nervous this time around, his excitement for the baby overflows at your first appointment with your doctor. After he surprises you with something at work, you get hit by a wave of jealousy.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, smut, pregnancy topics, lactation kink, jealousy

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley sat in the familiar waiting room at Dr. Morris's office. Just like before, your hand was held tight in his with your cheek resting on his shoulder, but now he also had Rose curled up against his chest. She was sound asleep, her tiny body rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm that he was obsessed with. Even her fuzzy hair was starting to get a little longer now that she was over five months old. He couldn't be near her and not kiss the top of her head. It was actually impossible.

"I hope both babies look like you," he whispered.

When you tilted your head back to look at him, you rolled your eyes. "Rose looks like you."

"Nah. She's too cute."

You looked sleepy, like you could close your eyes and drift right off. "You're a DILF, Bradley. It's so annoying that you don't listen when I tell you that."

He was just alternating kissing Rose's head and yours, making you laugh, when a nurse opened the door and called your name. Bradley wasn't as nervous as he had been when you and he were here a year ago, antsy to find out more about Rose. He had the hang of this parenting thing by now, and he was just excited to hear a heartbeat today. The rest would sort itself out. You and he would figure out which room would become the second nursery. He would open a second college savings account even though both kids would get a full ride. He wasn't worried.

But you still were. He did his best to keep his enthusiasm at a normal volume when you started to stress about money or how exhausted you already were, but inside he was elated. Two kids! Two! If you would have asked him five years ago if he thought he'd ever buy a house, he would have told you no. Now he had a whole fucking family and a dog in the Craftsman.

Two kids under two would be a breeze. He just knew it.

"Right this way," the nurse said pleasantly. "You can wait in here. Dr. Morris will just be another minute or two."

Bradley let you get changed and settle onto the exam table while he bounced Rose in the chair. She was fresh from her nap, and she'd start bugging to eat soon enough. "I must admit, Nugget, I'm a bit surprised you're meeting your little sibling while you're still so tiny."

"He's lying, Rose. He planned it out this time," you replied, laying back with your eyes closed while he reached for your hand. "Your dad is a con artist."

The door opened, and Dr. Morris strode in, looking from you to Bradley and back to you. "I thought you were using the pill? What happened?"

You glared at Bradley. "Yeah, Roo. I thought we were using the pill."

He didn't want to point out that you were the one who left the birth control at home over the July Fourth weekend. "Well, you see, we were using the pill, but then plans changed." He cleared his throat and tried not to grin. "Dr. Morris, are you aware that the pullout method is not foolproof?"

She cradled her head in her hands before looking at him. "You know, I've heard that. Which is why I prescribed the pill."

"I missed one when we were away for a weekend," you whispered, drawing her attention your way. "And I'm really nervous that I didn't give my body enough time to heal after the last pregnancy," you added, gesturing to Rose. "And I'm still a little... heavy... from having her. What if I end up with high blood pressure again because of my weight?"

Bradley's eyes went wide. "You're worried about that? You're not even heavy, Sweetheart."

You shrugged, barely able to meet his eyes as Dr. Morris placed a soft hand on your arm. "Let's just give you a full exam, okay? There's no reason to assume the worst right now."

"Okay," you whispered, letting Bradley wrap your fingers up with his. He didn't understand how you could think you were anything other than perfect as you answered the doctor's questions while she turned on the ultrasound machine. Your blood pressure and heart rate sounded like they were perfect, and now it was time to find out more about the baby.

"Since you didn't menstruate after your daughter was born, it might be hard to pinpoint the exact due date."

Bradley cleared his throat again as the ultrasound wand disappeared beneath your hospital gown, making you wince as it was inserted. "Uh, actually, I can probably tell you the exact date and time of the... impregnation."

"You're not helping, Roo," you said, but a smile broke out on your lips. "God, I can't believe we fucked this up."

Then the baby was suddenly visible on the screen, and Bradley rocketed to his feet with Rose. "Look, Baby Girl. Another Nugget! There's the heartbeat!"

"Oh," you whispered, tugging him closer by your connected hands as you stared at the monitor. Tears shimmered in your eyes. "Okay, so maybe we didn't fuck up too badly."

"Everything looks great," Dr. Morris said, taking a few measurements. "You're about eleven to twelve weeks along. Let me narrow it down for you."

But Bradley already knew. He'd already done the math in his head. He was not at all surprised when she said the due date was April Fool's Day.

"That's not funny," you told Dr. Morris, gasping before bursting out laughing.

"I'm not joking," she replied. "Next year, April first. That's your due date. I'll see you back here in a few more weeks."

"Thanks," you whispered, holding tight to the ultrasound images that had been printed out for you. Dr. Morris gave Bradley a stern look as she walked past, and he had to fight the urge to salute in response. He was probably on thin ice with several people right now.

"I have to call my parents later. I wonder if we should tell them now?" you mused.

Oh, shit. He hadn't even thought about how your mom and dad might feel. They would love another grandchild, of course, but two so close together?

"Whenever you want to tell them is fine with me," he replied, taking the ultrasounds in his hand. The fridge at home was still covered in Rose's, so now there would be more to add to it. He examined the little nugget shape before showing it to his daughter. "Do you think it's a brother or a sister? Daddy doesn't care either way. I just love Nuggets."

She held the photo in her tiny hand as Bradley helped you get dressed again. He thought maybe it looked like you already had a bump growing, but he wasn't about to comment on your size, even if it did look cute.

"We have so much to do," you sighed. "You've got your new recruits turning up at work soon, and I'm about to start a fourth quarter project next month." A yawn overtook your sentence. "I don't know how we're going to handle things."

He didn't know what else to say, so he said what was becoming his new motto. "We'll figure it out, Sweetheart."

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

Jake was perceptive, but Cat made you feel like you were transparent. Entering code while sitting next to her in the lab was tedious. Every time you breathed, it felt like she was going to figure out you were pregnant again. You swore she already knew.

You were past twelve weeks along. It wasn't like you couldn't start telling people, but you were still apprehensive to do so. But why? It wasn't like you were going to get smaller instead of bigger. Your pants were already fitting a little tighter, and you were absolutely dreading wearing that sad excuse for a maternity uniform again.

"Not the tent," you groaned softly, picturing the hideous, khaki monstrosity in the back of your closet.

"What did you say?" Cat asked, and your fingers froze on the keyboard.

"I said, I am intent on finishing this up today."

"Same," she agreed, her engagement ring sparkling in the fluorescent lighting. "I'm sick of looking at this project. We've been working on the same thing for months. You ready to get lunch?"

You were about to agree when you glanced at your phone and saw a text from your husband. "Um, actually, Bradley asked me to stop by and check something out."

"No worries," she replied, closing her laptop. "I'll see you in an hour."

"Right," you agreed, reading the text again as she walked away.

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw <3 <3 <3: can you meet me in the outbuilding next to the tower? wanna show you something

"This better be good." 

It was hot outside, and the asphalt smelled like it was burning before you got to the tarmac. The sun beat down on your back as you power walked your way to the building in question. It was just a bunch of offices, nothing else, so you weren't sure why he wanted you to come all the way over here. When you ducked inside the air conditioning again, you were sweaty and even more tired than before.

But then you saw it. A staff member was changing the names on the directory in the front foyer. One of them jumped out at you immediately, and your belly swooped with excitement.

LCDR Bradley Bradshaw (Room 117)

You rushed along the hallway, going nearly to the end before turning a corner. Room 117 was on the left, but the door was closed. When you knocked, it opened a few inches, and you saw his smiling face.

"You got an office!" you shouted, and the door swung all the way open to reveal a nice, quiet space a little bigger than your own. "Oh, Roo! It's swanky!"

"Swanky?" he asked with a laugh as your boots squeaked across the tile floor. "I wouldn't go right to swanky."

"You have a window! And a little couch!" you exclaimed, peeking out through the blinds to the tarmac. You spun around and looked at everything stacked up on his desk. There were aircraft manuals and clipboards, but there was also a framed wedding photo which was taken in the beach parking lot. And there was a photo of Rose trying to crawl next to Tramp which must have come from his locker. "I'm so proud of you."

You threw your arms around his neck and kissed him while he chuckled, but his hand slid lower on your back to your butt, giving you a little squeeze. "Not gonna lie, the first thing I thought of this morning when Mav told me was how cool my dad would have found this."

"Oh, Roo," you whispered, heart clenching.

"The second thing I thought of was fucking you senseless on my desk."

"Bradley!" Your voice was a needy whine, surprising even you. It had been at least a week since you had enough energy for sex, simply passing out in bed as soon as Rose fell asleep each night. But right now, your head tipped back, teeth sinking into your lip as you thought about how good he could make you feel if you let him.

One eyebrow was raised as he asked, "Do you want to? I have thirty minutes until I need to show my new pilots around."

Your hands were already on the fly of his khaki pants. "Yes." You didn't know what came over you, but you were horny as hell and absolutely needed this.

"Yeah?" he grunted, sucking in a deep breath as your hand delved into his underwear to wrap around his heavy cock. "Shit, Sweetheart."

You staggered backwards when he pushed you toward his desk, but he was gentle as your rear end met the edge. He'd be careful with you, that much was certain, but you were so horny, you wanted him immediately.

Bradley's fingers fumbled with your zipper as he said, "You know, this would be a lot easier if you were wearing your maternity tent."

"I was just thinking about that thing earlier!" you replied, laughing as you kissed him. 

"Ugly but functional," he whispered, mustache rough against your skin when he mashed his mouth to yours. 

You were left a moaning mess as his fingers stroked your tattoo before yanking your pants down to your knees. Then he was on his knees in front of you, looking up as he kissed your chubby belly, pushing your shirt out of his way. His lips were so soft, but his voice was raspy.

"The first quickie in my new office. Hopefully the first of many."

"Once upon a time, you promised you'd keep your hands off me at work," you whispered, his lips kissing along until his nose was rubbing your clit. "Pretty sure you lied about that one, Roo."

When his tongue dragged the length of your slit, his fingers tightened on your hips, digging in until you gasped. "You know when to take me seriously and when I'm full of shit. And right now, I'm so serious about making you scream."

He was. You could tell he was. Your husband was ready to go at a moment's notice all the time, and even a few days without fucking made you feel like he had some pent up energy that was going to make this explosive. Your nipples were tender and leaking into your nursing bra, but he didn't let you have a second to yourself before he turned you around and shimmied his pants lower.

"You ready for me?" he grunted, cock tapping your butt with excitement as he stroked your clit. Your hands were braced on his desk, and he nudged your boots further apart before guiding himself to your opening.

"So ready," you whispered. "Fuck me, Daddy."

Your body jerked forward, making you hang onto the desk for dear life as he fucked you hard and deep with one stroke. "If you weren't already pregnant again, you would be after this," he swore, withdrawing before plowing into you again. "Let's have ten kids."

"Bradley!" But he wasn't listening. He was fucking you rough, desk rattling against your knees and hands as he jerked the furniture across the floor a little more with each thrust.

"You look so good when you're pregnant. I wish you could see your ass. My god." He moaned your name. "Go ahead and scream for me."

That's when you realized your gasping breaths had gotten loud enough that they were echoing around the room over the sound of the desk moving. Bradley was relentless, his movements almost too much, but the steady stroke of his fingers on your clit kept you on your feet. A loud, long keen escaped your lips when you tried to breathe.

"That's it," he coaxed, rolling your clit between his thumb and index finger. "Just... a little louder."

His voice was breathless in your ear as his palm landed on your ass, the loud, stinging slap making you scream his name. 

"Perfect," he whispered, cupping you with his palm, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit while you came. "Let me cum in your pretty pussy, and you can wear it to lunch with your friends."

That thought alone had your eyes rolling back in your head. You'd smell like him for the rest of the day, his sticky mess teasing at your thighs whenever you walked around. He did as he promised, fucking you until you were filled up, and then he dragged your underwear up your legs, keeping you full of him.

Bradley was kissing along your sweat-slick neck as he zipped and buttoned his uniform pants. But now you were standing there, so exhausted, you just wanted to curl up on his couch and take a nap.

"You're not eating lunch?" you asked, stifling a yawn as he helped you squeeze into your pants. "I'm starving."

"I don't have time," he replied, kissing you as he tucked your shirt in. "I've got ten new pilots to attend to, and I want them up in the air by the end of the week."

You held back another yawn. "Okay. Do you want to get Rose from daycare later or should I?"

This wasn't the kind of sexy post-fuck discussion the two of you usually had, which made you feel very conscious of the fact that you couldn't stop yawning. Bradley was adding pages to his clipboard as he said, "Can you get her? I'm not sure when I'll be done today. There's so much damn paperwork. I swear to god, the US Navy hates trees."

"Yeah, I can get her."

You started to head for the door when he looked up and asked, "Want me to walk you out?"

Yeah, you kind of did, but he already looked like his focus had moved on. "No, I'm fine on my own. See you at home tonight."

"I love you." He kissed your cheek and patted your butt with one big hand, and you were off in search of lunch. When you walked back along the sidewalk in the bright sunlight you considered just going home and sleeping for the afternoon. Would anyone even miss you? Perhaps you should just turn toward the parking lot.

"Hey!"

When you looked up and actually focused, you realized you were about to run into Cam. "Oh, hey."

"Want to split one of those super cheesy pasta bowls that we always say are bad for us but get anyway?" he asked, guiding you inside to the cafeteria as you laughed. 

"Yeah, why not?" You wanted to tell him you were about to gain a ton more weight anyway, so it wouldn't make much difference. But you didn't.

"Perfect," he replied, loading one tray with enough food for both of you. "Then you can tell me how Rosie is, but first I need to tell you who showed up on one of my dating apps."

"Who?" you asked, covering your mouth as you yawned again.

"Guess!"

You started eating food off the tray before you even got to the table. "I don't want to guess. I'm too tired to guess."

"Fine," he sighed. "Ryan."

"No," you gasped. "From the Academy? Your ex?"

"Yep," Cam replied with a grin. "And he looks terrible."

You got to spend the next fifteen minutes indulging your friend in his gossip session. It helped that Ryan from the Academy did in fact look awful now, and you helped Cam swipe through his app options as you ate more than half of the pasta yourself. You were just finishing things off with a breadstick and telling him about Rose when you saw Bradley walk in.

Your hand was in the air, ready to wave him over and laugh at him for his inability to skip a meal when you realized he wasn't alone. There were several officers with him, none of which you could remember seeing on base before. You assumed they must be his new pilots from Texas. But one of them pushed her way to the front of the group, and your hand slowly lowered back down to your side.

She was beautiful. Young and slim with dark hair and the brightest blue eyes you'd ever seen. And she was walking next to your husband and laughing like he'd just told her the most hilarious thing she'd ever heard in her life. Bradley nodded and smiled down at her, his expression merely polite. At least that's what you thought. Now you weren't so sure. He knew you came to the cafeteria, so why wasn't he looking around for you? Why wasn't he checking to see if you were still here? 

"So is Rose crawling yet?"

You turned to look at Cam in confusion, heart pounding at a sickening rate that made you want to throw up. "Huh?"

"Rose," he repeated, chewing up his breadstick. "Is she crawling?"

"Oh. Um, no. Not yet."

You couldn't look away as the other woman's smile seemed to light up the area around her, and you wanted to cry when Bradley handed her a tray before the whole group got in line for lunch. Maybe you really were going to throw up.

"Hey, Cam, I have to run," you whispered, voice harsh as you stood.

"Brunch on Sunday with Maria?" he asked hopefully, but you could only nod as you headed for the far exit as quickly as you could move. 

You stumbled along, thinking about the way Bradley fucked you against his desk barely thirty minutes ago. He'd made you feel so good, but now you were outrageously jealous over some unknown woman, and you had to get back to work. You couldn't control it. Why were you reacting this way? This wasn't even like you.

But somehow you could just tell that something wasn't right.

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

Why do I have the urge to send Bradley to jail? Someone needs to be locked up for poor behavior, and it's not Rose. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 31

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[chrepsi]

ˇ ⋆ ╱ normalcy - b. eilish

wc ; 700+

the house smelled like vanilla scented candles and quiet.

not peace. quiet.

it was the kind of silence that felt like a weight on your chest — not heavy enough to crush you, but just enough to make you aware of every breath you took. billie’s house was beautiful in a way that didn’t feel accidental. every corner was curated, touched by soft textures and moody light, like she’d built herself a cocoon to stay hidden from the world.

and maybe she had.

you stood at her kitchen island, the handle of your coffee mug warm beneath your fingers. it was past midnight, but you were both awake, neither of you saying much. you’d been crashing at billie’s for a few days now — not because you had nowhere else to go, but because being with her felt better than being anywhere else.

better than home. safer than your own thoughts.

she was curled up on the couch in a giant hoodie, sleeves pulled over her hands, hair messy in a way she probably didn’t mean it to be. the tv was on, some 2000's romcom playing with the volume low, but neither of you were watching.

“do you ever get tired of it?” you asked suddenly, not entirely sure where the question came from.

she didn’t look at you right away. “tired of what?”

“the noise. the eyes. the pretending. being… billie eilish.”

a flicker of something passed over her face — not quite pain, not quite exhaustion, but close. she let out a slow breath, one hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “yeah,” she said. “all the time.”

you nodded, staring into your coffee like it might tell you something useful. “you make it look easy.”

she gave a dry laugh. “that’s the game, isn’t it?”

you looked at her then, really looked — and not in the way everyone else did. not like a fan. not like someone who wanted something from her. just… her. the girl who still ate cereal out of the box, who hummed under her breath when she brushed her teeth, who once cried during a commercial because the dog reminded her of one she lost as a child.

you didn’t know when the lines started to blur. when crashing on her couch turned into making her tea in the mornings. when your hands started brushing too often to be accidental. when your texts turned from cracking jokes to voice notes that ended in soft silences, like neither of you wanted to hang up.

you hadn’t talked about it. not really.

you weren’t sure she wanted to.

but tonight felt different.

“i miss normal,” she said softly. “not like, boring normal. just… being able to be somewhere and not feel like i'm performing.”

billie’s eyes met yours then. they were almost brown in the low light, like the ocean before a storm. “you think we’d ever be good at normal?” she asked.

you tilted your head. “i think we’d be good at real.”

a beat passed. two.

then she said your name, and the way she said it made your skin buzz. like it meant something more when she said it. like she was reminding herself you were really here.

“i don’t know how to do this,” she admitted. “whatever this is.”

your heart twisted. “me either.”

she stood then, slow and deliberate, like she was afraid if she moved too fast, she’d scare you — or herself — off. she crossed the room and stopped just in front of you, her fingers twitching slightly like she was debating something.

you held out your hand.

she took it.

the touch was feather-light, but it hit you like a wave. all those almosts, all the glances and unsaid things — they were right here, between your fingers.

“i keep trying to be normal,” billie whispered. “but maybe normal was never the point.”

you stepped closer. “maybe being real is enough.”

her breath hitched — barely, but you caught it. and then, like gravity had finally won, she leaned in. her forehead touched yours. her hand found your waist. and for a second — one beautiful, fragile second — everything else disappeared.

no fans. no cameras. no pressure. just her. just you.

“i’m scared,” she murmured.

“i know,” you whispered. “me too.”

and maybe that was okay.

maybe it was the most honest thing either of you had said in a long time.

<3 taglist ; @silverspringsstare @bilssturns @bilswifee @delilahsturniolo @strnilolover @dollarsbills @anyaa2s

( reply here to be added )

[maroonshirt81]

that race hurt so bad! 😭 can you write something hurt/comfort-y for carcar?

kinda mixed these two together. i feel everyone and their mom has already written oscar hurt/comfort after the race, but I wanted to give it a try, too... so here you go.

carcar, 4k, rated m for language

tagging @magnets5581 so they see this.

_____________

Lando still smelled like champagne when Carlos finally found him in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by most of his team, some of whom still recognized Carlos as one of their own. He went through the motions of greeting and congratulating everyone within reach, then squeezed Lando in a tight hug, shaking him a little.

The win looked good on him, the smile on his face unshakable. He let out one of his patented Lando-sounds when Carlos told him what a good job he’d done.

“Sorry about your race,” Lando yelled back over the music. “Shame, after it looked so good yesterday.”

Carlos shrugged. It wasn’t the end of the world for him. He wasn’t fighting for a championship this year, and if Alex’s final position was anything to go by, the car held immense potential. Still, he could use a drink. It had been a stressful few days, to say the least.

“Going to the bar,” he said – or mimed, more like. Lando nodded, waving him away, and Carlos squeezed through the throngs of people, trying to reach the bar without anyone spilling their gin and tonic on him. He was kind of in the mood for something nasty, so he ordered a rum and coke, drumming his fingers on the bar counter until the drink was placed in front of him.

Turning around, he was surprised to find Lando right there, face lighting up when he realized he’d found Carlos again.

“Sorry!” he yelled. The music wasn’t as loud here, so the yelling wasn’t technically necessary, but Lando had always been convinced Carlos didn’t have great hearing. “I wanted to ask you a favor!”

“Okay?” Carlos said at a normal volume.

Lando actually adjusted his tone, leaning in instead. “Could you go and check on Oscar? I think he needs some comforting words from someone who’s not me right now.”

Carlos raised his eyebrows, unsure if Lando was serious or not.

“Or Alex, or George, or Max,” Lando continued when Carlos didn’t react further. “Charles would probably do, but he’s in his own depression spiral right now.”

Carlos raised his brows even higher, pointing at his own chest. “And you think I’m the right guy for the job?”

Lando squinted a little, as if actually reconsidering, but then he just shrugged. “Sure? I mean, you’re friendly now, no? Osc won’t stop mentioning you ever since you shared that flight. And you must have lots of experience lifting up teammates who lost their home race.”

“Ha ha,” Carlos said dryly, but then Lando’s eyebrows did that puppy dog thing that made it impossible to say no to him. Besides, he was still smiling like a loon, so he really shouldn’t go try and find Oscar for himself. Sighing, Carlos asked, “Where is he?”

“Squirreled away in some corner of the VIP section, I think.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Carlos promised, squeezing Lando’s shoulder as he moved past him, back into the dense crowd of partygoers. Being squirreled away in the VIP section didn’t sound too bad to Carlos right now, anyway. So on he went.

****

When Lando had said ‘squirreled away,’ he had obviously meant it. Carlos was almost convinced Oscar had long since returned to his hotel room when he finally saw a tall plant shift slightly in the corner and realized there was a hidden booth behind it. Rounding it, he was met with the sight of one Oscar Piastri, staring unblinking into the reflection of his untouched mystery drink.

He was clearly going through it. For the past few days, whenever Carlos had caught a glimpse of him, he’d been glowing, smiling across his whole face, five times as animated as usual. Now, it was pretty much the exact opposite. Still, it was unusual to see him showing so much emotion, in either direction.

“Hey,” Carlos said carefully, so Oscar wouldn’t jump. Not that there was much chance of it – Oscar generally wasn’t a jumpy guy. But he also generally wasn’t a sad guy, so Carlos wasn’t quite sure how to handle him.

“Can I…” Carlos asked, gesturing toward the booth Oscar was sitting in. It wasn’t really meant for two people, but the chair that belonged on the other side of the table was missing, so Carlos had no choice but to squeeze onto the bench behind the plant, slotting in next to Oscar as he willingly scooted to the side.

“Welcome to the depression corner,” Oscar joked weakly. Nodding at Carlos’s rum and coke, he added, “I see you brought your depression drink.”

Carlos wasn’t all that depressed, but he was glad for the excuse as to why he’d shown up here with no reason, invading Oscar’s personal space when he clearly wanted to be left alone.

“How is rum and coke a depression drink?” Carlos asked, taking a small sip.

“Because it’s gross?” Oscar said when Carlos pulled a face. “Yeah.”

Carlos set the drink back on the table and nodded at the untouched glass in front of Oscar. “Why, what do you have?”

“Water.”

“Yikes.”

Oscar gave a small snort but didn’t offer anything else in terms of interaction, so it was up to Carlos to keep the conversation going.

“So how are you… um…” Carlos started, realizing in the middle of the question that Oscar had probably heard it a million times today and already answered every version of it in front of the press.

“...feeling?” Oscar finished for him, finally lifting his head to look Carlos straight in the eyes. “Take a guess, mate.”

The skin around his eyes was red, like he’d been rubbing at it for hours. His eyes still had a glassy sheen, catching and reflecting the club lights in the background. The weird thing, though, was that he looked... good. Usually, he was such a pale and composed guy – the flush, the dampness, the raw emotion in his face almost elevated him, somehow. Carlos blinked, and suddenly, he saw those eyes staring up at him from below, lips stretched across his–

Jesus Christ!

This was why Carlos was 100% the wrong person to comfort fucking Oscar Piastri. The poor man was having emotions for what might be the first time in his life, and Carlos took one look at his tearful eyes and imagined him giving out depression blowjobs.

“You never told me about the burgers,” Carlos blurted out, already having forgotten their last line of dialogue. He just needed to get that picture out of his head right now.

“What?” Oscar asked, taken aback.

“Burgers!” Carlos said. “I was doing a fan stage, and someone asked if I tried your burger. Why do you have a burger?”

“Just… your typical sponsorship kind of deal?”

“But you never told me about it!” Carlos continued, faintly aware that he was being annoying. If he were Oscar, he’d be annoyed. But whatever. He was just doing his job of distracting him from that devastating race. “I was going on and on about L’Oréal, and you never mentioned a single thing about your burger!”

“Why would I interrupt your story to tell you about bloody burgers?” Oscar asked, though he didn’t look annoyed, just slightly amused. Depressedly amused.

“I’m a burger guy!” Carlos said, leaning even more into the annoying shtick. It seemed to work. “You completely stole my idea!”

“Mate, I promise you it wasn’t my idea to have my own burger!” Oscar snorted, then went back to staring into his depressing glass of water. “Besides. That’s just my thing, I guess. I never tell anyone about the stuff going on in my life.”

“Right,” Carlos said, thinking back to that long flight to Bahrain and how he’d almost talked Oscar’s ears off. Now that he thought about it, there had been a back and forth, but it was always just Oscar asking more questions or giving opinions on the things Carlos had told him. He was a great listener. And not a bad conversation partner, either. If you didn’t notice the fact that he didn’t share anything about himself.

He’d probably make an amazing spy.

“Yeah,” Oscar said, breathing a small laugh through his nose that rippled the surface of his untouched water. “My own mum slammed me on social media for neglecting to inform her of my contract extension during lunch last week.”

“You didn’t tell your mum?” Carlos asked, mouth falling open in shock. He couldn’t even imagine.

“They said it was confidential!” Oscar retorted, defensive. “Can’t really risk her going on another podcast and spreading the news, can I?”

Oh no. Carlos wasn’t touching that can of worms.

“Well, next time anything happens in your life involving burgers, you tell me about it, okay?”

“What, like every time I eat one?”

“Or are about to eat one! Maybe I’m around and want to join? Or I can tell you where to go.”

Oscar looked like he wasn’t sure whether or not Carlos was joking, which… Actually, Carlos wasn’t sure either.

“Fuck,” he laughed, shoving his rum and coke away before he was tempted to drink it just to quell his sudden hunger. “Now I really want to eat a burger! Is yours any good?”

“It’s a burger, mate,” Oscar said, shrugging. “‘Course it’s good.”

“Okay, yes, you’ve convinced me.” Carlos rolled his eyes. “Look – clearly you’re having fun sitting here with your water, but I have a better idea. Let’s go and eat a Piastri burger, and I’ll rate it out of ten. And if it’s less than a six, I will make you my forever enemy for stealing my idea and not even being good at it.”

“Mate…” Oscar was smiling, but he was also rubbing at his eyes with both hands, so Carlos wasn’t quite sure how to categorize the feeling he’d managed to invoke in him. All he knew was that the guy apparently liked being annoyed. No wonder he got along so well with Lando.

“I can’t exactly go out right now, sit down in a burger joint with my face plastered all over everything, and expect to be left alone,” he finally said, letting his hands drop and fixing Carlos with those watery eyes again.

“Why? You’ll blend right in!”

Oscar gave a quick, high-pitched giggle – the sort he liked to pepper most conversations with and which made it so nice to actually talk to him. Carlos had only realized that after he’d been forced to spend six hours sitting opposite him on a plane, but Oscar was such a good audience for stupid little jokes. He never tried to one-up a joke, just laughed and laughed, and then tried to coax some more out of you, all crinkly-eyed and bunny-teethed smiles.

“I’m serious, though. I want to try it,” Carlos said, as Oscar wiped a tear from his eye that he now got to pretend was from laughing. “So if I text my team to sneak one in for me, should I tell them to order two?”

Oscar shook his head and bit his lip, looking a little skeptical. Like he still wasn’t quite sure whether Carlos was joking. Only when Carlos actually pulled out his phone and fired off a text did he give another snort.

“Now I’m a little afraid you’re serious about the lifelong enemy thing, too,” he said.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s great. Melbourne does great burgers.”

“Yeah, I heard you say that on–”

Carlos grinned when Oscar suddenly coughed, acting like he needed to take a quick drink from his water. It was hard to catch, because his eyes were already red, but he was definitely blushing a little.

“Aww,” Carlos teased. “You watch all my interviews?”

“No,” Oscar said, fighting his face back into neutrality. “Just watched it because I did the same one before you.”

“So you heard me say that and still didn’t tell me about your burger?”

“Maybe I didn’t want to upstage your L’Oréal deal?”

“Please!” Carlos said, shaking his hair out like he was in a commercial. “You couldn’t if you tried!”

Oscar, instead of reacting with another quip, suddenly lost the spark of life Carlos had managed to coax out of him over the course of their conversation. Turning back to stare into his glass of water, he gave a weak, one-shouldered shrug and a noncommittal hum. Carlos was pretty sure he saw his eyes welling up again.

“Hey,” he said, trying his softest voice. And because he was just so used to it from comforting Charles, he put a hand on Oscar’s thigh, squeezing a little.

He only realized how fucking weird that was when Oscar froze up, staring down at where Carlos’s hand was gripping his thigh like they hadn’t just found out they could hold a conversation without wanting to kill each other two weeks ago.

Carlos suddenly remembered a call from Lando, almost three years ago now. Complaining about how he couldn’t figure his new teammate out, and their dynamic was all fucked, because Oscar was just so stiff. How he preferred his teammates a little more hands-on, while Oscar seemed to actively shy away from any form of touch.

By now, they had figured each other out, but they still weren’t getting all up in each other’s space all the time or hugging each other, because Oscar… Oscar was just uncomfortable with physical touch. And here Carlos went, just grabbing his thigh out of nowhere and–

All the muscles in Oscar’s thigh suddenly relaxed under Carlos’s hand, as if he’d literally melted, and he turned his head, looking up at Carlos again with a blush spread all the way across his under-eyes and cheeks.

Maybe it was just the lighting in this goddamn club. But Oscar had to do something about those fucking wet eyes of his, because they were starting to drive Carlos crazy.

“Um… s-sorry,” Carlos said, not sure what exactly he was apologizing for. Many things at once, probably.

“Not like you can help having perfect hair,” Oscar said, which was the last thing Carlos had thought he’d be apologizing for.

“I mean, you have nice hair, too,” Carlos said, and like a complete idiot, he went and flicked at the little swoop of hair hanging down across Oscar’s forehead. There was an awkward pause. Then Carlos said, “I like this thing.”

“Mate,” Oscar said, his voice breaking on the word like he was still in the middle of puberty. “You have, like, zero tact.”

“What? Why?”

“Is this some kind of mind game? Did you come to kick me while I’m down?”

Carlos was honestly lost.

“I’m honestly lost,” he said.

“Next time, just change the subject. No need to make this even more awkward.”

Carlos scowled, wondering what kind of mess he had stepped in this time. His hand was still placed on Oscar’s thigh – he had completely forgotten to take it away. And fuck it. He had already committed now. He squeezed again, until the muscles twitched under his hand and Oscar tore his eyes away from the water to glare at Carlos instead.

“What did I say wrong? Come on, tell me!”

“Condescendingly pretended to like my hair,” Oscar said with a completely neutral face, only betrayed by the wet reflections in his eyes. “You know, I don’t really care that I’m balding at 23. Not everyone needs to be a freaking L’Oréal model.”

“Hm,” Carlos said, lifting his free hand to push Oscar’s fringe to the side so he could get a better look at his hairline. “Sounds like you care a little.”

Oscar opened his mouth to object, but Carlos ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it a bit to give it more volume. The matted post-hat hair, which had clearly not seen a comb all day, had been annoying him this whole time. Oscar’s mouth clicked shut.

Maybe he wasn’t all that opposed to physical touch. Just hesitant in initiating it.

“You know, if you really care that much, you have all the funds for a trip to Turkey,” Carlos said. “There is no shame in it. Everyone’s doing it.”

Oscar frowned but didn’t shake Carlos’s hand off.

“And if you truly don’t care,” Carlos continued, “you should be able to accept my compliments without accusing me of lying.”

“Fine. Just feels weird to have the freaking hair commercial guy talk about my receding hairline.”

“I was actually talking about this,” Carlos said, lightly pulling at the fringe, until Oscar gave a small yelp. “It is very cute. Has a lot of… um… character?”

Oscar seemed to blank out for a second, eyelids drooping slightly, when Carlos ran his fingers through his hair again, trying to arrange it into something presentable. And really. Combined with the blush and the tearful eyes, the guy should come with a warning. Maybe Carlos shouldn’t have mussed up his hair like that, because it really wasn’t helping with the strange intrusive thoughts plaguing him tonight.

“Carlos Sainz?”

Almost jumping out of his seat, Carlos quickly pulled his hand from Oscar’s hair, pretending not to hear the little disappointed hiccup. He peeked around the potted plant they were hidden behind and found a confused-looking bouncer wandering the VIP section with a fast-food bag in his hand.

Apparently, you didn’t have to be sneaky in Melbourne when your name was Carlos Sainz.

“Here!” he called, waving the bouncer over. They exchanged burger for autograph, and then Carlos was rubbing his hands together, grinning at a skeptical-looking Oscar.

“Here I go,” Carlos said as he pulled the burger box from the paper bag, snorting at the awkward-looking picture of Oscar on the lid. That guy was not a model! Carlos almost wished he could try photographing Oscar himself, because he was pretty sure he had stumbled upon a trick to make him look actually hot. And that trick was watching Marley & Me beforehand.

Opening the lid, he gasped in surprise when he realized the burger was black. Not only that – it was sprinkled with orange sesame seeds.

“This is so cool!” he gawked, almost a little jealous. Even if he did a burger with Williams, there was no way to make it blue and white – and even if there was, it wouldn’t look half as cool as this one. “Honestly, you already get six points just for visuals.”

“‘Kay, thanks,” Oscar mumbled, almost bashful.

“Now, let’s see if you taste good!” Carlos said, upon which Oscar buried his face in his arms with a groan.

God. Annoying him was so much fun!

Carlos opened his mouth wide and took a big bite, chewing thoughtfully and holding back his verdict for so long that Oscar started to peek from the prison of his arms.

“Well?” he asked when Carlos finally swallowed, keeping his face neutral.

“What’s the crunchy stuff?”

“Carrots.”

“Carrots?”

“Needed something orange,” Oscar said with a shrug.

“Hm…” Carlos loosened a stuck piece of carrot from his molars with his tongue and swallowed it. “Looks are good. Taste is good. A little weird, but I don’t hate it.” He flashed one of his big, charming smiles. “I think it’s a perfect fit for you.”

Oscar hid his relief in an eye roll and a snort, then grabbed one of Carlos’s fries and popped it into his mouth.

“You don’t know what I taste like,” he said, blushing again when the words registered a second later.

Carlos’s grin widened. “Right now, you taste like my fries, no?” he said, popping one into his own mouth as well. And just because being annoying had worked wonderfully so far, he threw in a wink.

Oscar giggled again, even folding over a bit, then instantly looked like he wanted to die.

Carlos had not been wrong. He really was a little weird.

“Why did you come out tonight?” Carlos asked, because he remembered Oscar had asked him to change the subject rather than let things get awkward, and he had a feeling now might be the right time for that.

“Just trying to be a good teammate,” Oscar sighed, helping himself to another fry. “Guess I failed miserably at that.”

“You know Lando doesn’t expect you to, right? I mean, he’s not exactly the poster child for graceful losing himself.”

“I know,” Oscar chuckled. “I just… thought it couldn’t hurt to make an effort to show up for each other. Now that we’ll be teammates for so long. It’s gonna be a tough season for us, so no need to fuck it up right at the start.”

“You’re not fucking anything up, mate,” Carlos promised. The weight of his words was slightly lost in the mouthful of burger he was devouring, but he pressed his thigh into Oscar’s to show that he meant it, and was surprised when Oscar pushed back, not letting the gap between them open up again.

“I think Lando knows what you’re doing. And he appreciates it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, he asked me to come check on you, you know?”

Oscar stilled with a fry halfway toward his open mouth.

“Did he now?”

“I mean, he is really maturing lately,” Carlos went on, realizing too late that the glow in Oscar’s eyes was being replaced by that tearful shimmer again. “He knows what it’s like in your situation. And he knows he’s in no place to lift you up right now.”

Oscar slowly put the fry back into the box, then shifted until his thigh was no longer pressed against Carlos’s.

For whatever reason, Carlos mourned the loss of contact.

Just what was wrong with him tonight? That one sip of rum and coke must have really fucked with his head.

“So,” Oscar said, wiping his hands on a paper napkin that had come with the burger. “You’re right, I guess. Coming out’s been a stupid idea. I’ll just… I’ll go back to the hotel. Try to get some sleep.”

“Oh,” Carlos said. He could clearly hear the disappointment in his own voice, which made him cringe a little. But Oscar was rubbing at his wet eyes again, and his hair was still mussed up from when Carlos had run his fingers through it, and Carlos couldn’t keep his next words from falling out of his mouth.

“Just wait a minute, until I’m done with your burger, okay? I want to take you back.”

****

They stood in front of Oscar’s hotel room door not much later, awkwardly staring at each other.

“Okay, then,” Oscar said, fiddling with the key card in his hand. “Thanks for… um… making sure I got back safe? Though there was really no need.”

“Of course there was!” Carlos insisted. “You’re like a superstar around here, and they let you go out without a security guard!”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to take the tram.”

Truth be told, Carlos wasn’t sure why he had come along, either. He liked to think it had something to do with how Oscar still looked like he might throw himself off the next bridge, but a feeling in his gut told him that wasn’t it.

Now he watched as Oscar unlocked the door, pushing it open with a hesitant glance over his shoulder. Carlos felt like there was some countdown he was missing.

“Oh, by the way,” he quickly said, before Oscar could say his goodbyes and disappear behind the door. “I just wanted to tell you – that move you pulled, on Lewis, and in the last lap?” He shook his hand, whistling through his teeth. “That was incredible!”

Oscar raised his eyebrows at him, then shook his head with a weird little chuckle.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Oscar said. “Just – if I had pulled that move on you, you’d be bitching about it for weeks.”

“Not true!” Carlos objected, even though deep down, he knew Oscar was right. “I appreciate a bold move!”

“Really now?” Oscar asked, eyebrows rising even higher. He seemed to be contemplating something. “Even when it’s pulled on you, and you might not like it?”

“Yes!” Carlos insisted. “I think you always need to be bold to get the things you want. Especially guys like us.”

“Yeah,” Oscar said. His eyebrows finally lowered, leaving him looking determined. “I agree.”

Then Carlos felt a hand lock around his wrist, and he was pulled into the hotel room, the door shutting with a decisive click.

[kayywaiii]

good person !! ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

{prohero!izuku x neighbor!reader}

summary : after a particularly shitty night and a heroic sleep rescue leaves you keen over a mysteriously kind man, you find him again after a run in with his very not allowed cat.

mood song : carnival - the cardigans (- w - )

words : 3.3k wrds

warnings : light cursing, FLUFF, kissing, tan curly haired izuku agenda, mentions of scars+injury, crushing izuku, light themes of stalking, (not really tho) izuku goes feral for reader, reader has a dog, izuku has a cat, next door romance

authors note: i literally stopped a wip for this bc i just saw the vision like in my near future ... also like i made this cute banner and for what now i had to finish it !! also i was probably riding on the motivation of knowing izuku's the number 4 hero now uh hell yeah

You weren’t making it to class on time tomorrow, you were sure of it. 

God, could their arguing get any louder? Why this late at night? What could it possibly even be about?

Something about rent… and then something else about another girl. Then an entire monologue about heroes and villains… was this guy serious? You stared at your apartment ceiling, two pillows pressed against your ears and a hopeful thought that a lighting strike would just take both of them down ringing through your head. Maybe then you could get a full night's rest, or at the very least, enough for your class tomorrow morning. You promised to yourself that you weren’t normally that violent, just particularly sleepy– and to be fair to them you weren’t a fierce arbiter of the complex rules either. There were three:

No Loud Noises After 10pm Keep Respectful of Complex Property  Absolutely No Pets 

It’s not like you strictly followed all three… you were housing a small dog, Kiwi, even though your landlord made it personally clear that there were no pets allowed. And you tried to get rid of her a few months ago when you first moved in, you really did. But her floppy ears, spots on her cheeks that were reminiscent of freckles, and lightly browned fur had you swooning, and before you even knew it, you were already hiding her toys during inspections. 

So, maybe it felt a little hypocritical to wish death upon the couple on the breezeway outside. Still, you had half a mind to go out there and lecture them until they both worked out whatever grudge they had against each other. A dog was one thing, especially if she never barked, not even once. But these people outside— they did a whole lot of barking. And you almost got up too, clad in your pajamas and all, ready to stumble into the outdoor hallway and curse until your point got across.  But a voice, smooth and decadent interrupted their yelling, so sweet you could practically hear the soft smile he wore. The man coaxed the both of them not only to calm down, but apologize too. And… god, was he making them hug? You were baffled by the sheer volume of the diplomatic people skills this person must have been sporting, you were sure it must be their quirk. Whatever it was it got them quiet enough for you to drift off to sleep, sullen and dreaming about a man that would whisk you away with a smile.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

A shuffling at your window the next morning awoke you, dazed and confused after the best sleep in your life. Something about that guy’s voice just brought you there, damn there hanging off your twin sized bed and drool swept against the inner corner of your mouth. You lifted your head, running a hand over your hair before sliding off your bed to make a quick coffee. You muttered something about a breezy shower and– was the sun shining a little brighter this morning? You swore your copious amounts of house plants looked fuller with life today, your posters of various heroes illuminated and basking in the glory of the bright sun. You swore your small studio looked bigger in a sense, more light as you took out your takeout from the fridge. You stood at your counter, shoveling noodles into your mouth and breathing in this much needed– and much limited– time of peace. 

Another shuffling at the window just above your bed startled you, setting the takeout box down and climbing on top of the bed built into the nook of your room between the apartment and bathroom wall. A small cat purred at your window, eyes wide and big and brown, brushing its fur at the glass. It meows loudly, putting its paw over the hatch and seemingly gesturing you to open your window. Candles and small potted plants lined the ledge of the window, making it hard for you to find the lock to click it open. When you finally did, the small thing leapt through the opening and straight onto your bed. You scoff, bewildered. You weren’t the only person in the complex breaking the rules, you guessed. 

“Hey there, sweet thing…where's your owner?” You scrunch your eyebrows together, watching the cat hop down from your bed and stretch over your floor like it owned the space it sat. It let out a soft meow, large eyes blinking back at you as it skipped over your furniture and picked at your plants. Then, that voice– rugged and clearly fatigued called out from the open corridors outside. 

“Neko?” He spoke, the sounds of clattering pots and keychains ringing from right outside your apartment door. He swore faintly when a pot shattered on the ground. Swept potting mix scattered under your door at the attempt of a makeshift cleanup, the whoosh of stray dead leaves catching the cat's attention and it scratched at the door.  “Neko, come on– I’ve got work…” 

“Is that you? Are you Neko?” You mumbled, clicking open your door. Reflected green shot across your vision, sun rays passing through his curls and painting your apartment walls like the Sistine Chapel. A light breeze whisked past the green’s hair and led your eyes to his tan, freckled face, one that knocked the thoughts right from your skull. He smelled of vanilla and freshly groomed puppies, like something soft you could just flop into, sleep for a little while. He swore, eyes widening at your sudden appearance, and carding a hand lightly through his tresses. Then he groaned, trying to brush white broken clay shards into his gloved palm. 

“Crap, I’m– I’m so, so sorry… I’ll replace this.” He hurriedly muttered, flicking his head down and furrowing his brows in contained frustration. Your breath left your body, face warming in silent attraction as you cleared your throat and leaned over him to check the damage. Hundreds of tiny bits of argil sat at his feet, littered across the breezeway and towards the edge of the corridor. Bits of thick pieces you’d hand painted sat face up on the concrete, and so did the small bud that had been slowly inching towards the complex ceiling for weeks.

“Don’t… stress about it, ‘s fine. Not your fault I was too lazy to take it inside.” You choke up and force a smile, playing with a pimple on the base of the back of your neck. God, you knew you were jittery, watching him stand to his full height and cup the pieces of pot in his clunky gloves. You were hardly able to force out a coherent sentence, nevermind keep up a steady conversation with your next-door neighbor. 

Here he was, donning his hero armor and flowing yellow cape that he barely tucked under grey sweats. Chunky red shoes and gloves that clanked against his midriff, and the designs on his chest were faded and worn out. “You’re– Deku… aren’t you?” 

“Ah–Izuku,” He gives you a soft smile. “I, uh…  don’t think there’s a need for titles, we’re neighbors.” You dorkily nod, keeping your eyes anywhere but his. His presence felt overpowering, yet friendly, fit for the number four hero who not only rocketed in the ranks, but in popularity too. 

“Oh– well, thank you.” You curse internally, wishing this morning would already end. He chuckles, and that only seems to make it worse for the raging embarrassment seeping deep into your chest. He lets out an exasperated huff, shaking his head and keeping a strict eye on the doors down the hall. “I should be thanking you for sweeping this little one up.” He scoops his cat up from the floor beside you before opening his door and pushing him into the room. “He likes to roam.” A fond grin crosses his face.

“Actually– I wanted to thank you… for last night?” Your eyes bounce back up to his, taking in the way his biceps flex with every indifferent movement. Your neck heated up when his yellow scarf, faded and caked in dirt stains, fluttered behind him in the chilly spring wind. And God, you wished he was still tired and didn’t notice your shameless, obvious– and oh so necessary– ogling of him through his hero costume. “It was you wasn’t it? I– was actually able to get the best sleep.” You gushed, fighting the urge to drop to your knees and thank him raucously until the neighbors filed a complaint. It was just that important to you. Your sleep, that is. 

 He stared at you for a moment, before looking at his shoes in modesty and giving you a weak thumbs up. “It’s… no problem, really. It’s still kind of my job even if I’m off the clock.” He shuffled his feet and looked away, curt wind rushing through your thin sweater and making you shiver like a stray dog. You nodded awkwardly, about to retreat back into your studio when his voice called out again.

“I’ve got another way you could thank me!” He suddenly and practically yelled at you, catching a wrist in his blushing hand before dropping his fingers and clearing his throat.

You paused, eyes widening as you looked back at him. His face was visibly red, eyes darting with a nervousness you’d never seen displayed on a pro hero. You flushed, lashes fluttering and you felt so sick. Were you seriously about to throw up in front of him like this?

“Sorry?” You manage to mumble.

“Would…a date be okay?” He swallowed hard, bringing a calloused, gloved hand to his neck and playing with a curl. Your fingers clenched around the handle of the door, blinking in surprise and pure confusion as he watched you carefully, awaiting an answer. The silence was deafening, save for the soft meow and scratching of Neko at the door and the calm breeze whisking past the both of you in waves. Something about his clear nervousness calmed you, giving you enough courage to nod and say, “That’d– be great.”

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

Izuku never had great luck with his words, his passionate spiels saved for the nassiest of villains who’d he believed deserved redemption. He just wanted to be a good person, someone that people regarded as a good man, like All Might. With that, his love for saving others always speaks for him, quickly leaving his mouth in perfect and persuasive sentences. With you, however? It was the most challenging thing he’s ever attempted. It'd been months before he finally spoke to you, and he was sure you hardly even knew he lived there due to your clearly starstruck expression. He’d watched you move in, heard you cursing up a storm over university homework, lugging in packages of dog food– which he knew you weren’t supposed to have. And yet still, he only hyped himself up in the expanse of his apartment, opting out of actually getting to the part where he might ask you out.

And so, he only watched you from afar– that was until today, when he’d haphazardly left his bedroom window ajar for his cat to sneak out and hop onto the flower boxes from flat to flat, keen on taking a rest in a particular someone’s bed. And now here you were, Neko languidly stretching at your feet like he hadn’t just ruined Izuku’s life. 

And Jesus did you look pretty, a thin sweater flanking a tank and pj pants hanging low on your hips. That was it, his life was ruined. He had no idea what to say to you, you who now looked at him with what he could only guess was annoyance at his breaking of your pot. And then you gave him a smile, assurance lacing your tone and a familiar excitement prevalent when you spoke again. 

“You’re Deku, aren’t you?” 

That just about killed him. And you were oh so pretty when you spoke– and when you thanked him profusely– that just about killed him too. 

Izuku scoured his brain, unable to flip through carefully picked notes and instead having to remember ounces of dating advice from Kacchan and Kirishima. His palms sweated and he brought them to wipe on his sweatpants. God, he felt like a highschooler again, that same dork who stuttered over every syllable. Kacchan would be confident, wouldn’t he? Loudmouthed, cocky– there was nothing keeping him from what he wanted. Izuku just had to channel all that. And that should be easy, right?

Shit, she’s walking away! He grimaced, feeling bile rise in his throat, catching your wrist, tongue finally betraying his mind’s first thoughts. 

“I’ve– I’ve got another way you could thank me.” He swallowed and allowed himself to meet your gaze, if only for a split moment. 

“...Sorry?” 

“Do you want to go out with me?” He tentatively asked, breach catching in his throat at your stricken expression. Your face was red, eyes widening in either shock or pure amusement. A cold wind passed, a moment passing seemingly even longer than that. And his breath all but left his body when you nodded and spoke, a smile widening on your face. 

“Okay.”

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

His apartment was quaint, similar layout to yours, save for the bathroom adjacent to his small bed. It was a wonder he could even fit in it, you thought, looking over his height and large arms as he stood at his kitchenette opposite of the door. This setting was a lot more intimate than the first few of your dates a few months ago, your first one being to a nice restaurant, and then a lunch picnic at his agency. He always said he wanted to cook for you, which is why now, a few months into your relationship, he finally felt confident enough to do so.

 The room smelled of sizzling chicken and boiling noodles, the green bouncing from appliance to appliance muttering recipe ingredients to himself. You watched from the small arm chair he’d forced you to take a seat in, a practically offended look on his face when you offered your help.

“Are you kidding me?” He’d gawked. “Sit, I’ll cook for you.” 

So, instead you stared at pictures hung high on his apartment walls, some of his mother and others of his former classmates. Dynamight still wore his signature scowl, even as a teen, and Shoto timidly smiled for the camera. Izuku, clad in his UA uniform beamed bright, messy curls hardly kept like bright, flickering fire catching a swift air. It reminded you of your friends at secondary school, enthusiastic and eager for the world the new heros had promised. And Midoriya’s passion all but reassured you that promise would be kept. 

A short curse came from the man and the sound of glass shattering made your eyes flick up to him, his eyebrows scrunched tightly wound as he tried his best to flick the pain from his hand. You rose, quickly moving to where he was crouched near a broken glass jar and a large gash was present on his palm. Neko stretched atop the counter, eyes slit and a guilty meow coming from him. You sank next to Izuku, looking over his wound and bringing a cloth hanging from the oven to his cut. “Thanks…” He muttered, an embarrassed look in his eyes when they finally flicked up to you, to your sympathetic focus. He had to admit though, you looked really pretty up close like this. 

“Damn Neko.” He chuckled and you followed suit, helping him up and to his bathroom. It was a simple four by four, the mirror decked with motivational sticky notes and inspirational All Might posters. He blushed even more, clearing his throat and coming to a stand in front of the mirror, standing taller over the posters. “Bandages?” You asked, too preoccupied with his palm to tease him about it. “Under the sink.” He answered, voice cracking and eyes widened when you sat him down on the toilet. A comfortable silence washed over you and you as you rushed warm water over the previously used cloth and pressed it to his hand. His hands were warm, soft– apart from the countless scars littering his skin. This one, this one was just another notch added to his countless array. 

“I never pegged you for the rule breaking type, Midoriya.” You raised an eyebrow, giving him a teasing smile and he gave you a soft one back.

You rummaged through his cabinet while he watched in barely contained awe. He held his wrist, now dripping with blood and a swallow bobbing his throat as he nodded. “He’s a stray. It was cold– and it was raining… I couldn’t find it in me to leave him alone.” 

“That… sounds just like you… actually.” You chuckled, running the cloth under the water again and watching the clear liquid turn crimson. 

“What, a hero?” He wore a half-hearted smile, eyes flicking between you and his palm.

“Mm… a good person.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, breath slowing while he watched you press the bandage across his rough skin. He didn’t wince, not because it didn’t sting, but because he couldn’t help but redirect all his senses to you. His chest warmed, spreading throughout and up his throat like a liquid. You were too good and apparently you thought he was too. 

“A good person, hm?” 

“Of course.” You hummed, oblivious to the rising warmth of his cheeks and the goosebumps prickling on his skin. Did you not know how much you affected him? 

And he can’t help but lean down and capture your lips with his, leaving his bandage half lifting in the hurry of his passion. He pressed his hand to your thigh and then under it, effectively lifting you and on to his lap. Izuku tilted his head, delving deeper as you cup his freckled cheeks and giggle a soft, surprised sound. 

“Izu–” 

A strangled groan left his lips at your nickname, a knowing grin smiling into his mouth. You pushed back with just as much fervor, running your fingers over his scalp and sinking them deep into his curls. You whined when he pulled back, pressing chaste pecks to your neck and collarbone and cheek, seemingly drunk off the mere thought of you. His eyes were glazed over, hair tousled from your fingers running through it and he kept pulling you closer like you were about to disappear. He’s clearly timid, shy– but he clumsily presses his lips onto yours like he’d known to do this his entire life. 

It’s only when he hears the smoke detector ringing that he pulls away,  slipping you off his lap. He presses another kiss to your face before going to the kitchen where smoke pillows, lifting off the now burnt food and straight into the detector. He curses once more, fanning away smoke like his life solely depended on it, trying to calm the device before it annoyed the neighbors enough to contact the landlord. He carded a hand through his hair, watching you softly giggle at the entire fiasco. He let out a somewhat dejected sigh, giving you a sloppy grin and sliding across the room to cup your face. 

“I’m– sorry about dinner, love.” He exhales, but can’t help but give you more kisses on your jaw and cheek. He seemingly couldn’t pull away, large hands locked onto you like a wayward lifeline. 

“It’s cool, Zu… let's order takeout, mhm?” 

And Neko yawned, meowing in agreement atop his wooden dresser.

[princessbrunette]

ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅PRINCESSBRUNETTES SCREAM SALON INTRODUCES … ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა

LOVE POTIONS ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

♩ BJ Lips, princess paparazzi — love potions ♩

pairing: pope heyward x reader

cw: blood, period sex, speaks of a soul tie / spirituality.

you are responsible for your own media consumption. welcome to kinktober day three.

you’d been on three dates. you didn’t think pope heyward would be this down for anything.

“its blood.” he shrugs, shuffling closer to you to throw a slightly nervous arm around your shoulder. “look, it’s nothing i haven’t seen before. plus, isn’t sex supposed to… relieve you of cramps and all that bad stuff? i can think of one hundred ways this could be mutually beneficial. unless you don’t want to, then that’s totally cool too.”

next thing you know, you’re on your back.

you’re used to getting wet for pope, but the sounds coming from down below were obscene. a thicker, more humiliating squelch slapping each wall of the room as you gasp, letting pope roll his hips, eyes fluttering.

“holy shit, right?” he groans quietly and it’s only then you realise that he’d been wanting this, fantasising about it even for a while now. despite the room being only lit by your lamp, you can still see the way your dark blood coats the skin connecting the two of you and drips gorily onto the towel he’d lovingly laid out below.

“so sensitive.” you whisper, quivering — not feeling any urge but to raise your voice any louder. the two of you were simply so close, so connected that upping the volume even slightly could shatter the intense intimacy created.

“yeah?” he huffs sympathetically, yet his hands press your thighs wider — still fucking into you slowly and kindly. you whine. “jesus you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.” he huffs all in one breath, entranced by the sounds leaving you. three dates in, and something about this intimate act had pope gasping to say those three forsaken words. not now. not yet.

you felt euphoric, which is something you never thought was possible to feel on day two of your period. whilst those few days are usually spent wallowing in bed, undoing every positive affirmation you’ve ever told yourself in the mirror as you pick apart your every flaw— staring at nothing but the four walls of your bedroom, the room seemed to look different now, sparkly and new— just like how you felt on the inside. pope thought you were beautiful. even like this.

the definition of soul tie is as followed: ‘Soul ties are profound spiritual connections shared with someone else that generally transcend the closeness in a typical relationship. A soul tie can cause you to feel incredibly attached to a person, and life without them becomes hard to imagine.’ those were the words staring back at pope on his laptop screen only one evening later, back in his own room.

“dude you’ve been on like three dates, do you maybe wanna cool it? she’s gonna say you’re like, lovebombing or some shit.” jj’s voice breaks through the facetime call, popes phone screen shoved off into a corner displaying the blonde reclining on a gaming chair in his room, tossing a ball into the air and catching it. pope barely glances his way, staring off into the white of the google page and tapping his fingers absentmindedly.

“it just feels different. i— i don’t know what to tell you jj, i’ve never felt this way before.”

the hum of white noise from jj’s fan rings repeatedly. a dog barks outside in the distance.

“is it bad if i call her?”

he feels like a pervert when you pick up the phone, because he’s already got his thumb grazing his tip. memories of that night flush his body, excite him to the point of dizziness.

“pope, it’s late.” he can hear that you’re smiling and now he’s remembering the way you moan, the way your brows twitch into a furrow and your bottom lip trembles slightly.

“i needed to call you.” he sighs, beside himself. there’s a pause on the other end.

“is everything okay?” the worst outcomes fill your mind, he sounded awfully serious after all. it had only been three dates, what could you have done in that time to destroy his perception of you? your guard flies up, ready to defend yourself. he was the one that suggested period sex.

“look i… can’t stop thinking about you.”

you deflate in your bed, lips twitching into a relieved smile.

“aw, pope that sweet. i can’t stop thinking about—”

“no, like — i’m really sorry to cut you off but it’s, it’s disturbing me. you’re infiltrating my every thought. ever since… that night, all i can think about it doing it again— and— and i don’t just think about you sexually, you know? i hope you don’t feel objectified i mean obviously i would love to… touch you again, but it’s more than that— and jj told me not to ‘lovebomb’ you and if it feels that way i apologise but—”

“pope… it’s okay.” he hears teeth and saliva. you’re grinning.

“right…okay.” for the first time in a minute, the boy breathes. “so… i hope this doesn’t sound batshit crazy but, do you have any opinion’s on soul ties?”

[space-cowgirllll]

I did boy mom Abby during the fall so you know I had to write some domestic fluff for Ellie too 🫶🏻🎃🍂

let’s ignore that I’m posting this less than an hour before Halloween is over 🥸

"Mama no! That's Rex's chair!"

"Well I don't see his name on it." The soft thud of the stuffed animal hitting the carpet is followed by the stomp of a tiny foot.

"Mama!"

You lower the volume on the halloween music playing on the tv, watching your wife get locked in stare down with a mini version of herself. Margo's legs wobble on unsteady plastic heels and the pink material of her dress wrinkles as she places her hands on her hips. Ellie had managed to squeeze herself into one of the bigger dresses in your daughter's closet, the thing looking like it was about to bust at the seams whenever she moved. Her tiara lopsided as it slowly slips off her head.

From the color of their hair to the slope of their noses, it was actually scary how alike they looked at the moment. Their profiles damn near identical.

The two stare at each other from opposite sides of the coffee table where a "spooky" tea party was being held with hot chocolate and Halloween cookies. Action figures and stuffed animals line the sides, with the newest addition to your little family sitting at the head of the table. Your seven month old son, Theo, sits in his infant chair watching the drama unfold as he chewed on a yogurt puff. His little body swallowed up by the tulle of his dress, with a sparkly clip in his short hair. Neither you nor Ellie able to save him from the older sister effect.

"He's a stuffie, he can't even eat the cookie." Ellie says matter of factly, reaching over to fix the girl's tiara.

The four year old's eyes shift from Rex's spot to her own empty plate, nodding in understanding. "Get more from mommy." she whispers loudly, pointing to where you stand at the counter with a fresh batch. Their eyes widen at the sight of the tray in front of you.

Ellie has a full blown one sided conversation with the infant in her arms, stopping at the large window facing your backyard. She points out the swing set under the large tree in the far right corner.

"Pretty soon you'll be out there with mama and margo having competitions on who can swing the highest." She bounces the infant on her hip.

"Mama cheats." Margo pipes up from the living room.

"I do not!"

Ellie jumps to defend herself, launching into story after story about the times she's lost to the four year old. Theo watches her in fascination, his eyes glued to Ellie's face. Your wife never stopped talking, and you swear it's the reason Margo's vocabulary is as good as it is.

You pretend to ignore Ellie as she saunters over to where you stand at the kitchen island. Her front presses up against your back, lips pressing against your bare shoulder as she reaches for the cookies. "Don't mind if I do."

"I do mind, actually." You push her away. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Oh c'mon just one more."

"You said that like five cookies ago Els." Taking the baby from her arms, you move the tray further away from her grabby hands.

She pouts. "So you hate me."

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes, pulling her in for a kiss. "How about you two go wash up and you can have one more AFTER dinner." The little hand reaching for the tray pauses, slowly retreating when you pull it further away. Ellie snorts as the culprit click clacks back towards the couch.

The doorbell rings, pulling your attention away from the kitchen. Ellie moves to stir the soup currently simmering in the pot, ignoring your warning look.

"Babe, did you order something?" You question, staring at the large plastic bag on your front porch. The logo didn't look familiar, her name is on the label when you squint.

"Oh, yeah! This wasn't supposed to come until next week." The package is snatched from your hands, a flash of pink and purple fly past you and down the hallway. Your two dogs manage to slip in the room just before the door slams shut.

"We're the only sane ones here bub." You turn back towards the kitchen, undressing the infant and placing him in his high chair. He babbles happily while you clean up the mess on the counter.

It's then that you notice the two cookies missing from the tray. Your wife and daughter's muffled giggles reach your ears.

"Ellie!"

———

"Okay oneeee more for Grandpa Joel."

"No more." Margo pouts "Papa has lots of pictures already."

The three of you wait impatiently as Ellie props her phone up against one of the steps on your front porch. She rushes back to where you stand as the timer counts down. Her hand reaches down to adjust the dog's dinosaur costume, the hood covering his eyes.

Theo sits happily in the wagon your wife had spent the last week turning into a little cage. His little green dinosaur costume just thick enough to keep him warm from the chilly weather.

You quickly make sure your pink button up is tucked properly into your shorts. Ellie gives you a grateful look when you push the hair out of her face. The two of you smiling just as the timer goes off, praying that the kids were looking.

Your wife had insisted on picking out the theme for Halloween this year. Knowing she had at least one year left before your already opinionated daughter decided she wanted to pick out her own halloween costume. With how busy you'd been at work you happily let her take charge.

And that's how you ended up wrangling a family of dinosaurs out the door.

"Let's go!"

You bite your lip when your daughter wobbles in her inflatable dinosaur costume, the head throwing her off balance. Her little hand reaches for Ellie's, dragging her down the driveway and out into the throng of people already out trick or treating. Pink plastic pumpkin swinging at her side.

The four of you make your way through the neighborhood, you and Ellie taking turns walking the kids up to knock on doors.

Like most four year olds, Margo gets tired after a couple of streets. Her plastic pumpkin now full of candy. Theo snoozes away in his wagon, checks rosy from the cold.

"Last house?" You point at the tiny craftsman at the end of the street.

Ellie gives you a thumbs up and follows after Margo as she hobbles up the path towards the front porch.

“Well aren’t you two the cutest.” The elderly woman sitting on one of the steps gushes. “Matching costumes!”

She reaches into the big yellow bowl, pulling out a full size candy that has the little girl’s tired eyes widening.

"A big candy! Thank you!" She clutches it in her tiny fist, rushing back to where you stood on the sidewalk.

The elderly woman laughs at the way her costume wobbles as she runs down. "Is that your family?" She asks pointing to where you stand.

"It is." Ellie smiles.

"They're so cute." She gushes, patting her arm. "You're very lucky."

Ellie watches you gently pry the melting chocolate from your daughter’s grasp, putting it in her overflowing bucket. Theo now perched on your hip, a big gummy smile on his face at the sound of his big sister’s voice as she bounces around dancing to the loud music coming from down the street. The two dogs swore she didn’t want sat at your sides.

Ellie’s heart warmed at the sight. Her smile widens.

"Yeah, I am."

—

"Margo's finally down." You sink down into the spot next to Ellie on the couch with a sigh. A hand reaches into the plastic bag on her lap where you'd dumped all the candy, digging around for the full size candy bar from earlier. Your wife searches for a movie to watch, clicking through multiple streaming apps.

"Told you we shouldn't have let her have that second lollipop before bed." She mumbles through a mouthful of chocolate. Her eyes glued to the tv. You stretch out on the couch, legs thrown over her lap.

"Nothing scary." You remind her. "Don't need you waking me up to walk you to the bathroom at 3 AM again."

"That was ONE time!" Ellie scoffs, but quickly exits the horror section. She sprawls out on top of you, her head resting on your chest.

“No cartoons either.” You press a quick kiss to her hair. “Get enough of that with the kids.”

You settle on Hocus Pocus after ten minutes of bickering only for the two of you to end up asleep only fifteen minutes into the movie.

[ronearoundblindly]

Your Dog, His Tricks

a Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader tale set a little over a year after losing their virginity together and based on this ask.

Summary: Injured on a mission and MIA for days, you return to a very high-strung boyfriend who can't express what he's feeling until it boils to the surface.

Warnings: arguments and smut. MINORS DNI. WC 5.4k

You don’t know when it started, this sort of competition with your boyfriend, but at some point you and Steve became a packaged deal. Unfortunately, that package was labeled: Steve Rogers and his girl. You feel nameless sometimes, and you know you are better than that; maybe you aren’t super like he is, but you are (and were since before dating) a whole-ass Avenger in your own right. You are a stellar agent. You can bring home the top prize. You can finish this shit-show of a mission all on your own.

No help.

None.

You noticed a problem after months and months of fighting with Steve—no, that sounds wrong—beside Steve. 

Okay, maybe it’s not wrong-wrong to say fighting with him because you two do have the occasional argument. Just one argument, really. One argument over and over again about you fighting beside him, why it’s fine, why he should let it go. You are as safe fighting beside him now as you were before the two of you became this set, this lop-sided partnership. He still wants to protect you from shit you are trained to protect yourself from, shit you survived just fine without him, shit like the last three days.

He’s stubborn, and so are you.

You’ve had trouble getting him to back off. The Team is a team, and Steve does great, delegating all sorts of jobs when you are one among many. As soon as it’s you and him alone? He’s…overly helpful, over-protective, and generally over-the-top fussy. He is adoring and caring and competent. Apparently, those things make him feel capable of doing everything for you. It’s sweet until it’s not. Every time you start a project—laundry, cooking, organizing shelves, or leading an actual mission—Steve waltzes in and has to finish it for you.

Because he loves you. Because he’s trying to help. Because he can.

It makes you feel as if you can’t, or, at least, as if he thinks you can’t.

“Well, buddy, you can’t have this one,” you mutter outside of HQ’s gate, gripping your side and flicking open the phone you stole a few states back.

You’ve been gone for just shy of seventy-three hours.

At first, you truly had no way to contact the Team. You were on your own a thousand miles from home, fried comms and a spent weapon. You missed the rendezvous at the safehouse because it took twenty or so hours to find a vet office with the supplies to patch yourself up, and by the time you could have reached out, that ear worm wouldn’t leave you alone.

He’ll swoop in.

He’ll save you.

You’re his girl, so you need him. You can’t handle this without him. No one will believe you did once he gets anywhere near you.

Call it adrenaline. Call it blood loss. Call it shock. You can’t give up this glory, so you told yourself you needed radio silence to keep the recovered intel secure until back on Avengers campus. You told yourself the risk of interception was too high to chance a phone call.

Now, fifty feet from the infirmary, you need to get past one more obstacle.

You know Steve would jump from a third-story window to get to you, know he would scoop you right up into his arms and carry you over the threshold, know that would mean Steve wins.

No. Not this time. This is yours. You deserve the credit. You are crossing that finish line solo.

You jab the last of the epi-pens into your good leg, letting yet more adrenaline heave through what little of your blood volume is left and call the HQ secure line from the burner.

“Friday,” you start, standing at the bus stop, a blindspot from the Avengers’ surveillance cameras because the city already monitors it, “authorization Gamma-Lima-Four-Whisky. Do not declare connection. I repeat, do not declare this connection.”

The AI welcomes you back onto the grid politely.

“Thank you.” A bubble of pain bursts in your throat. “Give them a different location for this call, ok? Tell them it’s from the nearest functional payphone.”

Friday does as you say because why wouldn’t she? It’s not as if Steve is going to pause to question where the ping is—

—and he’s already out, on the bike, pushing that engine to its acceleration limit and narrowly escaping a shoulder check from the slowly opening gates.

You sneak right past, knowing he won’t look in his rearview, not with his eye on a prize ten blocks away, and you collapse just inside the garage ramp.

You wake prone in the Regeneration Cradle after surgery to a kind, smiling nurse monitoring your progress.

It’s difficult to focus. After a few blinks, you can see her features clearly, then beyond her are just eyes.

His eyes.

Piercing blue doesn’t begin to describe the intensity of Steve’s gaze, and his silence is deafening.

Each quarter-minute he inventories the room, and he exhales. That is the sum total of what he can manage to do right now. He’s attempting to keep it together until you two are alone obviously. Steve fails at very few things in life; this is one of them. You can see the outline of his teeth through his tight cheek.

“Doc wanted me to tell you you did a great job,” the nurse states softly. “If you hadn’t packed those wounds so tight, you’d have died for sure.”

Your mouth is too dry to respond, so you flash a wry smile. No one gets the Cradle without…extensive injuries. You’ve never had the ‘pleasure,’ not even for your through-and-through last year.

Steve huffs in frustration, keeping his huge body out of the nurse’s way even when you can feel him try to astral project himself forward to hand you ice chips. Instead, you swallow cotton.

“Captain Rogers,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimes from above, “your motorcycle has been cited for running five red lights with a further two dozen traffic violations. Shall I claim Official Avengers’ business?”

You croak ‘no.’ He says ‘yes.’

There’s a pause. “I will ask again later.”

Who says AIs can’t throw some serious shade?

Silence descends again as the spindling print needle moves on to a different wound. You’re lucid but wobbly trying to think, a combination of the waning anesthesia and pain meds.

If frowns could kill, your boyfriend’s would devastate the entire med bay.

This is what you hoped beyond hope to avoid, but it’s also why your endgame involved going solo.

“You’re making my point for me,” you sigh, your chest hurting more after surgery than it has in the past twenty-four hours. Clearly, your nerves are back online.

“And what point was that?“ he asks sarcastically, waiting in your own stubborn silence. “You gave me a heart attack.”

“Really?” You’re playfully shocked.

“No, not really! God.” He rushes closer. “What the hell were you thinking? If you had time to send me on a wild goose chase, you could damn well have called to tell me you were alive!”

The cradle’s lights shut off, job complete.

“Language, Steve.” 

He looks incredulous, engrossingly livid, anxious outrage contained by his one frayed thread of control left. 

“We found the intel,” he grits through a clenched jaw. “After power-washing your blood off it, everything was on the drive.”

You can’t sit up on your elbows yet, so you bite back, “good. It all worked out fine then.”

Wafting off him in thick clouds, Steve’s anger is near-flammable in the small room.

The nurse offers to step out for a second.

You say ‘yes.’ Steve barks ‘no.’

This isn’t the nurse’s first rodeo. “Alright, surgery went well. All debris and fragments removed. Your tissue is all intact now, too, but remember, this treatment doesn’t train new muscle fiber or nerve-endings.” She ignores Steve and pushes past to the other end of the table. “Rest up. Tomorrow, you can report to PT. They’ll work with you until you’re field-approved again.”

“She is not—“

“Both of you are ordered to rest,” the nurse snaps, nodding in Steve’s direction “—and make yourself useful by changing her drip when it runs out. If you can’t manage that, Captain, I will find a separate apartment or keep her here overnight.”

“No,” Steve breathes, visibly deflating. Like a scolded puppy, your boyfriend tucks his chin down, rings of grey settling beneath his dark sea eyes. It’s plain as day he hasn’t slept either.

The nurse calls for a wheelchair, and Steve dutifully helps you scoot off the table when it arrives. While he positions the IV to move in tandem, you attempt to push yourself by the huge rubber wheels and fail. Doc was not kidding about muscle weakness.

Steve says nothing.

You’re rolled back to your shared room by the grumpiest Captain America. 

He helps you dress in baggy, comfy clothes and silently reattaches the line of your drip. Not one touch is in a sexual, sensual, or even intimate way even though you are naked at some point.

You can’t remember what you expected; you’ve been so focused on completing the mission for so long. Did you want a desperate homecoming? Did you want him to grovel or worship at your feet? You think, at some point, you knew he’d push back, but you thought…maybe…he’d want you more.

Steve seems to turn his interest on and off so easily, which is great professionally but hard to read personally…or maybe you’re just struggling under the distracting hum of medication. It’s a white noise you can’t ignore, lulling you unconscious, so you can’t analyze the situation anymore. Maybe, you think, you try…but the thoughts don’t come.

He situates you on his side of the bed—to accommodate the cord and stand—and tucks himself quietly into the smallest corner of mattress that his bulk can fit on.

He falls asleep holding your hand. It’s the only place you two are connected. After nearly eighty-five hours apart, that’s still worth it. Maybe.

At some point, his hand goes limp and falls away.

Finally clear of mind, you keep watching Steve the next day. He doesn’t necessarily seem angry, and he doesn’t necessarily seem relieved either. He’s so robotic in his interactions. He won’t talk to you just at you. 

You understand why he was so standoffish last night, but you thought Steve would surely want you after that. You thought he’d start touching you again. 

You two waited so long for your first time, but after that, sex was relatively easy. Steve is an affectionate man when he’s allowed, when he’s in love, and you know he loves you.

Like the nurse said: all your tissue is fully healed. The only restrictions you have are in regards to field work, and the phantom jolts of pain—when you reach into a cabinet or take down a clothes hanger—aren’t real. 

Steve’s always an arm’s length away, just in case, meaning he is there to help you.

Always an arm’s length away.

No closer. No farther.

That afternoon you attempt to start talking about your mission, but that’s when he moves.

Steve practically sprints out the door with a half-baked excuse, so you go to physical therapy alone. You can go alone. That’s not the problem.

If you thought talking to Steve was difficult, you weren’t ready for how hard touching Steve would be.

You try to initiate even a cuddle that second night, and he jumps up claiming to have forgotten something somewhere else that he promised someone. Your boyfriend can’t lie worth beans. You don’t know why he tries.

You’re asleep before he returns.

The next night is exactly the opposite. You spend longer at the gym, slowly and painstakingly repeating every single exercise you know in order to streamline these new muscles. It’s an unholy pain in the ass, but you do it because you can—and will—get back in the field.

Even though the workout was mild, you’re awash with that runner’s high when you return to find Steve passed out already. He looks so peaceful, brow relaxed and lips gently parted. He also looks, well, good enough to eat, but you’ll start slow.

There was one time early on, before you two went all the way, that you woke him up by grinding on him in your sleep. You think now, perhaps, you can recreate that, catch him off-guard and dissipate some of this tension between you. This would be a good release. You don’t normally go this long. Obviously, Steve wouldn’t have masturbated while you were MIA and possibly dead, and every other second since has been accounted for.

He practically can’t have sex anywhere else except naked in a bed. He’s even told you, point blank, that he feels no need to touch himself since he has you. You are what he wants. That’s what he said.

Except he doesn’t wake up to your advances. He just rolls over like you’re disturbing him and softly snores.

For the first time, you wonder if you’ve really broken the two of you. How long will he be mad at you for doing your job? 

Steve rolls back over in his sleep, holding you close like nothing’s happened. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it, but it’s enough and so, so wonderful to imagine all is well.

About a week into your ‘recovery’ (which is sorta bullshit since you can do everything the same by now just with an occasional, faint twinge, no more than the strain of every workout, ever), Steve takes Sam Wilson up on his offer of 1-on-1 basketball for a while. The Team—minus you—has a raid planned in the morning, and there’s always nervous energy to burn off in anticipation.

Your boyfriend has been a nightmare grump, but no one wants to take on the hassle of convincing Steve that he’s being too Steve to Steve properly. He still won’t talk to you about anything other than the weather, food, or daily schedules.

You’re even considering taking a break from field work because this all has become too much. If Steve is gonna shut down after every dangerous mission—which is, in fact, all of them—then maybe it’s not worth the risk. You’re good, you’re great, but you aren’t super.

“Taste of his own medicine, I say,” Bucky mutters, sitting beside you on the bleachers between courts.

“Huh?” You were distracted, watching Steve and Sam squeak across the floor.

Steve sinks a perfect layup and doesn’t gloat. Do-gooder.

“He used to get so mad when I’d find him in an alley all beaten up,” Buck continues. “Thought I was being too protective. I trusted him, but he was puny and he did get sick all the time. He could take a punch, sure, but every mark took weeks to heal. Half the time, they were still yellow when some idiot landed fresh ones.”

Steve claps beneath the net, encouraging Sam, focused on not outshining anyone.

He’s been the same with everyone else but you, and the whole Team can see it. You shouldn’t be surprised someone is finally talking about it; you simply wonder how Buck drew the short straw.

“Didn’t wanna be babied,” Bucky snorts, fondly glowering at his century-long bestie, “while low and behold, he pulls that stunt with everybody, every day.” 

“Yup,” you pop, looking at the matte metal beneath your feet, knowing there’s a line between the ‘caring’ version and the ‘coddling’ version. Steve nose-dived right over that line this time.

“What he appreciated, though, was consistency.” Bucky swivels his hair around into a bun and ties it. “Punk is dedicated, and even if it was just him--the hund’ed pound soaking-wet guy whose only real talent at that point was getting back on his feet--he knew he’d fight anyway.

“Bit hypocritical to be mad at his girl for doing the same, don’t ya think?” Bucky muses, clucking his tongue.

The brunette watches you bristle slightly at the moniker. His girl. Not only is it what got you into this mess, it feels untrue based on that big, broad, cold shoulder you’ve received from the man racing back and forth in front of you.

Smiling, Bucky nudges you with his elbow. “I’m excited for you to get back on your feet,” he adds.

You’re stuck thinking about that long after Bucky jumps into the game.

It’s no surprise then that when the doctor gives you the all-clear the very next morning, you’re over the moon and ready to strike. You don’t hesitate for a second when the alarm sounds less than an hour later.

The Team needs reinforcements. Your Team needs you.

You hustle into the back of a quinjet with a dozen agents. While the others file out to where the main conflict is raging, you sneak around the perimeter to suss out the mission goal, a treasure trove of enemy tech hidden somewhere in what was thought to be an abandoned village.

Not so abandoned if it’s lighting up like the pyrotechnics show on an action film set...

The explosions rattle the ground, yet you know the Team have breached the main chamber. Those enemy forces still fighting are distracting from a retreat. The other agents can catch them just fine. Your mission is intel recovery.

To keep your approach stealthy, you don’t announce your movements over comms, and Nat doesn’t scan back down the dark hallway you wedge into as she carries out an asset. If you weren’t so far back, you never would have seen him.

An enemy agent slinks out from behind a floor-to-ceiling tapestry right in front of you. His silhouette is short and thin; he’s built for stealth, too.

Your heart thumps loud in your ears as you follow, and that bastard gets close—so close—to Steve’s turned back that the pistol’s muzzle nearly touches.

Not this time. Not a chance. None.

You land a roundhouse kick to the exposed neck above his kevlar, and that sucker goes down like a sack of potatoes.

Steve turns around at the ready, stunned silent in the middle of his instructions to Bucky who is not visible from the other side heaped boxes. The papers still smoke where evidence was burned.

You salute at big, blue eyes. 

“On your six, Cap.” 

Steve looks at you, looks down at the man, and looks back up at you…pissed. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

What the fuck indeed…

All you did was help your team. All you did was stop Captain America from getting his head blown off. In no small fashion, all you did was save your boyfriend’s life.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

His grip on your arm is painful as he leads you all the way back to the jet himself, shoving you into the jump seat between other returned agents and shouting for you to 'stay right there.'

Bucky announces over comms that the rest is clean up. All but the specialized document interpretation and perimeter teams are moving out. 

Steve huffs, contemplates staying on a battlefield instead of going back with you, but decides to sit across the ship in silence again, fuming, making fists over and over in his fingerless leather gloves, bitterly sniffing as loud as possible the entire flight home. He refuses to answer a single person until the jet touches down at HQ. 

“Everyone off,” he bellows, “everyone except you.” 

You can’t stop it. Your hands fly up in exaggerated annoyance automatically.

“What do you want, Steve? I got the go-ahead this morning. I’m allowed to be here.”

“Stop doing that.” He rounds on you.

“Doing what? My job?!”

Chest puffed out, feathers ruffled, cheeks hot and red, Steve peels off his cowl. “Being insubordinate.”

“You’re not my superior officer,” you hiss, “we are equals, and if you think for one second I did anything wrong out there, go ahead and report me. From where I’m standing, I did the work, got cleared for duty, helped out the team, and stopped you from being shot.”

You poke a finger to his chest for each achievement listed.

“Fine," Steve shouts, crossing his arms, "but quit acting like a selfish coward.”

Them be fightin’ words. “A what?”

“You heard me,” he all but whispers.

It’s laughable, truly laughable how bad Steve is at hiding some of those wheels from turning in his head. This isn’t about today. This is the thing he buried the past week.

You roll your eyes. “If you’re gonna throw a hissy fit every time I get a scratch—“

“THREE BULLETS IS NOT A SCRATCH.” He tries—he visibly, painfully tries—to keep his cool one last time. “You weren’t ready,” he concludes, judge, jury, and executioner all poured into one star-spangled package.

“Say’s who?” You’re stepping closer, getting in his face because this is bullshit and unfair. “Last time I checked you’re not a doctor, and you should be thanking me for saving your ass—“

“It’s not your job to save me.”

“We have the same job, Steve! We are both perfectly capable of—“

“I know that,” he barks, hot breath mingling with yours.

“Do you? Because you don’t seem to think I can handle myself.” You push weakly at his chest, taunting, like it's a game. “Maybe you need to walk it off, buddy.”

His face cracks, an avalanche unmoored from a stable mountain.

Oh shit. You’ve done it now.

“Walk it off?! WALK IT OFF?!”

Steve charges like a bull seeing red, crowding you against the far wall, his own derisive finger pointed at your heart.

“You were injured. You didn’t make contact. You went dark for days, and you could have died. Alone. In the middle of nowhere. Who knows how long it would have taken us to find you. No—“ he cups your chin in a tight pinch “—you want to talk about the job? It’s protocol to check in. It’s common courtesy to let me know you’re alive, and it’s goddamn rude to ignore your own safety.”

A dark, hazy sheen layers over his sharp gaze. “Don’t make me keep you home.”

There’s a deep line of frustration carved between his brows. His nostrils flair as he waits, daring you to refute him.

“Well—” you purse your lips in defiance “—isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.”

Steve lets go of you, smacked away by your cutting tone.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, whatever, Rogers,” you dismiss. “We both know you don’t have the authority to bench me.”

“Like hell I don’t,” he growls, grabbing your wrists and throwing your arms above your head, He weaves your hands through the cargo net behind you. The loops are tight and complicated in seconds, he’s so fast.

You can’t wriggle away.

“Let’s see how you like it.”

Steve roughly throws the zipper of your uniform down, letting the jacket hang open to show nothing but your sports bra.

“Feeling paralyzed—“ he dexterously undoes your belt “—exposed—“ your pants and underwear are yanked down to your ankles “—and afraid.” His last word thickens the air on the jet. 

How can this man launch you into unbridled lust in the space of two syllables?

Who. Fucking. Cares. How.

Steve’s fingertips teasingly glide over the swell of your breasts, brush down your belly, and tick their way in a casual walk between your legs. He retracts his touch the instant you let out a longing sigh, unable to restrain how needy you are. His fingers wander to perfectly clean and unmarked flesh…on your thigh, along one side, and a few inches below that. He’s tracing the bullet wounds he watched heal so quickly.

“Maybe I should leave you wondering how it’ll all play out?” he says absently, lost in thought, his thumb shifting to notch into the dip of your hip. “Maybe I should leave you wondering if we’ll ever—”

“Yes,” you whimper, no real idea what you’re saying. That’s not what answer you meant.

“How would you like three whole days of this feeling, huh? You think you’d fare any better than I did? Think you’d make it even five minutes?”

“Uh-uh.” Again, with no clue what you’re truly responding to, you buck your hips forward onto his long fingers.

The cords around your wrists get tighter while you struggle to set a pace. Behind you, the metal rings of the netting hit the hull with a soft clinking noise. 

“Not so fast.” Steve pulls his hand away just far enough to remove all friction. “Because three days, sweetheart, it was torture. Felt like an eternity right on the edge.”

“Please,” you beg.

One deliberate swipe of his fingers through your slick is enough to make you mewl.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Steve. Please, I need you.”

“Need me? You have an odd way of showing it, doll. You have to promise me—“ he thrusts his fingers in “—promise me you’ll never leave me.”

“I’ll never leave you,” you cry, convinced that it’s true for the sole reason: you never want to experience anything other than this Steve for as long as you live.

“You are so brave, and so…capable, and I know you can do anything, but you…can’t survive anything.” He takes excruciating pleasure in slow thrusts and teasing circles. “Promise me you won’t be so reckless. Promise, say it.”

“I promise.” Your weight sags into his ministrations, called to focus on nothing but where his hand disappears between you. “I promise I won’t be reckless.”

“That’s my girl.”

Your head falls limp against your tied arms. It sounds so good from his lips. Why did you ever doubt?

“I promise I’ll come back to you,” you manage out like a prayer.

“Yeah? That’s it. Is that what you want?”

“I promise. I promise, Steve.” You time your movements sloppily with his measured tempo. “Please, I need more.”

“I know. I know.” He’s strung out, too, listening to your pathetic whimpers after less than five minutes, exactly like he predicted.

You’re so over-wrought with desperation you can’t coordinate with his manhandling your legs apart—your knees, really, since your ankles are still caught in your pants. Instead of taking off your boots, Steve simply unzips himself and dives right into your wet, warm, and welcoming pussy.

Knowing he has a thing against anything naughty in his suits makes it sexier. You want his intensity—you’ve always been curious—and finally you have it: unhinged, untethered, super Steve Rogers. Your body makes room out of sheer joy.

“I know,” Steve coos, his face pressed to your chest as he adjusts. “Fuck, I know, honey.”

“Move, Steve.”

“No,” he says with a gentle kiss to your sternum. “You wanna come? Go ahead. You can do it all on your own. You can do anything you want, can’t ya?”

You groan in frustration.

You wanted this, an annoying voice in the muddled depths of your mind calls. You’re independent.

With a sob of both excitement and fury, your thighs weld onto that sturdy, I-beam beast. You brace your bent arms over your angled and hovering body, leveraging the cargo straps to hoist you up and down.

Your muscles burn, strained more than they were on your lone journey back to HQ.

Steve grunts and moans, the ghost of his wide spread palms beneath your back as a safety net.

“That’s it. That’s it, good girl.” 

Amidst your own noises, you can barely hear him. You’re not building to a climax, you’re falling into one at terminal velocity, flailing. Struggling to hang on and let go all at once, you do come, but it’s more of a plateau than a full release.

Steve’s unhappy and takes your ass in a bruising grip, finally pumping his thick length in and out, dragging the head of his cock across that perfect spot over and over.

“You can do better than that,” he snarls, hair wrecked and falling in his face.

Wave, undertow, and wave again, pleasures simply blend into the next. He gets handsy, keyed up and out of control, muttering “don’t you ever fucking leave me.”

You’d scold him for cursing if the air weren’t being punched from your lungs.

“Come on, sweetheart. Three for three.”

You’re almost disappointed he only wants you to come three times in payment for his days of torture. Even as a tear escapes the corner of your eye and your throat breaks in a hoarse “please,” you know you would give him more. You'd give him anything.

When you finally reach that shattering end, Steve is almost incoherently feral, one hand clamped at the back of your neck, the other anchored to the small of your back, slamming your ass to his leather-covered thighs like you are his mission.

“I promise,” you try to repeat, but you aren’t sure they sound like words.

Whether in response to you or as an errant thought, Steve’s own broken voice rattles at your sweaty neck. “You can take it,” he whispers gruffly. “You can take it.”

You’re floating by the time he comes, his hips stilling slowly. The buzz of your body now outdoes anything anesthesia or pain meds concocted.

Steve peppers your skin with lazy, light kisses until you remind him of your bound wrists, but then he’s overly apologetic and scrambling to free them.

He keeps himself inside you and maneuvers to sit with you on his lap.

You stay there for a while, your numb and sore arms folded between your chests. Steve only stops petting your shoulders to cradle your face, soft blue eyes roaming, adoring. He whispers concern that you’re okay, how are your legs, are you warm enough, you feeling good?

Yes, you think, you’ve taken care of your girl.

“I love seeing you like this,” he mumbles long after the pins and needles have abandoned their assault on your tired legs.

You tuck some silky hair behind his ear. “Like what? Fucked out?”

He’s floating too because he doesn’t chastise.

“Happy, healthy—“ he lets out a deep sigh “—home.”

“Speaking of home,” you say, inching ever so slightly higher to let him slide out of you, “wanna cuddle in bed all night and not get up until someone tries to break in the door?”

That knocks some of the glow off him. He drags a hand down his face. “Oh god, the poor people who have to clean this thing…”

“Let’s be honest,” you snort. “This isn’t the worst thing that’s been on you, but if it’s that big of a deal, we could go hose you down before handing our equipment in.”

He smiles, shaking his head in dismissal.

With his help, you climb off his lap and slowly shimmy up your bottoms, realizing he did truly make a mess of you both.

Steve looks down at his own lap, horrified. “Do I need to burn this?”

“That sounds like a challenge to make you filthier,” you consider, but maybe you should change into your civies before exiting the jet…

“Ya know,” Steve muses, passing over to the small locker of clothing overhead and grabbing a t-shirt and sweats, “I almost got shot in the head today, and you had three bullets fished outta you a week ago. I’m thinking we’ve earned a vacation.”

Workaholic Steve? Actively applying for time off? You’ll be damned.

“My my my, Captain Rogers…the real dirty talk begins.”

He huffs out a laugh and blushes.

“Well, I know we didn’t do anything more special than dinner for our anniversary, so…” He pulls you to his chest again, smelling of slightly musty laundry and pungent sex. “Let’s go on a fucking vacation.”

Your neck cranes to his height to see a soft smile. Oof, he’s good.

 “I missed you,” he adds like a prayer, “and you’re the badass who saved me.”

He giggles at your scrunched nose and watches you bask in that glory.

“Like I said, you’re welcome—“ you hug Steve, letting his warmth radiate through you, moving in time with his rising and falling chest “—and I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kisses the crown of your head.

When you open the bombay doors, there’s a thermos left at the base of the ramp, a folded paper tucked beneath it. 

We should talk about how to better soundproof the jets. Brought you some refreshments. It’s hazelnut. ~Bucky

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jamneuromain @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @brandycranby

A/N: I sincerely give up on editing this anymore, so I hope it turned out okay 🙇🏻‍♀️

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