#it doesn’t look cozy but I will force it to be cozy

[timaeusterrored]

I find it hilarious how much I love Cyberpunk, but also the cozy aesthetic and games like Stardew Valley. Like my brain is filled with Vax and Kerry and Niddles cuddling while it rains outside and Vex and her daughter having a movie night in their Jammies and Venus having a cozy lil trailer and half of Vincent’s closet being comfy clothes. I love cozy🥰🥰🥰

[crystallinestars]

If They Were Your Pet Cat

Happy Cat Day (22.02)! I was inspired to write a few headcanons about what the boys would be like as cats.

I wanted to include a few more boys, but my brain ran out of juice.

Parts 2 and 3 with Honkai Star Rail boys here and here.

Contains: Kaveh, Alhaitham, Itto, Scaramouche, Venti, and Dainsleif.

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Kaveh:

🍷 Is a Siberian breed.

🍷 When you first brought him home, Kaveh took a while to warm up to you. He was wary of your intentions and reluctant to let you touch him. With some patience and gentleness, you eventually melted the golden feline’s heart, and he became inseparable from you. Wherever you go in the house, he follows, or at the very least checks on you to know where you are.

🍷 Kaveh is very sensitive to your emotional state. If you’re feeling depressed, he likes to lay on your chest and purr until you feel better. When you cry, he’s always by your side, rubbing his cheeks against you and licking at your face as if trying to wipe them away. He doesn’t leave your side until he’s sure you’re alright.

🍷 Due to your work/school, Kaveh is used to you coming and going at certain times as a part of your daily routine. However, if you come home later than usual, expect to have a grumpy cat on your hands. He will angrily meow at you non-stop and flick his tail in annoyance. He doesn’t like being alone, and he lets you have a piece of his mind if you leave him alone for long periods of time. He’ll sulk unless you coax him with some treats and gentle pats. Spending some time grooming or playing with him usually calms him down afterward.

🍷 Is very good with having guests over. Kaveh is a sociable cat and always greets anyone that comes through the door and gives them a sniff to learn who they are. He’s open to being petted by others but prefers to sit on your lap as opposed to your friends or family.

🍷 He’s a gorgeous cat but his coat is high maintenance. Because it’s so thick and long, he doesn’t tolerate the heat well. He requires regular brushing and grooming to keep his coat healthy. It’s a good thing he enjoys being petted because it makes grooming much easier. He tends to lean into your touch or the hairbrush when you stroke his body and purrs a lot throughout the entire process. He loves being pampered.

🍷 Kaveh likes to sleep on your bed, pressed up against you or lying on your chest. You got him a cat bed, but Kaveh still prefers to sleep right next to you in your bed.

🍷 He’s generally very affectionate. He both loves to give you affection and receive it. You’re not sure how well Kaveh understands what you say, but he always looks very smug whenever you praise him and give him scritches. He’ll headbutt you, asking for more head pats and affection.

🍷 You often find him staring out the window with rapture. You’re not sure what captivates his attention so much—maybe the sunset, the rainbow after the rain, or perhaps the flowers that bloom right outside your window. He’s also strangely attracted to lightning. Rather than get scared and hide, he sits by the window and stares out at the stormy skies.

Alhaitham:

🎧 Is a Russian blue.

🎧 Alhaitham is the quietest cat you’ve ever met. Hearing him meow or make any kind of vocal sound is rare. He’s also very introverted and prefers to spend time alone, hidden in some cozy nook or cranny.

🎧 He’s also very stubborn and smart. If you want to put a silly little cat costume on him for laughs, you can forget it because Alhaitham will give you the slip every time without fail. Rather than try to chase and play hide-and-seek with him, it’s much easier to abandon the idea altogether. If he doesn’t want something done to him, you won’t be able to force him.

🎧 As mentioned earlier, he’s a very smart cat. Alhaitham figured out how to open doors on his own, and is even able to open the fridge all by himself. It’s a bit annoying because he sometimes uses his abilities to sneak a tasty little something from the fridge, but his intelligence is truly a marvel. When you speak to him, Alhaitham’s expressions and body language change in response to your words, almost as if he understands exactly what you’re saying and is reacting to it.

🎧 Most of your friends and family have only caught glimpses of him when they visit. That’s because Alhaitham dislikes having guests over, and tends to hide from them. He only comes out once they leave.

🎧 He’s not a social cat in general and likes to keep his distance even from you. He’s not a lap cat, and will jump off and leave if you try to force him to lay on your lap. When he does feel like being social, Alhaitham will lay beside you if you’re reading a book, or perch on your shoulder to observe what you’re doing.

🎧 Is a very lazy cat, so you frequently find him taking naps while lying in a warm spot of sunshine. If you disturb his nap by attempting to pet or poke him, he gives you a displeased look and flicks his tail in annoyance. He’s very grumpy when his sleep is ruined.

🎧 Alhaitham never listens to strangers but does listen to you. If you call him over, he will come to you. He also tolerates your touch, and lets you squeeze and pet him without biting or scratching you. He looks unhappy about it, but lets you do as you please. However, if you ruin his attempts to leave once he’s had enough of your affection, he will take his revenge. That cup that’s sitting near the edge of the table? Yeah, he’s gonna push that off and stare at you without remorse while it crashes to the ground.

Itto:

🐂 A Maine Coon.

🐂 Itto is not meant for a house cat lifestyle. Despite your best attempts to keep him indoors, the rascal always manages to slip out somehow and venture into the great outdoors. His yearning to explore the greater world is too strong for you to contain, so you have to make peace with the fact he’ll spend most of his time roaming outside. On the bright side, Itto always comes home to you without fail, looking happy to see you and bask in your affection again.

🐂 He made friends with some stray cats in the area, so you have a small group of them regularly come to your porch and meow until you give them some food. It’s a bit costly to feed so many mouths, but watching the cats play together or rub against your legs while purring affectionately convinces you it’s worth it.

🐂 Since Itto spends so much time outside, he tends to come home dirty and matted. He needs to be bathed to stay clean, but good luck getting him in the bath. He screams and yowls bloody murder every time you try to wash him, to the point that your neighbors knock on your door to ask what’s going on. Thankfully, they grow accustomed to Itto’s bathtime opera and stop pestering you about it.

🐂 Brushing Itto’s fur also proves a challenge because he just can’t sit still. The little guy has too much energy to keep contained, so he usually ends up looking disheveled.

🐂 Itto is also a giant glutton. He’s capable of eating a week’s worth of cat food in just 3-4 days, yet somehow doesn’t gain weight. It’s expensive to keep him fed. If you try to put him on a diet, he will be very vocal in his complaints and even steal food from your plate.

🐂 He’s a troublemaker, but he’s incredibly loyal to you. If you’re feeling down, he’ll get you to play with him to take your mind off your troubles. If that doesn’t work, he’ll become more affectionate and rub up against you to get you to pet him and relieve stress. He never abandons you if you’re not feeling your best.

Scaramouche:

☂️ Is a domestic shorthaired tuxedo cat.

☂️ Was very hostile and cold towards you when you first got him. He was averse to touch, and often hissed and glared at you for the first few months of your joint cohabitation. Over time, when he was sure you meant him no harm, Scaramouche relaxed in your presence and wasn’t so hostile towards you anymore. He still glares daggers at any guests you may have over, but with you, he’s calmer and more affectionate.

☂️ Scaramouche is a bit of a loner and tends to slink off on his own to whatever corner of the house he calls his own. When guests are over, he likes to sit in an elevated spot (top of the closet, fridge, or shelf) and observe everyone from above. He does this for two reasons: firstly to discourage people from touching him, and secondly to keep an eye on the people around you.

☂️ If there’s someone he doesn’t like, Scaramouche will make it very apparent. That unfortunate guest of yours will get a warning growl to stay away from you. If the guest doesn’t comply, Scaramouche could even go as far as scratching the person. It’s not good behaviour on his part, but Scaramouche has his reasons. You’ve come to learn that he’s very good at picking out individuals who have bad intentions towards you or are just overall not good people.

☂️ He's a bit of a grumpy cat. He’ll let out noises of discontent if you pick him up to cuddle him or groom him, but he’s just all bark and no bite (but only with you). As unhappy as he’ll look, he’ll tolerate whatever it is you want to do to him. Unless it’s dressing him in silly costumes. Then you’ll get a harmless swat to your face (he makes sure to keep his claws retracted) and won’t see him for the rest of the day. Scaramouche won’t come out even when you call for him. No silly costumes, please.

☂️ For all his grouchy attitude, he still loves you. He wakes you up on time if you sleep through your alarm, badgers you if you forget to take your meds, and purrs on your chest when you feel sad. He’s very intelligent for a cat.

☂️ Is very picky about food. He won’t eat just anything you give him. Unfortunately for you, the only cat food brand he’s willing to eat is very expensive. He’s a very spoiled cat.

☂️ Hates bathing. Scaramouche tolerates brushing and nail trimming, but God forbid you try to put him in the bath. He will meow angrily and try to run, so it’s always an ordeal to hold him still long enough to bathe him. Sends you a scathing look if you laugh at how skinny he looks once his fur is matted to his body, making him look several sizes smaller. If you laugh, he’ll give you the cold shoulder afterward, so you won’t see him for a few days.

☂️ Isn’t into playing with cat toys, but he does hunt in his spare time. He brought you birds and mice a few times as a ‘gift’. He genuinely meant well, so was a bit irritated that you threw his gifts away.  

Venti:

🍃 A munchkin cat.

🍃 Venti is a cat that cannot be tamed. He clearly understands your commands because he sometimes complies with them when he feels like it, but most of the time he prefers to do his own thing. This includes venturing out into the great outdoors. Venti is not content staying cooped up at home, and you’ve long since learned to just let him go out when he wants. He’ll find a way to escape one way or the other. Besides, he still comes home, so it’s not like he doesn’t like living with you.

🍃 Venti seems to have an appreciation for music. He becomes energized whenever you play music, no matter what genre the song may be. He becomes more playful, so you often find yourself sidetracked playing with the cat instead of doing your work. If you can’t play with him, then Venti will zoom around the house like a cat on a sugar rush.

🍃 To your surprise, Venti also likes to sing. Or at least, you think the caterwauls he’s making are his attempts at singing along to some of the songs. It’s an amusing, albeit weird, sight.

🍃 Is generally not a lap cat, but he makes exceptions if he senses that you’re feeling down. During such moments, he becomes more subdued and nuzzles into your side, allowing you to pet him. His gentle purring and soft body usually help you feel better. If not, then he’ll stick to you like glue and follow you around the house to keep you company. It will be one of the few times when Venti sleeps next to you at night since he usually goes off on his own during that time. It’s obvious that he worries about your well-being.

🍃 Out of all the foods you let Venti try, you never expected him to like apples as much as he did. You swear he likes them more than the expensive cat treats you bought him. You trained him to do all kinds of tricks and even sit still for grooming in exchange for a few slices of apple (given as a treat).

🍃 He likes sleeping outside under the shade of the canopy, accompanied by a gentle breeze. You often catch him sleeping high up in a tree or a nook somewhere in the grass.

Dainsleif:

🌌 A Norwegian Forest cat.

🌌 You got Dainsleif from a shelter. He has a chronic illness that requires you to take him to the vet regularly for treatment, and some kind of scarring on his right side. The right side of his face and flank has matted, thinning fur, and you can only guess what happened to him before he ended up at the shelter. He was a very pitiful sight, which is why you brought him home. Under your care, Dainsleif lives the best life he can given his afflictions, and you’re even proud to say that aside from his mangled right side, the rest of his coat looks gorgeous.

🌌 Dainsleif is a relatively quiet and well-tempered cat. Though he’s shy and skittish around strangers, with you, he is more open. In private, his sweet temperament comes out. He often grooms you with his tongue as an act of affection and relishes in your gentle caresses when you pet or groom him in return. Watching his eyes close as he relaxes is a nice feeling since he usually has his guard up.

🌌 He’s not playful. Dainsleif is kind of serious for a cat. He dutifully waits for you at the door like a dog whenever you leave the house and greets you with a loud meow when you return. He doesn’t play with the toys you got him and prefers to spend most of his time sitting by the window and staring outside with an expression you can only describe as wistful.

🌌 Likes to sample whatever food you’re having. Dainsleif eats his cat food just fine, but you notice that he’s often curious about what you’re eating. He can’t help but want to sniff and taste human foods since the unique scents and flavors entice him. You share a little bit of your food with him after making sure it’s safe for cats, and Dainsleif couldn’t be more grateful for your generosity. However, this led to him expecting you to share a bit of your food with him during every meal. He’ll look dejected if you don’t.

🌌 When not weighed down by his illness, Dainsleif is very agile and has good stamina. He’s well suited for traveling outdoors with you if it’s something you want to try and will stay by your side like a loyal guard dog the entire time.

🌌 He’s very pliant with you. He tolerates bathing and grooming like a trooper despite not being fond of it since you’re the only one he trusts. If someone else attempted to groom him, then Dainsleif would simply run off and hide. However, he allows you to maneuver him in whatever way you need to complete the work well, and he doesn’t even complain about it. He becomes the sweetest cat in your presence.

[hollandsangel]

casual | m. sturniolo

i’ve been scheming for weeks !! (actually started this before move over AND voice. so.)

basically i’m obsessed with this song

summary: the most dangerous label is the casual one; or you both want more

warnings: matt x fem!reader, use of y/n, ANGST, cursing, happy ending bc i’m a sucker & a lost cause

wc: 6.5k

the sun is dipping behind the horizon, painting the sky pink and orange. you have your window rolled down, letting the salt air breeze pick your hair up as you rest against the car door. matt has elmer’s new song playing on aux, something lofi with a bit of spanish mixed in.

“like what you see?” he speaks up, taking his eyes off the road for a second to look over at you. he stares for a second, your skin illuminated by the fading rays of the sun, kissing the tops of your cheeks and giving you a warm glow.

you press yourself up to sit properly and catch his hand resting on the center console. you always loved that he drives with his left hand, the right always close enough for you to touch. 

“it’s pretty,” you say, poking your head back out of the window, looking overhead at the passing trees, “the palms are so tall.” matt squeezes your hand, and when you look back up he’s already looking at you, smiling when you meet his eyes.. his hair looks lighter in the setting sun, the side of his face lit up all golden and warm. you bite your lip and smile, turning away with a slight flush.

“it’s green,” you tell him and he flicks his head back forward, muttering a curse under his breath.

“my bad,” he admits, refusing to drop your hand. 

it looked like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, just takes a breath and lets it out before turning back to the road.

when the car pulls into the garage you reach to the back to grab your overnight bag. matt’s already out of the car, coming over to your side to open your door, “c’mon,” he says in that silly high pitched voice, just to hear you giggle.

you make your way to his bedroom, knowing the ins and outs of the triplet’s house like the back of your hand. matt follows behind you, his footsteps echoing amongst the hardwood floors. 

“i can’t wait to lay down,” you sigh, the effects of the sun's heat catching up with you now that you’re in the cool, air conditioned house.

“yeah, i’m feelin’ pretty tired too,” matt agrees, his voice heavy and suddenly cloaked by fatigue.

you’d been out all day, shopping on melrose, walking by the beach. dinner and ice cream and the beating sun soaked up all your energy. nothing sounded better than getting cozy in matt’s bed and watching a movie, maybe catching a bit of a nap before deciding to head home. you knew he’d insist on driving you, and that always hurt more than you’d like to admit.

the two of you weren’t dating, he wasn’t your boyfriend and you told yourself you didn’t mind. it wasn’t a very convincing lie though, most everyone around you could tell. it’s not that you hadn’t talked about it, you had, there were just things getting in the way.

matt was worried about how his fans would react, and he absolutely did not want it to be at your expense. you hated the thought of pushing him, like forcing him or asking too much, being too needy would only drive him away. all your friends had told you to stop, that you were only going to get yourself hurt, but you’d honestly rather have half of him and a broken heart than none of him at all. 

you never doubted that he cares about you, in fact you know he does. he always picks you up from classes, knows your order at all your favourite fast food places and keeps an extra toothbrush in the bathroom for you. it’s things like that that make the title of causal or just seeing each other sting a little bit more.

here though, all settled in matt’s bed, you try not to think about it too hard. there’s some liam neeson movie he insisted on showing you playing on the tv, and you’re happy to be watching it, but mostly happy to be watching it with him. his chest rises and falls under your head with each breath and it’s making you more tired than before.

“i’m so warm,” you say through a yawn, all comfy now in your sweats and matt’s crewneck, although the comfort comes mostly from his arms wrapped around your middle. 

“you can throw on a pair of boxers if you want, top drawer,” matt offers, his arms unmoving, keeping you mildly trapped against him.

“let me goooo,” you groan dramatically, making a big show of sliding out from under his arms and grinning to yourself when he laughs.

“come back,” he pouts, reaching for a stuffed animal to take your place while you cross the room to his dresser.

“just give me a sec,” you giggle, rummaging around in the drawer and pulling out a pair of plaid boxers. there’s something stuck to it, all tangled up in the mess of his clothes, “what the– is this my bra? i’ve been looking for this for like a month.” 

matt lifts his head just enough to see what you’re holding up, huffing when he hits the pillow again, “i dunno, sweetheart, you probably left it, you’ve got a lot of stuff here,” he sounds tired, and the words are pressed against his pillow now that he’s rolled onto his stomach. 

you’ve got lots of stuff here.

it digs into you, how casually he says it, an almost physical ache you feel beyond your ribs, right where your heart is. 

quickly you try to shake it off, shucking off your sweatpants and sliding the boxers up your legs so you can hurry back into bed before allowing yourself to think about what he said too much. 

“c’mere,” there’s a little smile on his face when he says it, arm outstretched for you to crawl under. immediately matt tucks you up against his body impossibly close, his nose stuffed into your hair and breathing you in. it feels nice, right, and you let yourself bask in it, like maybe the state of your relationship (or lack thereof) won’t be in limbo forever. he has to feel it too, the pull.

“i think you should just stay tonight,” he says quietly against your temple, leaving a little kiss there.

“are you sure?”

he nods, “it’s late, ‘m not gonna kick you out,” you can see his smile in the dark, his features lit up delicately by the dim light of the movie, “and i kinda wanna cuddle,” he admits sheepishly, trying to hide his blush when you turn to him.

“awe, matty,” you tease, scooching closer to him, hardly an inch away.

“hey,” he says all high pitched, making you laugh again.

“that voice always gets me,” you tell him, snuggling up under his chin.

“that’s why i do it,” he tells you.

it doesn’t take long for you to slip into an easy sleep with matt holding you, the mindless noise coming from the tv luring you deeper into unconsciousness. he’s being extra gentle, finger tips dragging along your waist under your top. you hardly feel him slide out of bed or tuck you in all snug under the covers.

nick’s in the kitchen when matt emerges from his bedroom for some water,  hunting for something in the pantry. matt rubs his eyes.

“hello?” chris leans forward on the couch, his voice startling matt.

“jesus, what– you’re just both out here at fucking two in the morning?” he grumbles, eyes squinted against the harsh lights.

“we ordered food,” chris stands up, walking into the kitchen.

nick nods, closing the cupboard, glass in hand, “we thought you were at y/n’s or something, i didn’t hear you come in,”

matt grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and a takes a sip before answering, “nah she’s here, she’s asleep,” he says, nodding towards his bedroom.

nick groans, “god, are you guys dating yet,” he asks, head rolling back against his shoulders, exsapertated.

matt’s eyes widen at the sudden outburst of noise, looking back at his door to make sure nick didn’t wake you, “dude, be quiet,” he urges.

you’d felt matt’s absence after a few minutes, the warmth of his body leaving the bed when he did. slowly you sit up, pressing the heel of your palm into your eye and swinging your feet to the floor quietly. you stand behind matt’s closed bedroom door, prepared to silently creep out and go to the bathroom when you catch his voice. 

“and no,we’re just casual,” he continues to answer nick’s question, who glances over and chris. “what— don’t look at him like that,” this earns him another sideye, “i mean it, it’s not serious.”

“matthew” nick starts, “isn’t she asleep in your bed right now?” nick points an accusatory finger in his brother’s direction, emphasizing his words.

it’s matt’s turn to look at chris, who holds his hands up in surrender, “don’t look at me, i’m with nick,” he says, looking away from his brother from where he remains on the couch.

“well she’s not my girlfriend, if that’s where this is going,” matt turns back to the fridge, not really looking for anything, just trying to hide from his brother’s judgmental, but justified, stares. 

it hurts to hear, even if you know it’s the truth.

“and why not, idiot,” nick asks, getting fed up. he can clearly tell how his brother feels and is getting frustrated, mad even, with the idea of him toying with your feelings. 

“i just—i just can’t do it.” that hurts more, a sharp pain you feel in your chest. you swallow dryly, and that hurts too. 

you decide you don’t have to go to the bathroom that badly anymore, and slowly sink back into matt’s bed. you know you and matt aren’t together, that he’s not your boyfriend, but a part of you has always clung to the idea that one day he would be, that he’d finally make the move. you thought he liked you enough to at least try.

tugging the duvet up to your chin you roll over onto your side to face the wall. matt comes back into the bedroom and you can hear nick and chris talking quietly for a second before the door closes again. you’re not too sure, but you think one of them mumbles your name amidst the conversation. matt slides back under the covers with you, coming as close as he can to wrap his arms around you.

it makes your head spin, his words rattling around in your mind, saying he “can’t do it,” but here is, body tucked perfectly against yours, holding you so tight you’d think he never wanted to let go.

—

matt seems notice that you’re a bit quieter than usual the next morning, but you try to hide it under the excuse of not feeling well. he offers to drop you off and you take him up on it, knowing that marinating in the misery you feel won’t solve anything but seems to be the easiest thing to do at the moment.

“text me if you need anything, okay?” his tone is concerned and you can feel him looking at you even though you’re trying to avoid eye contact. you know you’d cave, catching a glimpse of the light blue with all that worry clouding it.

“yeah, i will,” you sigh, reaching into the back seat to grab your bag. 

matt catches you, palm placed delicately along your jaw so you’ll look at him, “hey,” he says all soft, “c’mere,” he guides you forward slightly and you know what’s coming, you know it’s gonna hurt but you do it anyway.

he kisses you gently and you fall into it with ease, reaching out to touch his arm. when he strokes his thumb along your cheekbone you pull away, licking your lips.

“i’ve gotta go,” you whisper, afraid the full volume of your voice would shatter something, you’re not too sure what.

“yeah, okay,” he nods, pulling his hand away from your face and trying to smile as you open your door, watching you walk into your building.

he stays there in the parked car for a minute, wondering what’s wrong, pretending he doesn’t know that this whole situation hurts you just as much as it hurts him. he’s staring up at your apartment window, tapping the steering wheel and taking a long, deep breath.

“fuck,” he mutters to himself, pushing his hair back and putting the car in reverse.

—

you and matt don’t talk excessively for the next few days, only a few texts exchanged here and there and one phone call after he knew you’d just written a midterm. 

he called to ask how it went and tell you he was proud of you, and also to invite you out to dinner with his parents on the upcoming weekend. they were flying out to l.a. for a few days and he wanted you to meet them. it felt cruel.

“i dunno matt, i’ve got an assignment due sunday at midnight, i might not be able to make it,” of course you wanted to go, but the tug of self preservation was starting to become more equal to the pull you felt towards him. you were starting to lose sight of what was more important, him or yourself.

for so long it had been him.

“please, sweetheart, i feel like i haven’t seen you in forever,”  matt slumps into his desk chair, spinning back forth.

you cave and somehow your vision clears. it was him again.

“yeah, yeah, okay, i wanna see you too,”

matt smiles on the other end of the phone, “yay,” he says sweetly, making his joy obvious, “i can help you with your assignment if you want, too,” he offers, and you know he’s just trying to get a smile out of you.

you laugh without meaning to, “matt, you know nothing about the course,” 

“i’ll figure it out, anything i can do to make sure i see you,”

you bite your lip, trying to keep a smile at bay, “careful, you’re gonna make me think you like me or something,”

“aw, well i can’t have that now can i?” he teases, and it cuts deeper than he realizes it does.

“no,” you mutter, trying to hold onto the smile on your face even though matt can’t see you, “um, i should probably get going, if i wanna finish my assignment on time,”

“oh, yeah, okay. i could come by a little later with some food?” he poses it as a question, sensing your hesitancy.

“you don’t have to do that,”

“i know, but i want to,” he says it so easily, like there’s no reason in the world he wouldn’t come to your house after eleven pm just to sit on your bedroom floor while you do school work.

“canes?” you finally offer.

“be there in half an hour.” you hear the car keys jingle through the phone, the front door latching shut.

—

the triplet’s parents land on friday afternoon. you haven’t seen matt since wednesday night when he called and brought take out to your place, and you’re starting to feel a little nervous at the thought of seeing his parents.

you’ve spoken to them over facetime once or twice when matt had called them, but this is real, this is serious.

you think you’ve completely driven yourself insane with that, thinking of it as serious. for days there’s been a battle in your head about whether or not this means matt wants to make your relationship offical. it’s become such a problem that you’ve forbidden yourself from thinking about it.

taking a deep breath you refocus on yourself in the mirror, fixing your hair and trying to decide on a lip product for the night when your roomate wanders into your bedroom.

“how are you doing?” she asks, leaning against the door frame. you don’t answer, just look up at her with what must be a miserable expression, because she chuckles sadly at you, “that bad, huh?”

you groan and clench your fists, “i’m just confused!” you exclaim.

“i know, but i think tonight should clear some things up,” she tells you hopefully, and you really want to believe her.

“i hope so,” you sigh, “i just really like him,” you whine, defeated.

your phone dings then, a message from matt of course.

matt sturn

be there in twenty

ive got the kids

you laugh sadly at the text.

“‘s that him?” your roommate asks.

“yeah, him and his brothers are on the way, they’ll be here soon.”

“you’ll do great, don’t sweat it,” she tries to reassure you, giving you an over enthusiastic thumbs up before shutting your door again.

matt, nick and chris have been in the car for about five minutes and already matt’s debating driving into oncoming traffic. him and his brothers have had the same fight at least three times since you stayed over last week, and if he’s honest, he’s getting really sick of it.

“enough of this ‘i can’t do that’ bullshit, matt, she’s coming to dinner with our parents,” nick says pointedly, running out of air at the end of his setence, “you don’t just bring your hook up to that shit, so fucking stop talking to her if it’s that much of an issue,” he continues, leaning froward against matt’s seat, staring holes into the side of his brothers face.

matt is clearly aggravated, gripping the wheel a little too hard, “shut the fuck up, nick— she’s not just a hook up,” 

nick’s eyes get wider at this and he leans over matt’s seat, voice exponentially louder when he says, “you just proved my fucking point!!”

“you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” matt mumbles in a deft tone, staring harshly out onto the road.

chris leans over from the passenger seat, gesturing in matt’s direction, “and you do? you never shut the fuck up about her, and she’s always at the house but you’re too much of a pussy to do anything,” he yells over matt all in one breath, words coming out too fast. 

matt’s mouth is set in a firm line and he’s shaking his head, “you guys don’t get it!” he finally yells back, signaling and switching lanes before he can finish his thought, “i can’t do that to her,” the car’s stopped at a red light now, allowing him to look nick in the eye from the rearview mirror. both him and chris shut up for a second.

“i can’t do that to her,” matt emphasizes again, making his point with his hands, bracketing the last two words, “the internet would chew her up and spit her out. you think i don’t want to make her my girlfriend? do you think i like doing this to her? every fucking day i think about cutting it off because i don’t wanna hurt her, but i’m too fucking selfish to do it.”

“it’s green,” chris mumbles.

“shut the fuck up,” matt says through his teeth as he turns back to face the road, driving through the light.

“so what are you gonna do?” nick asks, softer now, arm hung over the back of matt’s seat.

matt looks up at him in the rearview again, taking a deep, anxiety ridden breath, “i don’t know.”

the three boys are silent for the remainder of the drive to your apartment. matt puts the car in park and mumbles something about being right back before getting out and heading up to your floor, slamming the car door a little bit too hard.

“jesus christ,” chris breathes, feeling the tension finally break.

there’s a knock at the front door, and you take a deep breath before opening it. matt stands with his hair a little bit messy and his cheeks a little bit red, but he softens when he sees you.

“hey,” you say, “let me just grab my bag,”

“wait, y/n,”

“yeah?” you turn back around to look at him. he’s standing in the middle of your kitchen, looking a little bit deflated.

“can i have a hug?”

your heart nearly shatters. is he feeling it too?

“wha– of course baby, of course,” you cross the kitchen over to him and he already has his arms open. immediately he locks his arms around your waist, resting his head against yours. you gently rub his back and rest your cheek on his shoulder.

“is everything okay?” you wonder after a second, feeling him breathe heavily against you.

matt squeezes you a little tighter and kisses your hair, “yeah,” he sighs, “nick and chris are just annoying,”

“you love them though,” you remind him.

he pulls away but keeps you close, hands on your hips now, “sometimes i think about reevaluating that,” 

you laugh at him, fixing his messy hair, “no you don’t,”

its his turn to smile, “you’re right,” he leans in for a quick kiss which you grant him, letting it dampen your nerves and reservations on the evening.

“i know, now c’mon, we’ve gotta go,” you slide your hand down into his.

“you don’t have to be nervous, by the way,” matt says to you in the elevator, still holding your hand. 

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and he squeezes your hand, letting you know he’s there for you, “it just feels serious,” you finally admit what you’ve been thinking for the last few days. you’re a little bit afraid to look over at him, so you keep your gaze towards the closed elevator doors.

matt gives your hand a quick squeeze and glances at the side of your face, you can feel his eyes on you, “it’s not serious, don’t worry,” it’s a little strained when he says it, as if he means something else but you can’t quite decipher it. it’s too much to think about now and yet it’s all you’ve been thinking about for days, how ‘unserious’ it all is to him.

when you do get to dinner, marylou and jimmy are already at the restaurant. marylou is being so sweet to you, asking about classes and how you met the boys, what you like do to in your spare time and things about matt that you tease him over. you feel like a girlfriend, you feel like his girlfriend and you don't think you can take much more of it. she tells you how much he talks about you when he’s home, that even justin has started making fun of him for it.

when you look over at matt he’s blushing but staring directly into his plate, avoiding you.

the smile you plastered onto your face fades and you dig your nails into your plam under the table.

“excuse me, i’m gonna run to the bathroom,” you say to no one in particular, catching nick’s eyes. he seems to notice your pleading gaze, and sends you a text after you’ve left the table

nick stromboli 

you okay?

you lock yourself in the single bathroom and stand staring at your phone screen.

you

this is brutal

your mom is being sooo sweet but matt won’t even look at me

i feel like he's embarrassed

nick stromboli

he's actually the biggest idiot that ever lived

chris is lowk giving him a death stare rn

nick was being serious, chris staring at matt as marylou goes on about how nice you are.

nick elbows matt in the side and he looks over, more than slightly fed up.

“i think you should go check on y/n,” he whispers, making matt perk up a bit in worry.

“why?”

“i don’t think she’s feeling good,”

“oh, i hope she’s okay,” marylou interrupts herself.

“i’ll be right back,” matt stands from the table and walks to the bathroom, knocking on the door gently, “y/n/n? it’s me sweetheart,”

a slight panic drops through you as you push away from where you were leaning against the wall, trying to catch your breath.

“c’mon let me in, nick said you weren’t feeling good,” he knows you were nervous about tonight, and he’s hoping that’s all it is, that he can fix it.

you sigh, head tossed back to your shoulders as you breathe out before letting him in, hoping you look more composed than you feel.

“hey, you okay?” he asks gently, closing the door behind him.

“yeah, uh, i think i’m gonna go,” you mumble, looking away.

“what? d–do you want like a gingerale or something?” his brows are pinched and he’s reaching out for you. you step back without thinking about it. you don’t even notice you’d done it until you see the hurt look on his face. he reaches out again, slower this time.

“y/n…”

something in you clicks, or comes crashing down when his fingers brush your wrist, “i’m not your girlfriend matt, stop worrying about me like i am,”

he's a little bit stunned at that and pulls back, saying your name again. 

“no, don’t do that, i heard what you said to the guys last week, and you keep telling me we’re causal and we can’t be anything but we’re at dinner with your fucking parents. i can’t keep prenteding to be your girlfriend, or–or that it doesn’t hurt, i just can’t do it anymore,” 

there’s tears in your eyes you don’t notice until matt whispers, “don’t cry,”

“i’m going crazy,” you tell him, voice so soft, so fragile that his heart breaks a little bit.

“no you’re not, c’mon– we can work this out,” the words are so comforting, and normally he’s the one you’d run to for comfort, but he’s hurting you.

“are we gonna make it official, matt? or are we just gonna keep sleepingover at eachother��s houses four days a week and tell all our friend we aren’t dating?” you ask, pressing your fingertips underneath your eyes, “are we gonna do this for real or are you gonna keep telling your parents about me when you’re in boston, and–and keep coming to my house after midnight with take out just because i don’t wanna be alone working on assignments,” he doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with a solemn look, so you keep going.

“i can’t take the sorry fucking look chris keeps giving me when i’m walking out of your room, it hurts, matt,”

he steps forward finally, trying to make up for more than the physical space that separates you, “no, c’mon, just–just come back to the table. i’ll stay at yours tonight and we’ll talk about this,”

you hold back a scoff at the irony of him mentioning he’ll stay over, “i need an answer now.” you tell him. he’s gone back to standing a few feet away from you, not touching you anymore.

“an answer for what?”

“can you commit to this now? to me?” you feel like you’re pleading with him and you hate how desperate it is.

“we aren’t having this conversation in the bathroom right now, can we please just talk about it later?” matt asks.

you shake your head, “matt, we’ve been doing this for four months, i don’t wanna wait any longer, i’m not a toy.”

he stares at you, licking his lips. you stare back, suffocating in his silence. it’s all the answer you need.

“i’m gonna go,” you mutter, “tell your parents it was really nice to meet them, and that i’m sorry for leaving,” you add, looking away when you walk passed him to open the door.

you leave the restaurant and call an uber, hardly sparing a glance in the direction of his family’s table on your way out.

“is y/n okay?” jimmy asks when matt comes back alone. 

matt shoves a hand into his hair to push it back, not meeting anybody’s eyes, “she went home, she wasn’t feeling good”

“and you didn’t offer to take her?” marylou scolds, sure she raised her son better than that.

“she didn’t want me to,” matt admits, defeated.

nick and chris share a look, knowing that isn’t the whole truth, or really the truth at all. 

—

a few days later, after their parents had gone back to boston, matt’s shuffling into nick’s bedroom, where him and chris are laying on the bed on their phones. 

matt looks a mess, hair wild and eyes sunken in. he’s been in his bedroom all day, blinds drawn and door latched shut

nick thinks he’s wearing a hoodie of yours, the faded smell of your perfume lingering when his brother walks in. 

“…you okay?” nick asks, glancing up from his phone. 

matt shakes his head and sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes with his fists, “i feel like fucking shit,” he admits, still looking down, “i hate that i hurt her,” he tells the two, as if his brothers weren’t already acutely aware, “i was trying so hard to keep from hurting her and i fucking did it anyway,” they wait for matt to finish, knowing he has a little more to say, “i was so fucking scared of making things offical that i lost her all together, she’s never gonna talk to me again,”

nick sighs and looks over at chris, the two of them sharing a sympathetic look before he moves forward and puts his arm around matt, who slumps against his shoulder, “that's not true,” nick says, “she probably should never talk to you again, but she’s a good person, and she’s our friend,”

“yeah, and she cares about you a lot, matt.” chris adds, sitting on the matt’s other side.

matt groans and covers his face, “i know, and that’s what sucks,” he wipes his palms over his face, “god, why was i so fucking stupid?”

“because you really like her,” chris offers, “and you’re gonna try and make it up to her…right?”

matt sits back up, staring at the wall, “i dunno, i want to, i don’t…” he takes a deep breath, willing the pit in his stomach to go away, “i’m more afraid of losing her all together than i was of any of that other shit, but i don’t know how to fix…this,” he says, dejected.

nick perks up, because he’s never seen matt half as lively as he is when he’s with you, or talking about you. he’s pretty sure matt was on his way to falling in love with you (if he hasn’t already) and refuses to let him lose hope,“i have an idea,” he says.

matt looks at his brother, desperate. the circles under his eyes a shade too dark, his cheeks sunken in, his lips chapped. nick continues.

“we’ll need waffles.”

—

it’s been over a week and a half since you walked out of the restaurant, and since you’d spoken to matt. nick’s been messaging you, asking if you’re okay and telling you he’s there for you. there’s been a bit of him telling you how stupid matt is, which you’d agreed with solemnly.

nick’s messaging you now. you’re posted up at your kitchen table trying to review for one of your exams, but more so warding off another wave of tears, pressing your fingertips into your eyes.

you pick up your phone to answer the message nick had sent, something about a sleepover at your place this weekend and a promise of a hannah montana binge, but there’s a knock at your door. you’re confused at first, wondering who’s at your door this late.

“did you order food?” you ask your roommate as you get up, looking in through the crack of her barely opened door. her headphones are on and she's hunched over a textbook with a highlighter, oblivious to any visitors.

your heartbeat speeds up a little bit as you begin to think about who’s on the other side. with a huff you look through the peephole, met with a slightly distorted image of matt anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot.

he keeps looking down the hallway and biting the inside of his cheek. he’s holding something. a paper bag in one hand and a bouquet of delicately wrapped flowers in the other.

you turn the lock, hand shaking a little bit as the door swings open. he whips his head from where he was looking down the hall to the now open door, your eyes locking immediately.

“matt,” you whisper, not even meaning to say it.

he stares at you for a second, seemingly forgetting any words he would have said for a second before holding up the bag.

“i brought waffles.”

—

“please let me in,” he says breathlessly, as if he was holding his breath waiting for you to open the door. “i know i probably don’t deserve a chance, and you probably don’t wanna hear me out, but…but please,” he licks his lips, grip tightening on the stems of the flowers, (you didn’t think he was listening when you told him your favourites all those months ago) “i miss you,” it’s quiet, the way he says it. he’s pleading with you.

there’s an ache in your chest, you’re trying not to mistake his tenderness for pity. and yet you still find yourself letting him in.

“okay,” it takes so little convincing. you missed him too.

there’s little talking at first, mostly just you and matt grabbing plates down and dishing yourselves out. he went to your favourite diner, because of course he did. the waffles are still warm and are making your kitchen smells like butter and sausage. you move your books and laptop out of the way to make room for the two of you to sit, elbows touching when you start to eat.

you’re half way through your first waffle when matt speaks up. you could feel him staring, his body half turned towards you in his chair. some of your hair falls into your face and his finger twitches before you tuck it away. all he wants to do it touch you. hold you, kiss you, anything. he’s such a jerk. 

“i’m sorry,” 

you freeze for a second, still facing away from him. after you finish chewing you set your fork down and turn slowly, finally looking him in the eyes. the blue has grown a shade too dark, melancholic. 

“for what?” you ask stupidly, just needing to know how he’s felt about it all.

“fuck, everything?” he says, forcefully pushing his hair away from his eyes. 

you shake your head and turn back to your plate.

“y/n,” he sighs, “c’mon look at me,”

you do, but it hurts.

“i’m sorry for what happened at the restaurant, and i’m sorry things got so out of hand and–and that…this went on for so long,” he gestures between the two of you, fixing his wild hair again.

“this?” you ask, voice breaking, thinking the worst, that he regrets it all, that it’s over. it’s really over.

“this stupid fucking dance we’ve been doing for four months, it’s crazy. it was always crazy.”

you huff, probably a little bit too dramatically as you shift to face him fully, “matt, what are you saying?”

“i’m saying that i like you! and it was so stupid to fucking…dilute that becuase i was scared or some shit,” the latter end of his sentence loses volume, he’s getting shy again.

“but–but you just wanted to be casual–” you start, looking down at your crossed legs.

“no, i never wanted to be fucking casual, i was just…. fuck i was just scared.” he says around a mouthful of waffle. the air smells like syrup. 

“i wanna be with you all the time, i like you so much– i just– at first i didn’t want things to be weird between us, which is why i thought a relationship was the wrong idea, but then we started…doing relationship things and it only got better.” he starts, messing with his hair and pushing his food around his plate, “after i stopped being so afraid of that i just, i got scared of another thing,” he finally looks up at you, eyes a little sad, a little heavy.

you can tell that he knows how he’s made you feel, and despite that you hate that he’s sad. you never want him to be sad.

matt continues, “i’d hate for you to get hurt because of my fans, and i knew it was gonna be hard to keep things private, to keep things…ours. i thought that was something i didn't wanna do or i wasn't ready for but…” he sighs, cutting himself off and taking in another big breath. you want to reach out and rub his back, knowing he’s anxious and just trying to calm himself down. 

“you being mad at me i can deal with,” he starts again, “you being mad, or–or upset because of me, is harder to handle, but fuck, not having you at all? that's worse than anything else we’d have to face,” he looks up, dead into your eyes to make sure you understand the weight of what he’s about to say, “together.”

“matt…” you whisper. you’ve forgotten about the food. it’s getting cold but it doesn’t matter.

he shakes his head before meeting your eyes again, “i’d rather go through all that bullshit with you than go through nothing without you,” he sounds so sincere that you think your heart skips a beat.

“what are you—”

“i wanna do this. for real.” he nods once, watching you closely.

“do you mean that?” he hates how doubtful you sound and he hates that he’s the one to have put all that doubt there. he thinks you might cry.

“y–yeah of course i mean it. i should have said it a long time ago, and if it makes you feel any better nick’s been giving me shit for like, two months, and i think chris wanted to beat me up last week.” he offers you half a smile, hoping you’ll give one back.

instead you breathe out laugh. he basks in it.

“i want you to be my girlfriend,” you’re looking down again and your hair falls from it’s place behind your ear. he doesn’t stop himself this time, nimble, ring adorned finger pushing it back, “i wanna be your boyfriend,”

you look up at him, studying his face for a second before you speak. he looks tired and a little worn, like he’s been thinking too much and too hard and worrying even more.

“yeah?” you finally say.

matt smiles at you. he has such a pretty smile.

“yeah.” he nods, smiling now.

“so we’re not just casual?”

matt scoffs out a laugh and stands. you stand too and he wraps his arms around you, tucking his chin atop your head when your arms go over his shoulders. he kisses your hair and breathes you in, the lingering scent of your shampoo and your perfume and you. it’s all over his clothes and his sheets, but nothing beats having you in his arms again. 

“we were never just causal,” he assures you, as if you didn’t know.

tags ! @st4rswrld @urfavvev3lyn @mattsturnioloarchive @averysbestyears @its-jennarose @strnilolo @cherrypostsposts

also tagging some of my faves (writers & other creators!!) 🥹 @pettydollie @wcters @grimholic @floristmatt (if you don’t wanna be tagged lmk!!)

[verstappen-cult]

Maybe a lestappen fic were Reader friends are the worst and they comfort her, thank you 💗

You were out with your boyfriends when you saw them across the street, walking out of a shop, talking and laughing without a care. You had texted them yesterday to ask if they were free today to hang out, since you haven’t seen them in a few weeks. The answer? I have to work. I’ll be out of town. I’m sick, just numerous excuses.

Max noticed the change in your demeanor in an instant. “What’s wrong, love?” 

“Oh, I just remember that I need to call mom, or she’ll get mad.” You smile, not wanting to worry him. 

“You can call her once we get home.” He kisses your forehead and holds your hand to keep walking. 

Being around them was enough to make you forget about what you saw and you actually ended up enjoying the day off. 

Until Charles decided that it was time to eat and walked into one of your favorite restaurants in town. A very exclusive but cozy one.

The host just gave your boyfriends a look and it was enough for her to rush to get you three a table. 

“Aren’t those your friends?” Charles asks you, looking behind your shoulders. 

You didn’t want to look but you also didn’t want them to know what happened. So, you simply turned around with a forced smile. 

“Oh, yes! What a coincidence.” 

“You can say hello to them,” Max gives you a little pat on your lower back, encouraging you to go to them. “We will wait for you.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek before walking towards them. 

You notice the exact moment they see you, because they go from laughing to a complete silence. 

“Hey!” You try not to show how affected you are, how much you want to cry. “I thought you were busy today.” 

One of your friends gives you a once over before leaning closer to one of your other friends and whispering something before laughing.

They don’t even try to pretend. 

“Yeah. This was something last minute.” One girl says, taking a sip of her drink. “We forgot to tell you.” 

“Are you following us?” One of your male friends says, not hiding his smirk at all.

“Oh, no, I’m—” 

“Because that’s sad.” 

One of your friends, one you thought was someone you could trust, bursts out laughing before saying, “Even for you.”

You’re one second away from crying now, so you decide to excuse yourself and walk away, not hungry anymore and just wanting to go home. But Max and Charles are by your side in one second and you’re unable to do so. 

“Max, Charles!” 

Everyone’s expression changes just like it changed when you approached their table. The difference is that this time they’re all smiling, sparkling eyes looking up at them as if you are not even there, standing between them. As if you are invisible.

“Are you waiting for a table?”

“You can sit with us. We can make space for you!” 

It’s laughable, really. 

Charles looks at you, his hand on your waist. “You want to sit here, chéri?”

You avoid looking at your “friends” and Max notices immediately. 

“We just came for take out,” Max explains, a friendly smile on his lips. “she just wanted her favorite dessert and we can’t say no to her.”

Everyone on the table laughs. But it’s forced, anyone would notice. 

“Well, we should plan something, then.” A blonde girl you have never seen before says. She’s twirling her hair and everything, and you would feel disgusted if it weren’t for the situation you’re currently in. 

Max holds your hand, rubbing circles on your palm. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Silence. 

A beat. 

And then.

“Some friends you are.”

You are out of the restaurant in ten minutes. Charles carries some take out while Max doesn’t let your hand go, at least not until you’re in front of the car. 

“Are you okay?” Max cups your cheeks, and you finally let the tears fall. 

“We noticed things were weird when you stood in front of their table.” Your Monégasque boyfriend says, his free hand rubbing your back. “We just didn’t realize how bad it was until we heard them.”

“How long has this been happening?”

You sniff, feeling the pad of Max’s fingers wiping the tears off your face. 

“Now that I’m thinking about it,” You laugh, closing your eyes, thinking about how stupid and blind you were. “it has been this way since… forever.”

“Oh, baby.” Charles wraps you in his arms, Max joining the hug without a second thought. 

“You should have told us.” Max whispers in your ear, and you nod because he is right. “We could’ve done something.”

Charles rolls his eyes, giving his boyfriend a little push. “You don't need them, okay?”

“You are an incredible,” Max kisses your cheek, “and amazing person.”

“Most beautiful girl in the world.” Charles kisses your other cheek. 

Your Dutch boyfriend gives you a little peck on the lips before pulling away to look directly into your eyes. “Anyone would be lucky to have you in their lives.”

“Their loss.” You groan against Charles’ shoulder. 

“That’s my girl!” They laugh and you feel like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

“Now,” The blonde-haired boy says, opening the car door for you. “Should we go home to eat in bed while we watch some movie?”

“Can we watch Cars?” 

“Charles, she will choose the movie!”

“But she loves Cars too!”

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

OUUH WHAT ABOUT spencer watching her do her makeup, pick out an outfit, get dolled up to go meet his team

fem bimbo!plus size reader, wc: 498.

a/n: AWW OMG writing this actually gave me cavities. this is probably the fluffiest thing i've ever written on this account!! i really tried to get into the mind of our precious bimbo reader, and i feel like i did a pretty good job if i do say so myself! 😏

You always liked to say that you did your best work under pressure, so why in the hell wasn’t your eyeshadow… eyeshadowing?

You looked at yourself in the vanity mirror, your gloss covered lips turned down into a deep frown. The lines caused by your frustration left behind little creases in your carefully laid foundation. You were one more mishap from a total breakdown.

“Spence?” You turn around in your porcelain white chair that  completely contrasts the dark coziness that was Spencer’s room. 

Tonight was the night that you were going to meet your boyfriend’s team, which in your mind translated to his family. You had met his mom already, and she liked you, so why were you so intimidated? Maybe it was because these people were like your precious boyfriend just twenty times more terrifying.

Tonight had to go well, or you swear that you might just die!

“Yes, sweetheart?” Spencer responds from behind the book he had his nose buried in. He had been resting against the headboard, the lower half of his body relaxed and his legs were stretched out carelessly. The advantage of being a human string-bean, you supposed.

“Does my makeup look okay?”

Your exasperated tone in your voice forced his eyes away from the page and onto yours.

He was surprised by the light tones of eyeshadow you had picked, they were a lot different from the bold pink, purples, and blues. That could only mean one thing.

“There’s no need to be anxious, honey. You look beautiful.”

Usually, you were very susceptible to Spencer’s praise, often turning bashful and shy, as well as giggling and grinning like a schoolgirl. Nope, not today. Today felt like not even the sweetest of hymns could bring you down from your anxiety ridden stupor.

“Really? Because I don’t know about the color… I feel like the eyeliner makes it look clumpy.”

Spencer Reid was trained for this, if the hours of cosmetology research he had done counted for something. Why you may ask? Well, the first time you had asked him about your makeup was when you two had first started dating, and it had unfortunately gone a little bit like this:

“Does this look okay?”

“It looks fine, angel.”

“Oh God, I should just start over, shouldn’t I?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Spencer smiles fondly, “It doesn’t look clumpy at all. In fact I think the dark and light colors complement each other well, they make your eyes look large and enchanting.”

And just like that, all of your apprehension melts away. “Oh, good!” You all but cheer.

He watches with a lovesick smile on his face as you pull out outfit-after-outfit from the closet – that’s really more yours than it is his – with an excited grin.

“How about this one?”

Spencer knows he’s in for a long night; with his book long forgotten, he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that you have an hour before you guys have to leave.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Skip the small talk

Request: None A/N: Again, I just want to thank everyone for supporting my stories and liking/commenting/reblogging/etc. It means the world to have such great reception to these one-shots. So please, enjoy this lil' story about the reader being a badass :) Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language and violence, drug use, decapitation Summary: You really weren't looking for trouble. All you wanted was something to eat, but of course things go awry. This is the Wasteland, after all.

Word Count: 2.6k+

(Gif Credit to @acecroft)

Thunder booms across the Wasteland, combining with the sound of heavy rain on metal rooftops. 

It continues in tandem with its partner Lighting, who illuminates the hazy green poison that hangs low in the air tonight. The storm has been raging for hours, and doesn’t seem to be on the verge of letting up anytime soon. 

After hours of tossing and listening to the howl of the storm, you decide to give up on sleep for the moment. The inn room you’d acquired is small but cozy, lit only by a couple candles that burn bright orange on the side table. You untangle yourself from Cooper where he lies half-naked beside you, scarred skin on display while in the security of your arms. As per usual, he crankily grumbles curses at you for causing a disturbance, but there’s no malice behind the words. His eyes blink open and lock on to you, immediately more alert at the prospect of you venturing away. 

“What’re y’doin’?” His question is thick with sleep, forced through the haze by this codependency you’ve developed on each other. 

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, and reach a hand back to brush his arm gently. “Thunder’s keeping me up. I’m gonna go see if the saloon downstairs has anything in the way of food.”

Cooper opens his mouth to respond, but a cough cuts him off. You pluck his inhaler from the nightstand and press it into his waiting hand. The cough wasn’t unusual, but you’d been traveling for days on end in search of a bounty and knew Cooper was putting on a facade of toughness. Everyone needed rest, and The Ghoul just didn’t know when to admit it. 

“Go back to sleep.” You murmur, “I’ll only be a minute.”

He relents, but points a finger in your direction. “Fine. But they got anythin’ good, you bring me some back too, huh?”

You snatch the hand out of the air and press a kiss to his palm. “Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep.”

And since the Wasteland’s most fearsome bounty hunter would rather live through ten more atomic bombs than not have the last word, he scoffs. 

“Bossy fuckin’ woman.”

You giggle at Cooper’s tough love as you tug thick tights and a long gray jacket onto your body. Out of pure habit, you look around for a weapon. Yours are stashed on the other side of the bed, but Cooper’s shotgun is propped against the wall by the door. You opt to grab it, slinging the gun onto your shoulder and making sure the strap is secure before cracking open the door. 

The old clock hanging in the hall reads one thirty in the morning, but the sounds from the saloon downstairs continue as normal. Perhaps a bit more toned down than the daytime, but voices still mingle and dance together up the stairs. You trail after them, patting your pockets to ensure there’s enough caps to pay for a hot meal. Cooper’s half-canister of Jet and the wrinkled bounty poster sure ain’t going to pay for anything.

Eyes flicker towards you as you step onto the main floor, but they return back to their own tables soon enough. Everyone’s clad in raincoats or hats, outfitted for the weather. The town was a central point for a few settlements which popped up around it, and a major trade destination. The frequency of armed caravan guards passing through proved to be a rather decent deterrent for the unpleasant types, and most people had been nice to the point of frightening. 

At the bar, you pull out a rusty stool and settle onto it. All the other patrons but one are at tables closer to the door. The same man who’d rented the room to Cooper and yourself is down the bar chatting. 

“No surprise there. They’ve got some questionable folks runnin’ cargo these days.” The bartender is saying. He drops his hands on the bar. “But they take what they can get.”

The other man at the bar is older, just like the bartender. Dressed in dirty clothes, hood up with heavy gloves next to him, you figure he might be a lead farmer. You give a brief nod his way before focusing back on the bartender as he slides over. 

“What can I do for you, ma’am?” For someone out in the Wasteland, his face is kind. Weathered and probably suffering from radiation poisoning like the rest of you, but kind nonetheless. 

“Got anything hot to eat back there?” You ask, but think better of it. “Or anything to eat?”

“You’re in luck. One of the trade caravans left us with an old brahmin yesterday. Fresh brahmin steak if it tickles your fancy?”

You toss the caps onto the bar. “Sign me up.”

He busies himself at the cooking station for a few minutes, and eventually delivers a steaming steak in front of you. He checks on the other bar-goer and floats back over to you after a few minutes. 

“So, I have to ask.” He starts, “You came in here with that ghoul, yeah?”

You pause, mouth full and one hand instinctively freeing itself for a weapon if necessary. He must have caught onto your bristling, as he holds both hands up in a placating gesture.

“I’m sorry. It’s nothin’ bad, I was just curious. We don’t get a lot of ghouls around here, let alone people traveling with them.”

Hell, there was no need for him to tell you that. Cooper and yourself brought stares everywhere you went, discounting the cities you frequented that knew you both by reputation. You’d been called every name in the book in small communities like this, from chem-head, to ghoul-fucker and anything people could come up with.

“Yeah, we travel together. Easier to stay alive and make money when there’s two of us.” You saw off another piece of steak. 

“Bounty hunters, then?”

You shrug. “Sometimes. We do whatever needs doing most of the time. If the price is right.”

If Cooper was next to you, he’d be spewing threats of dismemberment and cutting out tongues for all the questions, but you didn’t mind. It was nice meeting someone who wasn’t immediately training crosshairs on your body. 

“Fair enough. I’m Clint, if you need anything.” The bartender wipes his hands with a rag and moves about his way, readjusting liquor bottles and carrying beers out to tables that are hollering for them. 

You finish your steak and gulp down the water Clint had set in front of you at some point. It washes away the gamey taste of mutated beef. You wait for him to return, as you were sure that fresh brahmin steak qualified as ‘anything good’ in Cooper’s eyes. 

“This seat taken?” 

You barely glance over your shoulder at the question, but give a half-hearted shrug. There was a whole bar and whoever this idiot is wants to sit next to you?

“Nuh-uh.”

The stool scrapes against the uneven wood floor, and you look over at the man that’s sat himself beside you. He’s younger than you expected, but vaguely familiar as if you’ve passed by him before. Brown hair slicked back close to his skull and shaved on the sides,  and a distinct pale discoloration on his chin. There’s a valiant attempt at beard growth but it’s patchy at best. 

You stare for just a moment before returning to the drops of water left in your dirty cup. 

“Now, I can see you’re not from around here.” His tone is boyish, almost conceited. 

Narrowly resisting an eyeroll, you set your cup back down. “Aren’t you just a right scholar?”

“I know a few things.” He waves his hand at Clint as he returns, and a beer is set in front of him moments later. “I know that you rode into town tonight, looking for a bounty.”

Lightning illuminates all of the cracks in the building. Thunder rolls. 

It takes a moment, but hits you as a smile is breaking out across the man’s face. You hadn’t passed by him before or traded. Your hand ghosts over the folded-up bounty poster in the pocket of your coat. 

“Name’s Spade, by the way.” 

Fuck. You’d never forget the name of a bounty. Especially the one set to inherit an entire Gunner outfit that had been threatening caravans for miles in every direction. 

“Spade, huh? Named after a shovel?” You prod. “No wonder you ain’t good at making friends.”

Spade calmly sips on his beer. “Neither are you, I hear. Though that might be due to your choice in company.”

Turning your head all the way towards him, you entertain the banter. Trying to avoid the subject of having a partner. You didn’t doubt if the shooting started that Cooper would come running down the stairs, but surprise is always an advantage. 

“Yeah, I’m starting to question it myself.” 

“I heard you were funny.” Spade chuckles, and withdraws a bulky device from underneath his coat. It crackles and pops like a geiger counter. “But I know you didn’t come here alone.”

You listen to the device pop, but don’t recognize it. 

“Say, how much Rad-Away do you go through? Traveling, eating, sleeping and whatever else with The Ghoul must really fuck with your health. His radiation signature is all over you.” Spade tucks the device away. 

“Don’t worry, I wear lead-lined panties.” You pat your thighs and stand. “And I don’t have time for this.”

Just as you make it to your feet, you notice the rest of the patrons do the same. They all shrug off their raincoats and reveal standard Gunner clothing, and you pause. Betraying nothing, you simply stare. Counting eleven opponents including Spade. Too busy thinking about how you grabbed Cooper’s shotgun and no extra ammo because you’re apparently a fool. The one combat knife in your boot is a viable choice, but tough to handle so many. You note Clint’s swift exit out the back door of the establishment.

“All this firepower for me?” 

Spade follows suit, and stands. He towers over you. 

“Don’t play dumb. I know they want me dead, and I’m not keen on letting that happen.”

You nod. “Understandable.”

And it’s then one of his men gets twitchy, and you’re diving behind the bar at the cocking of a gun. 

Spade hollers something at the men that sound suspiciously like “kill her”, but the thunder drowns him out. You press your back up against the bar for cover, and whip the shotgun into your grip. You feel at the knife in your boot, and brush past the Jet in your pocket. 

“Fuck it.” 

You draw out the inhalant and put it between your lips. Bracing for the adrenaline rush, you squeeze the Chems into your mouth. Not much of a frequent user, you resist the urge to cough and waste the effects. 

In just a few seconds, the world around you feels as if it’s moving in slow motion. You leap up from behind the bar, aiming and popping off the two rounds you have into the groupies that Spade brought along. One slug crashes through two of them while the other blows another’s head to pieces. 

Three down, eight to go. 

You sling the gun back over your shoulder and draw the knife. In your peripheral, you notice Spade reaching for his waistband. On pure instinct, you whip the knife in his direction. It finds his mark in his right eye, and he goes to the ground wailing. Just as the Jet begins to wear thin, you hop over the bar towards the crowd. 

“Fuck her up!”

You bend down near Spade’s writing frame, and rip the knife out of his eye socket with a wet squelch. Leaving him for last, you twirl the knife around and beckon at his cronies. 

“Well?”

You lunge towards the closest, thrusting the knife at his throat. He catches your wrist and twists it away, but you’re quick to jam your elbow upwards into his chin. It stuns him just enough that you can stab the knife into his guts and rip sideways. Entrails spill, and you reach through them to grab the pipe pistol at his hip. 

The next few go down via bullet, and you’re eventually left with only Spade alive. He’s clawed his way to his feet as you finished off his gang, and now has an automatic pistol pointed at your head. It wavers dangerously, as he’s half-blind and still spurting blood from the wounded eye socket.

You drop the pistol that’s been occupying your right hand and hold up the knife. 

“Wanna get reacquainted?” 

Spade bares his teeth at you. “And here we brought all the guns for The Ghoul.”

A shrug. “I’m sort of offended that I was underestimated.”

“I’ll make a note of it.” 

Spade pulls the trigger as soon as you duck. His intentions were given away by the fractional squint of his good eye, struggling to aim properly. You charge towards him beneath the rounds, colliding with his knees. The bullets fly upwards, blasting holes in a narrow column up the wall. It sends splinters flying near the staircase. 

“Motherfucker!”

About fucking time Cooper decided to show up.

You straddle Spade’s body and knock the pistol away. One boot keeps his wrist pinned down, and you bring the knife to his neck. 

“Next time,” You growl, tracing the blade along his Adam’s Apple, “Skip the small talk.”

Blood sprays as you apply pressure, puncturing through his carotid. You drag the knife to the side, leaning away to avoid the spray as best as possible. Until he stops twitching, you keep him pinned to the ground. 

“Well goddamn baby, next time invite me to the party.” The Ghoul, as Spade had referred to him, swaggers over to you.  His honey-soaked eyes survey the carnage. “I thought you was gettin’ something to eat, not takin’ out our bounty so soon.”

You wipe your bloody hands on Spade’s coat and huff indignantly. “And I thought your old ass would move faster when you heard gunshots.”

Cooper holds out a gloved hand to help you up. “Thunder blocked out the sound.”

“Excuses, excuses.” You grumble, allowing him to pull you up. 

The world spins, thanks to the adrenaline fading and Jet withdrawals. You stagger into Cooper, and he grips your arm. 

“You ain’t shot, are ya? Left the stimpaks upstairs.”

You shake your head and let him steer you onto a barstool. “Nah. Jet.”

Cooper whoops. “My girl! Well shouldn’t we just be celebratin’ this momentous occasion.”

“Fuck you. I’m not doing anything but going back to bed.” You press your forehead into his chest. “Fuckin’ Chems.”

The Ghoul chuckles and uses two fingers to hold and lift your chin. He kisses your lips, already dry from licking at them. You hold the lapels of his coat to keep upright and only pull away when another pang of dizziness wracks you. 

He steps away for a moment, and gets to work removing Spade’s head from his body to return for the money. 

“Damn.” You rub your temples. “How the hell do you use that shit all the time?”

“Years of practice.” Cooper hums, and finds a burlap sack behind the bar to package the head. “Sure worked good for you, huh?”

You hop from the stool, using the bar as a crutch to stay upright. “Uh huh, right up until it didn’t. Now I wanna go to bed. Desperately.”

“Fine, fine.” Cooper relents, bloody sack in hand. He follows you to the stairs, free hand ghosting over your hip. 

The Ghoul hovers behind as if you’re going to start cartwheeling back down, and herds you back into the rented room. You strip and crawl back in bed, hiding away from the cool air beneath the blanket. Cooper takes his time, but eventually blesses you with his body heat. You cozy up, letting it burn away the symptoms of Jet withdrawals.

“Did you ever get somethin’ to eat?”

thanks for reading, much love ❤

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

[toxicanonymity]

I really think raider joel is my favorite. He’s the worst, he is such an awful person, but he’s so sweet and tender and I really believe he would protect me and keep me safe and just make me his sex prisoner, but in a really cozy domestic way. He’s so hot I can’t think straight. I’d shoot Jack myself for more raider Joel.

Stash House

850 | raider!Joel x f!reader | masterlist

mood board by @milla-frenchy

Requested: @ess-perspective-blog this is your request hope you like it. @swedishscumfuck for the manhandling. @xdaddysprincessxx for the javi clip.

WARNINGS: I8+ dark!Joel, kidnapping, blindfold, very dubcon exhibitionist P in V, violence (toward men), humiliation, Reader can sit on Joel. This is third. Can read alone or Raider Masterlist.

You’re sitting in Joel’s lap in a van full of raiders on the way to their stash house. He didn’t want you sitting next to anyone else.  You're blindfolded so you won’t know the location. Joel's hardness is already digging into you. Then, when they take a dirt road, the terrain bounces you and he swells harder with a deep inhale. His stiff cock vibrates you with the rough ride.  You’re throbbing, so wet you might soak through your pants. Joel holds you firmly on his lap, tight against his chest and belly.  He rests his nose against your neck and inhales. You ride in silence.  The other men obviously have a problem with you being there but are afraid to say anything and rightfully so.  

The van comes to stop and Joel takes off your blindfold.  They start getting out of the van and unloading.  

Finally, one of the men speaks up. 

“Should we really let her in-”  

Joel isn’t having it. “She stays with me and I’m not gonna tell you again.” From what you’ve seen so far, this feels like a generous warning. The man goes quiet. 

Joel wraps a big arm around you and wrangles you inside with your feet occasionally dragging on the gravel.  He doesn’t bother trying to hide his arousal.  He’s like an animal - his virility and ample size are part of his display of dominance.  

-

At the stash house, there are some men who weren't on the raid that day.  Joel forces you into a room that has some old, tattered furniture, contraband and stolen goods strewn about, and a few dirty cots.  Men are milling around talking to each other.  A few faces you haven’t seen before are sitting on the forlorn couch and chairs.  They turn and stare at you like a piece of meat. 

“Nice souvenir,” one of them says and they all stand up. They’re like sharks in the water and you’re chum. Joel’s nostrils flare as the one who spoke approaches. 

He shoves you onto a cot and says “stay put, sweet pea,”  then gets between you and the men and decks the cheeky one in the face, sending him stumbling.  Joel picks him up and holds his shirt while he punches him again then lets him fall to the ground and beats him until his face is bloody. 

“Don’t even think about touchin’ her.” 

You sit on the cot watching, still turned on from the ride.  Joel starts walking back to you, unbuckling his belt, chest rising and falling with rage.   He wraps a strong arm around you and grabs you by the waistband,  manhandling you onto your stomach.  Then he rips your pants down.  

He slides his fingers against your dripping seam and inhales sharply.  “I’m comin, sweet pea hold on” The swollen tip of his cock notches at your entrance, then he slams into you and your mouth falls open with the stretch of his girth.  He backs up half way, then pulls you back on his cock as he plunges further into you and bottoms out with a grunt. 

The men watch, and you try not to look at them, terrified of what Joel might do to you.  You focus your eyes on the haunted stains beneath you.  Joel's massive hand holds onto the edge of the dirty mattress for leverage, another hand on your shoulder as he rails you for the third time today, harder than ever.  Each time he buries his cruel length inside you, the knot in your core tenses more.  

He grabs you by the back of your neck and manhandles you up on your knees, your back arching.He pulls your shirt and bra up over your tits.  “Close your eyes, baby.” You pinch your lids shut and he angles you just slightly toward the men. 

“Fellas, take a good look ‘cause it's your last." 

He gropes your breasts as he brutally pummels you from the back harder, faster, grunting and breathing heavily as his thick cock pistons into you.  One of his hands comes to your clit, then he flattens that hand against you for leverage as he holds his other arm across your breasts.  He slams into you with more power and speed than you could have imagined and his breath becomes ragged. He tightens his grip with both arms, bringing you as close as possible so his power doesn't send you flying.

With a long shudder, he begins to erupt inside you. He slows his pace but plunges into you just as hard, grunting with each pulse.   The pulsation of his cock and the sound of his pleasure sends you over the edge and you fail to suppress a moan.  Your face gets hot with shame, but your climax doesn't stop.  You clench around his hard cock as he fills you with his seed, and these terrible men watch it all.

You catch your breath. He inhales your neck and his hands gently rove your breasts and abdomen as you briefly recover.  He kisses your neck with his mouth closed and whispers, "you did great, baby." 

He fixes your clothes and his, then addresses the men again. "Don't even look in her direction. Understand?"

They murmur their agreement then cower away and Joel lets you rest on the dirty mattress facing away from everyone while they unload their new spoils. 

-

Next: shooting practice drabble; Raider 4: Failed Escape

Thank you for reading and engaging!! Y'all are the best. Also, a couple of other raider Joel requests have def been consistent with where I see it going, it's just that idk if we're there yet so hang tight 😉.

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione

[halfmoth-halfman]

our little secret

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Medic!Reader Synopsis: Soap finally gets all of his answers- and then some. Word Count: 7.4k Warnings: injury mention, pet death mention, child mention Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. part one. part two. part three.

Soap has been in his fair share of safe houses.

He knows what to expect when he hears the words: a sparsely furnished studio stocked with the bare essentials. It’s not a problem for him. Safe houses aren’t meant to feel like houses; they’re there to do their job– to keep their inhabitants safe.

So his confusion is valid when Ghost mumbles something about a “safe house” nearby, only to lead him through the dense woods of the mountains they’re stuck in to the coziest-looking cottage Soap has ever seen.

Soap’s frozen, unable to stop staring at the two-story stone house with dark ivy creeping up the grey stonework and an actual babbling brook winding around the right side of the house where it runs into a small pond in the front yard. He doesn’t know where Ghost, of all people, found the one safe house to come straight out of a fairytale.

“Fuckin’ hell Johnny, stop staring like you’ve never seen a house before.” Ghost’s hand harshly shoves into Soap’s shoulder, and Soap stumbles forward, turning back swiftly to glare at Ghost.

The Lieutenant had been particularly testy for this mission, seeming almost reluctant to take part in any aspect of it; regret had oozed out of every inch of Ghost from the moment he and Soap had touched down here, and Soap can’t figure out, for the life of him, why. It wasn’t like they were forced to be here; Soap was in the room when Price asked for volunteers for this mission. He remembers with exceptional clarity how Ghost perked up– as much a man like him could– and how the masked man was on his feet the second Price asked for volunteers.

If he was so eager for this mission, why did he seem so resistant to everything about it?

Tired and impatient with Soap’s lack of action, Ghost starts up the dirt path toward the cottage. It’s not hard to notice how he drags his steps, leaving small trails behind his boots. Soap follows hesitantly, keeping his head on a swivel as they approach the front door. Ghost tries the doorknob only to find it locked; his eyes slide shut, hand tightening around the doorknob before he lets his hand slide from the brass.

“Maybe we can–” Soap doesn’t get to finish as Ghost steps back to turn his gaze to the black iron sconce hanging next to the door. He pops one of the glass panes out with practiced ease, reaching in where Soap’s only now noticing there’s no lightbulb to grab a small golden key. He pops the glass back into place, sliding the key into the lock and turning.

The door swings open, allowing them into the pitch black of the house. For such a quaint-looking home, the endless void that greets Soap when he walks in is something lifted from a horror movie. Ghost shuts the door behind him, leaving Soap standing in the entryway that’s illuminated only by the misty grey of what little of the sun’s setting light is able to reach through the thick cover of the towering pines and low, looming clouds outside to shine through the small squares of glass on the front door.

“Take your shoes off,” Ghost mutters behind him.

“What?” Soap turns around– ready to ask why he should bother with etiquette for a safe house– but finds Ghost already hunched over, one hand on the wall beside him for balance as he unlaces his boots.

Soap copies him, unsure and so so confused. Ghost is as unbothered as ever, disappearing into the darkness of the house while Soap toes out of his boots. He places them next to Ghost’s, standing up right as the house illuminates in a soft amber glow.

It’s just as cozy inside as it is outside, and Soap is stupefied. His mind can’t comprehend the shadowy figure of death and destruction that is his Lieutenant among the picturesque interior of wooden countertops and decorative plants.

Ghost is none the wiser to Soap’s internal crisis, heading to a large armoire composed of deep brown wood that stands against the cream-colored wall next to the entryway. He pauses, leaning back to look at Soap over the edge of the lacquered door. “Weapons go in here.”

Soap joins him as Ghost unloads his weapons into the cabinet. The outside is unassuming— a normal, if a little taller than usual, armoire— which is why the interior catches Soap so off guard. A second set of doors— grated black metal with a keypad in the center— hang open to give them access to an impressive weapons rack that’s already half-stocked. Soap can’t help but gawk as Ghost works on hanging his knives— arranging them by handle color, then length. It’s done so casually, so routine, as if Ghost has done this a million times.

He wants to ask, but he doesn’t know where to start. What the hell’s up with this “safe house”? How did Ghost find it? Did he set it up? It was hard enough picturing the masked giant in everyday civilian life, let alone browsing for the perfect rustic armoire or a faux fur rug fluffier than a cloud.

Ghost walks away, heading towards the kitchen with an unusual hesitance to his steps– like he’s trying to lighten his footsteps against the hardwood floor. Soap quickly stores his weapons, trailing behind Ghost with less caution. 

The kitchen is just as immaculately decorated as the rest of the house– all creams and beiges, a large window above the sink with a collection of herbs growing on its sill, and little pops of color from the neatly organized pots, pans, and baskets sitting on the shelves.

Ghost rifles through the pantry with his back to Soap, and Soap can’t help himself.

“What’s-”

“Keep your voice down,” Ghost snaps, hushed and threatening.

“Why?” Soap huffs, gesturing to the empty space around them. “It’s not like there’s anyone else here!”

Ghost turns to face Soap with a swiftness that surprises the Sergeant, his shadowed eyes narrowed into a glare so fierce it sends an immediate shock of fight or flight through Soap. 

“Simon?”

Your voice is soft and raspy and startles Soap so badly he swears his heart skips a beat. He whirls around to see you standing across the living room, one foot on the bottom step of the staircase. Dressed only in a hoodie that’s obviously too big for you— and the perfect size for a certain Lieutenant— and a set of fluffy pajama shorts, you rub your eye with the heel of your hand, clearly having just woken up.

Ghost groans behind him, and everything in Soap’s head suddenly clicks together: Ghost’s reason for volunteering for this mission so quickly, his expectation of working on it alone, why he dragged his feet to bring Soap here. All of the puzzle pieces floating around in his mind slide into place as he watches you stumble into the living room, still half-asleep.

After your rescue, you’d been confined to the infirmary for weeks. The team had come to see you, sometimes lucky to catch you for the few minutes you could stay conscious long enough to entertain small conversations. You were put on immediate leave once you were well enough, and in the three months since then, no one has heard from you. 

Soap’s glad to see you despite his mild guilt for disturbing you.

You look much better than when you left— less like you’d been repeatedly hit by a bus— and well on your way to recovery. There’s still gauze wrapped around your right thigh, and a few of the worst bruises are still present on your skin, in the process of fading. The only lasting injury Soap can see is the deep scar that trails along the left edge of your jaw from your chin to your ear; you’d had trouble talking while in the infirmary, pain buzzing through your jaw anytime you moved your mouth, but now you’re yawning widely without a single care.

You make it halfway to the kitchen when your eyes land on Soap; you freeze, brows knitting together in confusion.

“Soap?” 

“Doc.”

“What’re you….” You trail off, spotting Ghost behind him. Soap watches how you take in their clothes, the dirt and dried blood stained into the fabric, and how your eyes glance over to the open weapons cabinet near the front door. The shift to Doctor Mode is instant; you straighten up, already looking them over for any possible injuries as you hasten your way to the kitchen.

“I’m fine, Doc,” Soap smiles, seeing some of the tension ease from your shoulders. “Lt. got a little roughed up, though.” Your head snaps to Ghost, and Soap steps aside, setting a gentle hand on your back to guide you and your concern toward Ghost. The Lieutenant glares at him over your head, but this time Soap smiles back, a knowing grin plastered on his face as you fret.

“You shouldn’t be up,” Ghost sighs, pulling his angry gaze away from Soap to stare down at you. He’s trying to seem stern, frustrated that you’re up and about, but you pay him no mind. It’s almost sweet, the way his gaze softens the moment he looks at you; he’s concerned for you as much as you are for him.

“‘m fine,” you mumble stubbornly. Ghost rolls his eyes as he lets you look over him. His eyes briefly flick up from your face to Soap before back down to you. Soap’s known Ghost for a long time; he’s learned how to read the subtle changes in those dark eyes, and he can see the way Ghost fights with himself before letting his eyes slide shut in resigned conclusion.

“You need to rest,” he sighs again, faint and gentle, as he lightly grabs your wandering hands and eases them off him. He glances up at Soap again, but Soap avoids his gaze, finding interest in the earthy green toaster and not even trying to hide his grin.

“I will, I will,” you huff. You step back from Ghost, pulling your hands from his to cross your arms over your chest. “Mission go okay?”

You’re talking to him now; Soap realizes when Ghost doesn’t answer. He turns to you with an easy, if a little cocky, smile and a half-shrug.

“Thought they could try and ambush us, but they were no match for us. Right, Lt.?” There’s a quiet, exasperated fuckin’ hell from Ghost, but you’re laughing— your smile not as wide on your left side— and Soap realizes how much he’s missed you.

“We needed a place to lie low for the night-” Ghost starts.

“And this was close by, I get it.” You maintain your smile, nudging Ghost’s arm with your elbow. “Surprised you got here before the storm started.”

“What? That poor excuse for cloud coverage outside? Hardly call that a storm,” Soap scoffs. You shrug, meandering to the cabinet that holds the cups and mugs. 

“If that’s what you want to think,” you tease, but Soap is too busy watching Ghost as he watches you. “All I’m saying is-” The moment you reach up to grab a glass, there’s a hand on your waist and a sturdy body pressed against your back. “-Simon, I can reach just fine-”

He doesn’t listen, grabbing a glass and setting it in your hands while you pout up at him. You roll your eyes, stepping out from in front of him and smiling at Soap like nothing happened.

“All I’m saying is, I’ve lived here for a while; I think I can tell the difference between a little fog and a soon-to-be torrential downpour.” You fill your glass with water as you talk, batting Ghost away when he tries to take the full glass from you the minute you’ve filled it up.

“And since someone-” you send Ghost a pointed glare “-is in such a helpful mood, he can set you up in the guest room for tonight while I go back to sleep.” You saunter past Soap— as well as one can while healing— glass of water in hand.

“Good to see you again, Doc,” Soap laughs as you pass him. You send him a sly wink, playfully bumping his shoulder before heading upstairs. 

A tense quiet looms over the kitchen as Soap and Ghost are left alone. Ghost is staring at him, and he’s staring back, neither one knowing how to break the awkward silence that surrounds them.

Until—

“So,” Soap starts, smug grin crawling across his face and vindication thrumming through his veins. “You and the Doc, eh?”

“Don’t fuckin’ start.”

With that, Ghost marches past him, heading for the stairs and, Soap decides this is going to be one of the top three missions of his life.

-

It’s 5:03 in the morning when Soap is awoken by the loudest clap of thunder he’s heard in his life.

It shocks him awake, shooting straight up from the bed, heart hammering and mind alert. It takes him a minute to realize there’s no immediate danger and that his biggest threat is the blue duvet tangled around his legs. Soap pauses, staring down at the soft blue blanket in confusion.

Why is he-

Oh. 

Right.

Soap takes in the room— cozy just like the rest of the house— taking this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see if he can spot any clues, any slight hints that’ll give him insight on you and Ghost. The two of you are frustratingly thorough, as the only unusual thing he finds is the heavy blanket of rain pouring down the window.

Thunder rumbles above.

A door opens and shuts somewhere in the house.

Soap is of a curious mind— perhaps too curious for his own good— but that same intense inquisitiveness is what gave him enough of a glimpse to discover his Lieutenant’s secret marriage, so who is he to fight it?

He gets out of bed, ignoring the instant chill that comes with leaving the warm covers, and changes into the spare shirt and sweatpants you had Ghost give to him. As quietly as he can, he leaves the room, heading straight down the hall and toward the stairs.

The roll of thunder echoes above once more.

Something metal clatters downstairs.

Soap tiptoes down the steps, peering into the living room when he reaches the bottom step. The lights are off, save for the kitchen, where you sit at the small circular table, and Ghost stands at the counter near the sink, pouring boiling water from an old kettle into a black mug. 

You’re still in your suspiciously oversized hoodie but have changed out of your fluffy shorts, trading them in for long pajama pants decorated with those colorful ghosts from pac-man. Ghost is dressed down significantly, only wearing a thin black t-shirt and matching sweatpants.

Soap should be surprised to see the balaclava still on, but he isn’t.

Ghost sets the mug on the table in front of you before he slides a chair over and sits down next to you. You sit up— almost dragging yourself into an upright position— looking far more exhausted than you had yesterday.

He watches you— attentive and alert in an almost too-intense way— shifting slightly with your every move. You either don’t notice or don’t care, messing with the tea bag and sipping from your cup. You wince when you swallow, and Ghost is leaning toward you, gloveless hand coming to rest just under your jaw. His thumb gently trails along the scar on your jawline, quiet murmurs exchanged and lost on Soap’s ears. 

He should go back upstairs; it’s still early, and this seems like a moment he shouldn’t intrude on.

Soap takes one step backward, the woods beneath his foot whining under his weight and settling with a pop. 

Your attention turns to the stairs, and Soap makes a snap decision. He stands up straight, heading down the stairs and into the living room, doing his best to seem casual and not like he was just spying on you.

Ghost pulls away from you, sitting back in his chair as you smile tiredly at Soap. Your voice is rough, more so than the tired rasp of someone who’s just woken up. “Mornin’, Soap.”

“Mornin’.”

“The storm wake you up?” you ask, setting your elbow on the table to set your chin in your hand. Soap shrugs, taking a seat across from you. 

“I was already up,” he lies. You raise a brow, an amused smile that says you don’t believe him, but you don’t say anything. You lean back, grasping your mug with both hands and letting the warmth soak into your fingers.

He notices the mug first, streaks of the cartoon ghost with a crooked smile peering at him through your fingers. Then his gaze moves to your fingers, where he spots a solid black ring sitting comfortably on your left hand.

“You gonna ask about it?” you ask, grinning at him over the steam as you sip your tea. Soap coughs, rubbing his neck with enough sense to look sheepish. He chances a glance at Ghost, but the man’s eyes stay firmly on you. “It’s fine, Soap. I’m sure you have questions.”

He’ll probably never get this chance again.

Fuck it.

“I have a list,” Soap says, a little too eager, leaning forward on his elbows. 

“You get three.” Ghost’s voice is flat and unamused– a stark contrast to your welcoming demeanor.

“Only three?”

“That’s one. You got two left.”

You scoff, reaching over to pinch Ghost’s arm. He grunts– more in annoyance than pain– giving you a half-hearted glare. It’s not ideal, but Soap will take what he can get. Sorting through the mental list of questions he’s been compiling since he first took notice of this little relationship, Soap tries to pick out the most important ones.

The group sits in silence while he thinks; you slowly work your way through your tea, grimacing around every swallow as the storm looms overhead. Thick raindrops assault the kitchen window, a steady waterfall pouring down the glass. Thunder booms overhead, less severe than before but startling all the same.

“Does Price know about…this?” he asks, gesturing to your ring.

“That’s your question?” Ghost scoffs.

It’s a question that’s confused him for months, so yes it is.

“He does,” you answer honestly. “So does my old Captain. They helped get all the legal stuff sorted out.”

“Legal stuff?” 

“‘s a little difficult getting a marriage license for a dead man. Some strings had to be pulled.” You speak so casually as if that’s a normal thing to say. They’re around each other so often, Soap sometimes forgets that Ghost’s callsign is more than just a nickname; he’s a literal dead man walking, the living phantom of Simon Riley.

“Does anyone else know? Your old team? Laswell?” A cold chill shoots up his spine, “Did Shepherd know?”

“No,” Ghost sighs.

“My maiden name’s on all the paperwork. Price and Owens were thorough,” you explain. “No one knows but them…and now you, of course.”

Soap nods, fully understanding the weight of this secret he now bears, but he has to wonder-

“Would you've said anything? Eventually?”

You and Ghost share a look before you shrug, staring down into your half-empty mug.

“We talked about it.”

“After Las Almas,” Ghost adds. “Got too used to keepin’ it a secret and ended up never bringing it up.”

“Old habits,” you laugh softly. There’s a swell in Soap’s chest at the thought of you two trusting him enough to tell him about your marriage, even if it never actually happened. There were times when he wasn’t sure if Ghost even liked him, but after Mexico…there was a bond there that he’s realized wasn’t as one-sided as he may have assumed.

Your laugh dissolves into a hoarse cough, and Ghost is instantly on his feet.

“Back to bed, let’s go,” he orders, no room for negotiation. You roll your eyes, standing up slowly and favoring your right side.

“Make yourself at home, Soap,” you say in your gravelly voice, glancing out to the endless rain. “It looks like you might be stuck here a while.”

-

The storm doesn’t lessen for the rest of the morning and only worsens the following day; it’s clear he and Ghost will be here longer than initially intended. 

Soap doesn’t mind, though.

He’s been given almost completely free rein of the house, presented with the rare opportunity to snoop without worrying about getting caught. 

He notices the pictures on the third day as he’s coming down the stairs. There’s a tall, thin bookshelf on the wall opposite the bottom step filled to the brim with a vast collection of novels and a few picture frames.

He checks the top picture first, carefully pulling it from the top shelf of the bookcase. It’s a picture of Ghost standing in full gear, sunglasses on over his balaclava, holding a fully grown German Shephard over his right shoulder. The dog is looking to the side where you’re standing in matching gear, hands scratching behind its ears as you make a silly face with your lips pursed. 

“Aw, I miss that dog.”

Soap jumps, nearly dropping the picture frame as you appear next to him, looking over his shoulder at the photo. 

“Christ, you need a bell or something,” he mutters, setting the frame back on the shelf.

“Maybe you shouldn’t let yourself get so distracted,” you tease. You turn to the bookcase, a fond sigh as you look over the various photos. You let yourself sit in nostalgia for only a minute before glancing at Soap with a slight grin.

“You wanna see more?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

You gather the pictures in your arms, leading Soap to the living room. You set the photos down on the coffee table and gesture for Soap to make himself comfortable on the sofa while you disappear into the hallway next to the kitchen. Soap sorts through the pictures. There’s one of Ghost sitting uncomfortably rigid in the back of a helicopter as you and Trip sleep on either side of him with your heads resting on Ghost’s shoulders. Another shows you with your old team, everyone dressed in civvies and sat around a bar table covered in empty glasses. The third is a duplicate of the one Soap had found in your desk in pristine condition. 

“I have this if you want to look through it,” you say as you return a large black book in your hands. You hand it to Soap, and he flips it open while you make yourself comfortable next to him.

It’s a photo album.

An entire photo album of you and Ghost– and sometimes the dog and your old team, but that’s not important.

Soap flips through it in wonder and awe. “Who took all these?”

“My old Captain, mostly. Some were me or one of the others. I think there’s a couple Simon took in there, too.”

“What did I take?” Ghost wanders down the steps, stopping when he sees the album in Soap’s hands. “For fuck’s sake, why does he have that?”

“Don’t mind him,” you huff. You lean over a peer into the photo album, pointing at one in the bottom left corner. “That’s one of my favorites!”

It’s a picture of Ghost passed out on a tattered sofa, exhausted, with the German Shephard curled around his head as he uses it for a pillow.

“Riley was such a good dog,” you sigh wistfully. Soap snorts, glancing over to Ghost. 

“Riley?”

“Wasn't my idea,” Ghost grumbles, looking directly at you. 

“Didn’t think you worked on a team before, Lt.,” Soap says, handing the album over to you so you can flip through the pictures, pulling out ones you want to show Soap.

“It happened on occasion,” Ghost shrugs, thick arms folded across his chest. “Worked with Owens once before, and she was impressed enough to ask for me on certain missions.”

“And because he had a crush on the doctor,” you mumble, laughing to yourself as you slide another picture out. Ghost seems less than amused, but he doesn’t deny it.

“You were a doctor back then?” Soap questions. That doesn’t sound right. He’s seen you in the field with the 141, your uniform completely different from what you’re wearing in those pictures.

You hesitate, pausing in your picture collecting to knit your fingers together and pick at your nails.

“Of sorts.” Is all you say.

“It was a specialized position,” Ghost cuts in, walking around the back of the sofa to set his hands on your shoulders. “Interrogation Specialist.”

“So, you questioned people?”

“I tortured people.” You look up from the photos, meeting Soap’s eyes with a distant gaze he’s seen many times on Ghost. 

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Is that why they called you Hornet?” Is what comes out of his mouth. It’s absurd enough to shock you out of whatever memory you were stuck in, tilting your head in confusion.

“No? Who told you that?”

“Grizzly. He said something about you being like a hornet in a beehive.” 

You have to bite into your cheek to keep from laughing, and even then, a few giggles escape you. You relax into the couch, craning your head up to look at Ghost, “I mean, I guess that works.”

“If that’s not it, then why-”

“We didn't have a medic, so I had to stitch everyone up a lot. And most of the time, we didn’t have any kind of anesthesia, and I didn’t give any warning before I started poking with the sewing needle. Grizzly complained that I was like an aggressive bee, Trip told him those were called hornets, and that was that. Not as cool, right?” Soap wants to reassure you, but your attention is back to the book in your lap.

You gasp, pulling out a photo to hold it up to Ghost, “Remember this?”

Ghost’s answer is immediate, “Don’t show him that.”

Well, now Soap has to know.

You laugh, sliding the picture back into its place, but briefly look over to Soap, mouthing later with a wink.

-

Over the next few days, Soap learns more about your relationship with Ghost. 

He learns that you met during a black-ops mission, where Ghost was meant to help escort your team– and more specifically, you– to a remote base to question some high-profile prisoner.

He learns that the two of you worked so well together for that first mission that Captain Owens made Ghost her go-to for any outside help if the team ever needed it.

He learns you spent years working together before the thought of becoming a couple even entered your minds.

And he learns that after that first time together, you and Ghost developed a specific set of rules for your relationship that’s only grown since.

You’ve told him a couple: no obvious affection in public, don’t compromise a mission for the other’s safety, respect each other’s space and the occasional need to spend time apart, no letters or phone calls unless it’s an absolute emergency.

Most were proposed by Ghost, but you agreed that it was for the safety of both of you.

He puts together clues about some of the other– possibly unspoken– rules when he watches the two of you interact. Ghost takes your health very seriously, and sometimes his tone borders on commanding when he tries to get you to rest or take medicine or drink tea without anything added to it. You sass him and roll your eyes, but do whatever he says every time. It’s the same when you ask him to get you something or try to get him to be a little nicer to Soap when he asks about some aspect of your marriage: Ghost will groan or roll his eyes but always bends to your will.

You don’t ask about each other’s missions, either. Soap watches you reorganize the weapon cabinet one day, noticing the blood on a few of Ghost’s knives. You ask if it’s his or Soap’s and if either of them needs to be looked at, but when they assure you they’re fine, you drop the subject. 

The biggest question for him, though: the rings.

Ghost’s has found its way onto his finger– the first time Soap has seen it there, while you switch between wearing yours on your finger and on that thin chain around your neck.

It’s on your finger this morning, and Soap is fixated on watching you twirl it around your finger absentmindedly while you stare over the back of the couch at Ghost’s back as he makes breakfast.

(That’s another thing– Ghost has done most, if not all, of the cooking since they got here.)

“It’s weird to see him with a ring on,” Soap quietly laughs. You turn to him, pulled out of your husband-watching trance. 

“Yeah, it’s not often we get to actually wear them.”

“One of his rules?”

“One of mine,” you sigh, gaze drifting back to Ghost. You fidget with your ring again, picking at its smooth, rounded edges with your nails.

“No wearing them where anyone can see ‘em, if one of us leaves for a mission then whoever’s staying behind keeps both of them, and if we both have to leave, the rings go in a small safe in my office.”

“That sounds-” Exhausting. “-thorough.”

“You’d be surprised how many captives forget about jewelry. It’s a whole lot easier to get information out of someone the minute you realize they might have someone they want to protect from you.”

There’s an edge to your voice, some kind of mix of nostalgia and resentment and regret.

But Ghost finishes breakfast and Soap decides it’s better not to ask.

-

Day six of waiting out this seemingly never-ending storm and the three of you are sitting in the living room cleaning your array of guns. 

You’re wearing your own clothes for once, a dark cotton tank top and black sweatpants that lets Soap see the full extent of bruising and bandages around your arms. A long bruise stretches across your neck, still purple and blue, and Soap suddenly understands the uneven hoarseness of your voice.

Your hair is up, pulled out of your face so you can focus on your work. Soap can see the scar from the humvee on the side of your head as it disappears behind your ear.

The ear that hides your tattoo.

It’s a quiet afternoon; it’d be a shame to break the peace. 

“When did you get the tattoo?” he asks anyway. You don’t answer until you look up and find him staring back at you.

“What tattoo?” you ask in genuine confusion.

“The little ghost behind your ear.”

Ghost freezes, head slowly turning to look at you. “What ghost?”

“Oh, that. I got it after Russia,” you shrug. “Whole mission was a total shitshow, but it reminded me how easily you can lose someone, so, after, I found the nearest shop and got it done.”

You return to your guns, but Ghost’s eyes are trained on you. Soap can see the gears in his head turning, and he briefly worries that maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Thought we agreed: no marks, symbols, or tattoos.”

A sharp laugh escapes your mouth, eyes flicking up to Ghost in disbelief. “So if I check out that chaotic sleeve of yours, you’re telling me I won’t find a little hornet hidden somewhere in there?”

A beat of silence.

Ghost grunts and returns to his guns and you grin victoriously at Soap.

-

The power goes out on day nine. 

Ghost is messing around with the fuse box. At the same time, you and Soap have decided to follow “sleepover law”, lighting the house up with candles, moving the sofa and coffee table to build a nest of pillows and blankets in front of the lit fireplace, and piling a collection of snacks nearby.

He can hear the two of you laughing in the living room, you exchanging old mission tales for stories about Soap’s nieces and nephews. Ghost sighs, his fourth and last idea to get the power back on failing miserably. He’s frustrated and annoyed and can feel that itch just under his skin that tells him to isolate. 

To do that, he’d have to go upstairs.

And to get upstairs, he’d have to go through the living room and pass by-

Your laugh echoes down the hallway, and Ghost can feel some of the tension ease from his bones. The itch is still there– the immediate need to run and hide to deal with any sort of negative emotion by himself– but it lessens when he remembers you’re nearby.

He shuts the fuse box, deciding he’s not going to get anything fixed right now. Instead, he wanders down the hall, stopping just before he reaches the living room to lean against the wall and listen to you and Soap.

“I have to ask-” Soap starts, mischief laced in his voice, “-the mask. Does he ever take it off?”

“If he wants to,” you reply through gentle laughter. 

“Really? So what if he doesn’t want to? Does he sleep with it on?”

“Sometimes.”

“What about when you two…”

There’s a brief pause before you snort and answer in a quiet purr, “Sometimes.”

“Nah, yer bum’s oot the windae!”

“...I don’t know what that means, but you asked!”

“You’re not serious!”

“Totally am! I mean…I wouldn’t’ve married him if I wasn’t into it.”

Ghost loves you more than anything in the world, but there’s nothing more he wants right now than for a hole to open up in the ground and swallow him whole.

-

It’s late, almost reaching into the early morning hours, and Soap cannot sleep. He doesn’t know what’s keeping him awake; he just knows that no matter what he tries, he can’t fall asleep.

After the third hour of tossing and turning and grumbling, he gets out of bed and heads to the kitchen. He does his best to keep quiet, all his stealth training kicking in.

He’s halfway across the living room when–

“Watch your step.”

It takes everything in him not to scream as your voice travels up from the floor. Soap looks down to find you lying on your back on the fluffy brown rug, your legs outstretched and resting atop the coffee table.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus! What the hell are you doing on the floor?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Came down here for some floor time.”

“Floor time?”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” You raise your brows at him, reaching out to pat the empty spot next to you.

He stares down at you, but you meet his gaze, eyes wide and unblinking to the point it almost freaks him out. Soap relents, bending down to lay next to you. You clap your hands in victory, scooting over to give him more room.

Soap gets himself comfortable, crossing his feet on top of the coffee table next to yours. You two lay in silence, staring up at the ceiling in the quiet dark. 

It is kind of calming, he has to admit.

“I used to do this with Riley,” you speak softly, barely above a whisper. “I’d lay down, and then he’d lay on me. At first, I thought he just wanted to use me as a pillow, but I think it was more of a grounding thing…he was a smart one, that dog.”

“What…happened to him?”

“He got old. K9 unit retired him, and Simon and I took care of him until…Simon was devastated when we had him put down. He refused to come back here for months after. Said the house was ‘too quiet’.”

“Could always have a kid or two,” Soap jokes. “House wouldn’t be quiet for a long while.”

“No,” you snap.

He sits up, propping himself on his elbows so he can face you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s not…you’re fine, Soap.” You release a long sigh, pulling your feet off the coffee table and sitting up straight. You stretch, back popping painfully from too much time on the ground.

“We’ve talked about kids,” you mumble, fingers moving to fidget with your ring. You look back at him– grey moonlight reflecting off your watery eyes. “Maybe in another life.”

Soap pushes himself to sit up completely, reaching out to settle a comforting hand on your shoulder. You flinch at the contact– relaxing when you realize you’re alright– and Soap pulls his hand away with an apologetic smile.

“Another dog, then? Or a cat? Ghost seems like a cat person.”

You make a sound, some sort of half-scoff, half-laugh that’s muddled by the knot in your throat.

“How 'bout a fish?” 

“A fish it is, then.” Soap hears your watery laugh as you wipe your eyes with your sleeve. You scoot back to sit next to him, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder.

“I’ll name him Soap, just for you.”

"Thanks, Doc."

-

It’s a whole two weeks later from the day they arrived when the water has eased enough outside for Ghost and Soap to go out and check the roads. 

You sit on the porch, tucked into a dry chair and another one of Ghost’s hoodies with a hot mug of tea warming your hands. Initially, you wanted to go with them, but Ghost refused swiftly and sternly. You argued that you needed the fresh air, and the compromise was made that you could settle on the porch and keep an eye out while they walked down the road.

Everything looked good, no mudslides, no floods, no fallen trees, so he and Ghost decided to head back and get ready to leave. 

Soap spots you as they near the house, staring off towards the brook near the house. You look so calm, so serene that he almost hates to disturb you. But Ghost has no qualms about interrupting your peace as he marches straight up to the house. You don’t seem to mind, judging by the way your face lights up at the sight of him.

He’s had almost every question answered, Soap realizes as he watches Ghost offer you a hand to help you out of your chair, and you use the momentum to pull yourself up and kiss him on the cheek. 

There’s only question left-

“Hey, Ghost?” he asks, once the three of you are back inside. 

Ghost pauses his cooking, looking back at him over his right shoulder.

“How did you propose?”

“What?”

Soap expected that, but he hadn’t expected you to start snickering from where you’re perched on the counter next to Ghost with your head resting on his left shoulder.

“It’s just…I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And there’s no engagement pictures in that photo album so-”

“I didn’t.”

“You…what?”

“I didn’t propose,” Ghost sighs.

Oh…

Oh!

Soap turns to you and your triumphant– if a bit smug– grin. “I beat him to it.”

“By two days,” Ghost huffs, turning back to the food on the stove. “Patience is a virtue, but not one of yours.” You giggle, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder over his shirt. Ghost nudges you away with a grunt. You lean back for a few seconds before setting your chin on his shoulder so you can stare lovingly at the side of his face. Ghost sighs, letting it happen and turning briefly to lightly tap his head against yours.

“How did you know?” 

The question spills from Soap’s lips the moment he catches that little interaction.

“Know what?” you ask, turning to lay your head down, smushing your cheek on Ghost’s shoulder.

“That you wanted to propose. How’d you know you were the ones for each other?”

You sit up, eyes never leaving Ghost, who’s gone unusually still. An uncomfortable tension fills the air, swelling like a balloon ready to burst.

“It was after Sweden,” Ghost mumbles minutes later. He puts the stove on low heat and turns to you, your eyes meeting as he steadily holds your gaze. “We were clearing out that abandoned building, and you found this kid, couldn’t have been more than five…maybe six? They were so scared, but you managed to get them to calm down and come with us. We cleared the place but got ambushed as we were leaving. You gave me the kid and shoved me out of the back exit and-”

“Took a bullet meant for you,” you finish softly. Your hand comes up to graze just below your stomach, absentmindedly clenching the fabric over the spot.

The face you made when he’d brought up children flashes through Soap’s mind.

Maybe in another life.

“Didn’t realize how scared I was of losing you until that moment. You always seemed so sure, so indestructible, like there wasn’t anything that could kill you, like you’d always be there. And then you weren’t, and I thought that was the end until you finally got out of surgery. Wasn’t gonna let you get away after that.”

Tears well up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks. You try your best to wipe them away, a smile of a million different emotions directed at Ghost. Ghost reaches out, sets a hand on your knee, and you meet his eyes before glancing over and realizing Soap is still there– grinning like an idiot.

“Well, I knew the day we met,” you laugh through your tears. Ghost scoffs, playfully squeezing your knee before returning his attention to the food. “It’s true; you can ask Firefly. Moment you started training with us and flipped Grizzly on his ass, I told her, ‘I’m gonna marry that man’.”

“Fuck off.”

-

They’re packed and ready to leave the next morning.

Soap’s tugging on his boots while Ghost locks up the weapons cabinet, and you stand off to the side, watching. You haven’t said a word all morning, just leaning against the wall with your eyes fixated on Ghost. 

Ghost shuts the cabinet with a sigh as Soap finishes lacing up his boots. Ghost glances at him, different this time– a silent ask for a moment alone with his wife.

Soap gets the message, loud and clear.

“Don’t worry, Doc. You’ll be back in your infirmary treating our stab wounds soon enough.” You huff in amusement, giving him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’ll see you soon, Soap.” He nods at you and turns to head out the door.

He leans against the wall just outside the front door, staring at the clear brook water that washes over smooth stones until he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks over and realizes he can see straight through the glass of the door where you and Ghost stand, feet apart from each other.

He should look away, get a head start down the road.

But when has he ever done that?

Instead, he watches Ghost slide the mask from his face, giving you a single nod before you launch forward and attach yourself to him. He holds you close like he’s trying to absorb you into his body, keeping you as close as physically possible. You pull back from him– only slightly– and Ghost wipes away the tears falling down your face. He reaches behind your neck, messing with the clasp of your necklace before his ring slides down the silver metal to meet yours at the bottom.

Your hands wind their way around the collar of his jacket, pulling him forward into a kiss he eagerly accepts. There’s no such thing as a goodbye kiss in the Riley household; goodbyes imply never seeing each other again, and that is a future neither you will accept. Instead, it’s a promise. 

A promise to stay alive, to come back. 

A promise either of you has yet to break.

You pull away, murmuring something against his lips. Soap’s never been a great lip reader, but it’s not hard to tell what you’re saying.

You better come back to me, Simon Riley.

Always.

Another kiss, and the mask is back on, slid into place by your steady hands. Ghost sets his forehead against yours, one last moment together before the inevitable separation. 

Soap turns away when Ghost steps back from you, focusing his gaze on a small leaf on the ground until Ghost walks out of the house, shutting the door behind him.

“Let’s go, Sergeant.”

[sinofwriting]

Names and Practice - Ollie Bearman

Words: 1,142 Prompt: Soulmate AU (also short!reader) Note(s): Italics means they are talking to each other in their heads. Ollie is listed on his website as being 1.87 meters (6’1 in feet) so reader in this is about 1.52 meters (5’ feet) to give the height difference

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Ollie has to stifle a laugh feeling the niggling of his soulmate waking up, his eyes dart towards the clock, half past ten, and sure enough a resounding fuck sounds off his head and he has to cough to disguise a laugh.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Ollie scoffs in his head. “You needed sleep. Your exams are finally over, classes done, you’ve got your degree, no more crashing at three and waking at six.”

“Bear.” She whines.

“Care.” He whines back, nodding at Rene in agreement about the line for turn eight. He hears her huff but then it goes quiet and he refocuses on the data over the track.

“You’re working this weekend, right?” He makes a humming noise both in his head and out loud as he stretches, leaving the garage, happy to be done with looking at data. “Yeah. What are you doing this weekend?”

“I’m going to Silverstone.” He freezes and hopes she doesn’t pick up the odd combination of dread and joy he feels. “Silverstone.”

“Mhmm. Jay had tickets but Noah surprised them with a trip.”

“Italy right?”

“Yep, so Jay gave me his tickets, told me to get out of the flat, so I’m getting out.” He smiles at the way she says it. “Good, you deserve it.”

“Are you going to everything?” He asks later, cozy in his hotel room he got for the weekend. Not wanting to travel to and from the track and his parent’s house. “Everything?” The question is absentminded and he can picture her focusing on dinner, with narrowed eyes and a pout on her face. It makes him ache, like it always does when he pictures her, but it’s not actually her he’s seeing. “Silverstone. Are you going to the practices and stuff? The things for F2 and F3?” He waits with bated breath for her answer. “I was planning on it.” Her voice is quiet. “I know you're really into it, so I figured I’d take advantage, see it in person when I can.”

“I’m gonna be there.” He blurts out. “What?” Her voice is shaky. “I’m gonna be there at Silverstone, tomorrow.” He tries to say that he’s a driver, but the bond blocks it, like it does for anything personal or revealing. It makes him want to bash his head against a wall. What was the point in blocking him telling her that when she would just find out tomorrow?

“Meet me tomorrow?” Her voice is a little desperate. “I mean, I just.” He cuts her off. “Of course, I’ll meet you.”

The next morning, as he sits in a café, his leg bounces as he looks at the door. She was going to be wearing red, for Ferrari she had teased, knowing that he loved the team, just not how much. She was average height and the next part had come out shyly, would have a tote with carebears on it.

He nearly groans when someone enters and it’s not her and he forces himself to take a deep breath, making his eyes wander around the interior of the café. He had been here twice before with Jak, when he didn’t have duties in Maranello but Jak was needed at Milton Keynes.

It was weird being around Milton Keynes but not with Jak. But he wasn’t about to meet her closer to the track or in Brackley. He shudders at the idea of being near Mercedes’ hub.

The sound of the door opening as his eyes immediately back to looking and the person standing there makes him lose his breath.

Because she was wearing red, Ferrari red, she had a carebear tote, she most certainly wasn’t average height, but she was fucking gorgeous and the thought, the image of her translates through the bond and he watches as her eyes widen before she looks over at where he’s sitting.

“Bear?” She asks, voice quiet, considerate of the other people inside the café. He slowly stands, a nervous grin stretching across his face. “Hi, Care.” Before he knows what's happening, she’s bounding over, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head in his chest. The movement stuns him but he quickly returns her embrace, pressing his face into her hair as his eyes close, taking in this, taking in her, taking in his soulmate.

“I want to stay here forever.” He flushes at her thought, but echoes it. Now that he had met her and was holding her, he never wanted to let her go. “Y’know.” He murmurs after a moment, trying to distract himself from kissing her, from kissing her for the first time in public, of all places. “You said you were average height.” “I am average height.” She frowns, pulling back slightly and tilting her head to look up at him. “You're just a giant.” He laughs, “you barely come up to my shoulders, love. I’m tall but I’m not that tall.” She pouts up at him and he swallows thickly, wanting to take that bottom lip in between his.

He’s jerked out of his thoughts by his phone ringing and he moves one of his hands from her to grab his phone, quickly answering it. “Ollie.” He says and watches as she mouths the name, turning red as he realizes that he still hasn’t told her his name. “Y’know that practice starts in an hour and half, right?” He flinches, pulling his phone back to look at the time, and curses. “I’m like thirty minutes away, I’ll be there.” Jak chuckles. “Uh huh. I’ve got you covered, just wanted to let you know since someone is going to try and make a stink of it.” A scowl crosses his face briefly but then he sees her looking at him concerned and he smiles. “I’ll be there.” He promises again, before hanging up.

“Everything okay?” “Yeah.” He nods. “It’s just, uh, free practice starts in the next hour and half and I kind of need to be there?” “You need to be there?” Confusion is clear on her face. “I uh, I’m a F2 driver for one of the teams.” “And you're here? Ollie!” He laughs and tightens his one-handed grip on her as she tries to push away from him. “It’s practice for a track I’ve driven before. I needed to meet my soulmate, it’s a bit important.” She stares at him in disbelief, shaking her head, before she takes a breath and smiles at him. “You are absolutely crazy.” His smile widens at that. “Now, let's get to your free practice, I’d like everyone you work with to like me. And my name is Y/N.” She finishes, feeling him start to ask inside their heads and out loud. He mouths her name as well, liking the feel of it, before he nods. “Alright, let's get to free practice.”

@crashingwavesofeuphoria @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

[ceilidho]

prompt: im also thinking of a very bad fic where ghost is taken pow for awhile and it fucks him up and he’s forced to see a therapist when he’s rescued but he’d rather use her p[] as therapy instead. tags: nsfw, implied/not described violence, slight dubcon, unprofessional relationship lol

-

It isn’t serendipitous that you meet; it comes because of a lot of bad luck and malevolence. 

He’s captured during a routine surveillance mission and spends three months as a POW in some shed in the Ural mountains. He comes back different. That’s to be expected. Trauma is an insidious thing that takes root under the skin, that twists and turns even in the dead of night. It’s a tunnel that gets tighter as you walk through it. It would be concerning if he didn’t come back that way. 

You know far too many gory details to ever feel truly comfortable around him. Not because of anything he’s done but because you can’t help the way the narrative builds in your mind when you look across the room at him. Even sitting on the prim and proper little sectional in your office, his body too big for the cozy little couch you picked up from some upscale boutique with your government paycheck, you can’t help but mythologize him. 

The official story is that four men were found dead when Simon Riley was finally extracted from the shed-turned-torture-room six months ago due to a bacterial infection that, luckily, Simon was not exposed to. The story’s flimsy even to your untrained ears; you may not have gone to medical school, but it just seems too perfect, too impeccable. When you push your superior for the truth, the look you get and the quiet “leave it alone” tells you far more than your paygrade deserves. 

Even knowing what you know, he shows up day one with the skull balaclava like some bone fortress that tells you before you even try, I am unknowable. You can try to cut me up and look inside, but this is all you’ll find—bone and bone and more bone.

He’s remarkably resistant to therapy, which is also to be expected; you aren’t at the stage in your career where you’re surprised that a man entrenched in the machinery of militarism won’t acquiesce to talk therapy. 

There’s a point where you want to try a new tactic, something to get to the root of what he’s hiding from you. So, you poke at it. You ask him to give you a five-minute account of the traumatic event, something that took place in the shed. 

“Which of those events do you dislike thinking about the most?” Your pen is poised over the pad in your lap. 

He raises a brow so high up that it disappears behind the mask. “How could I pick just one?”

His voice rumbles like tires over gravel. Sometimes your leg jitters when he speaks and it’s not your fault. You shut it down though because this is not a legend in front of you but a man, and you are in this room with him for a very specific purpose that does not include finding the sound of his voice attractive. 

You ask him again: “Which comes to mind first?”

Simon doesn’t answer you, but there’s a flash like quicksilver across his eyes and you catch it not because you’re looking but because he lets you. 

He shifts forward in his chair so that his elbows are propped on his knees and he’s leaning forward, closer to you than you’re comfortable with. You didn’t think to put a coffee table between the two of you. With other vets and active personnel, it’s easier without the sense of distance; makes them feel closer to you, vulnerable because it’s just skin, oxygen, and skin. 

With Simon, you get the sense that distance might be better. 

“What comes to mind first is that it was dark and I could smell the blood. I could taste it. But I couldn’t see it.” He doesn’t blink for as long as he speaks. You try not to let your breath shorten; you feel hungry for his truth the way a wolf hungers for the moon. “And it was dark and I could smell it; it was in my throat because I knew it was the only way out of there. I realized in that room that there is no righteous path but the one you take.”

Simon leans so far forward that his body glides up to stand and the pencil trembles in your hand when he takes a step close. He’s bigger looming over you, all brawn in the way military men often are, but sleek in his movements. You think of snakes or panthers. 

He breathes in. “You smell good though, love. Do you think we could start there instead?”

You open your mouth to reply, maybe even tell him to sit down so you can approach the question from a different angle, but then he’s on you, quick as he must have been that night. One big callused hand over your mouth and one knee on the couch, his other hand reaching up to pull the mask below his nose. You feel the warm press of it into the side of your neck and try not to struggle.

His breath shudders across your skin. You shake because you feel all the bone hidden beneath his frame now.

Simon’s hand is rough when it slides up your shirt. Pretty pearl buttons go flying; one rolls under the prim and proper couch. You only struggle for the first couple of seconds before professionalism melts away like a fine mist. Like you can do anything but look at him like a revelation. You stare at the pearl beneath the couch when he fucks you, legs split around his waist and you know it’s going to hurt in the morning. 

“If I’d known that you were waiting for me while I was in there,” he breathes, sonorous and rich, mask rolled up over lips bisected by a puckered scar, “I would have torn out their throats much more eagerly.”

[dollita-fawn]

Uncanny Reunion

pairings- Nemesis x S.T.A.R.S Fem! Reader

a/n- i’ve been thinking about him a lot today idk why he’s taking over my brain rn // I rlly need to know if his cum would infect you or not

TW DARK CONTENT

NSFW WARNING:

contains- mentions/ implications of violence, monster fucking, fingering(f!receiving), non con (he kinda doesn’t know any better), MAJOR size difference, tentacle fucking 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

For several days, you remained oblivious to what was happening in your city. You spent most of your time holed up in your cozy one-bedroom apartment, not even bothering to glance out the window or switch on the TV. However, everything changed when the terrifying figure emerged and forced you out of your safe haven into the unknown dangers of the outside world.

You’re unsure just what the thing is, but you know it’s not something you want to stick around and figure out. It had already injured you more than you’d expected, making your escape difficult.

Outside, you're met with a scene of utter chaos. The streets are devoid of any signs of normalcy, and instead, you see hordes of undead creatures shuffling aimlessly. You take a deep breath, grateful that you have your trusty gun by your side. However, your heart sinks as you realize that you're running dangerously low on ammunition, thanks to your earlier confrontation with that colossal monster.

You limp your way through the wrecked streets of the city, hoping to find at least one normal person. But you’re surrounded by nothing by hungry, man eating zombies. Definitely not how you wanted to spend your evening.

The zombies were definitely easier to deal with at least. But you’re running out of bullets quickly. Regardless of your perfect aim to the head, there’s too many to just avoid. One bite is all it’d take, even just a scratch and you’d be done for. You just couldn’t make it out of this without proper supplies.

So, you reroute to the gun store. Just a couple blocks away. You were confident that you could make it there somewhat safely. You internally hoped for there to be survivors, even if the chances were slim.

But when you round the corner towards your destination, you freeze in fear, coming face to face with the intimidating being once more. It would be one thing if it was just huge, but it’s huge and armed. With a rocket launcher no less. And it was incredibly fast on its feet. There was absolutely no way to outrun the bastard this time.

As it comes barreling towards you, you almost want to give up. There was nothing you could do, not with 3 puny bullets. They had no effect on the thing before anyways. There were no tricks to pull to make an exit.

You just stand there, not even understanding why it was after you. Was it because you were the only one there? It seemed to be targeting you specifically.

It didn’t matter anyway. You were prepared to accept your fate. Just letting it happen.

Its strong form pummels you into the nearby wall, its force strong enough to completely bust through. But for some reason, it’s holding back.

Wincing, you slit your eyes to take a peek at what’s in front of you. It's got you tacked, but not pushing any further. Just staring down at you like it had some kind of crazy realization.

It lets out a low growl, seeming as if it was fighting itself internally, looking almost pained. “S.T.A.R.S.” Its rumble is almost incoherent, but you understood clearly.

He must be one of Umbrella’s experiments. A So-called bioweapon. That explained why he was after you, but made his hesitation to finish you off all the more confusing. The way he was looking at you almost emotionally. As if he knew you.

There was no way he could. You were aware of how Umbrella mutated and experimented on people. Once they change, their soul and all that they once knew vanish. The human they once were is gone entirely. Even if he knew you prior, those memories were gone. He was just doing what he was designed to do. So why was he looking so hurt? Why wasn't he killing you?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

His breath is hot and heavy through his exposed teeth. He was too close for comfort. More so when his strange tentacle makes its appearance, snaking around your neck. You were certain your life was about to end. But then next thing you know, your clothes are being forcefully ripped off.

You're completely disoriented. Raccoon City is crumbling, zombies everywhere, and now a bioweapon is stripping you of your clothing?

His pained expression turned to something else entirely. Almost like before when he was hunting you down. Completely driven with need.

“W-what the hell is this..?” you stammer, only to get a low growl in return. As you try to squirm out of its grasp, he only tightens his hold on your neck. You know there’s no point in even trying. He almost destroyed your entire apartment complex, he could just as easily end you right here and now. Though he’s not.

Instead he’s pinning you to the wall, looking at you as if considering eating you as his next meal.

You let out a squeal at the feeling of his large finger stretching through your entrance. Just one finger was the size of three of your own normally. He was fishing around inside you. Toying with you.

The more sound you made, the more intense his movements got. His breath quickened with yours. This mutant creature was showing human emotion. Driven by pure excitement and lust. His finger glided with no particular rhythm, soaking in your growing wetness.

You feel your knees growing weak. The combination of your lack of oxygen from his stronghold and his relentless massaging of your insides is overbearing. You were already powerless against him before, this just made you 10x weaker.

Just as your vision begins to go spotty, you’re allowed air again. His lengthy tentacle release your neck, instead traveling further down. His finger slips out, leaving you empty for the briefest moment before you’re filled again. This time by the rope-like tentacle attached to him.

It slithers deep into your cunt, pushing past your limits and your cervix, all the way up into your womb. The feeling makes you want to scream, to get away but he holds you there against the concrete wall.

But as it starts to move, you feel an overwhelming heat in your stomach. Your logical brain falls somewhere far away.

The bioweapon continued to play with your hole, letting out low grunts as if he was feeling great pleasure from this. Your eyes roll back as the tentacle slides in and out without mercy, whines and whimpers escaping your lips. You can’t help but cling to the huge form in front of you for support in your helpless state.

Your touch does something to him.

Nemesis struggles, his entire purpose being a killing machine. He was supposed to wipe out the STARS members. That's what he was designed for, yet you did something that made him feel something so overwhelming. He forgot all about his duties as real feelings came into play. He can't remember where he's seen you, or why he feels this intense necessity to have you. But he can't just ignore it. Especially not now. The way you're holding onto him, meekly panting and whimpering as his tentacle fuck up into you, he needs more. You've made him feel warm and fuzzy inside, something he doesn't even remember to be possible.

The tentacle slips out so he can lift you to his height. He does so with ease, his giant arms hook under your legs and lift you up. You sit midway on his stomach, and he just stares at you for a while. Noting your half-lidded eyes, and heated skin.

It gives him uncontrollable urges. Just like his purpose to fulfill Umbrella’s orders. He needs you. Needs to claim you as his own.

Nemesis was a superior being to you, but looking down at your petite form stirred something vile within him. The way your tits sat on your chest, rising and lowering with every breath and your pussy was puffy from his stimulation.

He couldn't stop himself, or understand whatsoever.

Nemesis strips away his lower clothing, revealing the largest and most strangely built dick you've ever laid eyes on. If you could even call it that.

There was no way that thing could fit, anywhere. So you thought.

Nemesis saw no restrictions, stuffing the girthy member into your tight hole. You cry out in agony as it stretches you deeper. You weren't wet enough for it to go in easily. Even if you were, you doubt it would feel any different. Its girth was the size of his forearm.

As he bounces you with his thrusts, the being lets out primal groans, still bearing its teeth and heaving breaths heavy enough to blow you away.

He can't comprehend what this feeling is. He just knows he can't stop. He keeps bullying his cock into your cervix relentlessly, reaching the back of your canal without even having to go very far.

Once again, you rely on him for support. He was fucking the life out of you.

He goes feral with need as you hold onto him again. The feeling of your warmth against him reminds him of something he just can't quite reach. Your helpless cries make him throb.

His hardened length doesn’t cease its assault even for a second as he desperately chases his high. He can hardly feel your nails raking at his back, all the feeling flows to his cock. Your tears wet the thin cloth of his covering, but he doesn’t understand. And it was too good to stop.

Through your blurred vision, you couldn’t even make out where you were anymore. Your thoughts were being stolen from you. You can feel him fuck all the way up into your stomach. Your walls struggle to conform to his shape but he makes them. It felt like you were being torn apart from the inside. You couldn't take it.

Your cries for help go unheard, instead only driving him further. He stuffs you like a toy, ramming into you with his enormous cock at an alarming rate when he feels something. A tightening feeling like something was about to explode.

His breath falters as the sensation takes over.

It spurts out, giving him a strange euphoric high. He groans, continues to fuck into you and milk it out of him. He stuffs his cum as deep as it can go, the slick lubes his need. He couldn't stop. It felt so good.

Your legs tremble along with the rest of your weaker from, there was nothing you could do to get out of this. You thought he'd never stop.

He was addicted to this newfound feeling.

Unexpectedly, he slows. His body is tense and shaky as it begins to feel too good. Almost painful. He pulls out quickly trying to make it stop, his arousal steadily leaking and twitching now beneath you.

Once more, Nemesis just stares at you, that human emotion apearant on his mutated face again.

[buckyalpine]

I'm thinking ab this nonstop!!

Maybe bucky had a really bad nightmare a while ago, and Steve told you that sometimes after a bad nightmare he had a hard time with physical touch, so you didn't iniciate intimacy for some time, to make it easier for him

But after one of Tony's parties you come back to your apartment and he is anxious and sad, he thinks he doesn't turn you on anymore (crazy!!!) So you explain why you didn't iniciate intimacy and that you've been so wet for him this entire time and insecure turns into feral and he rails tf out of you!!!

Oh I love this so much, yes. Starts off angsty and then all the filthy filthy SMUUTTT and flufff

Bucky is used to nightmares but the one he had most recently was bad. He struggled to pull himself out, all the vivid images seared in his mind even after he woke up. You had heard his muffled cries before but this was different; his pained screams tore through the compound halls. 

Steve and Sam had rushed out of their rooms before you could even get to him, breaking into his room to try and calm him; Steve didn’t even want you nearby, insisting it could be dangerous in case Bucky wasn’t in control of himself.

You understood where Steve was coming from but it still broke you. Ever since you started dating months ago, you had always been the one to cradle and hold him after a nightmare, you were Bucky’s safe space. You reluctantly went back to your room while Bucky’s softened whimpers carried down the hall. 

****

You made your way down for breakfast, your heart sinking seeing Bucky’s room closed; he didn’t sleep in often but it happened occasionally when he was utterly exhausted. Steve and Sam were already seated by the kitchen island while you went to heat up some water. 

“He still sleeping?” Sam asked, smiling softly when you nodded. “Good, he needs his rest, last night was rough” 

“Was he okay when you both left last night?” You looked to Steve hopefully while he gave you a sad smile. Bucky had cried for you in his sleep and while Steve wanted to come and get you, he still decided to air on the side of caution, not wanting anything to happen to you in case things went south. 

“It was bad but at least he fell asleep after. I know he doesn’t always open up about how he’s doing. He’s always has a hard time with talking and he can’t stand physical touch after a bad nightmare” 

Physical touch. 

You sighed while making some coffee, physical touch was your favorite thing with Bucky. You loved to be tucked in his arms, touching and holding his hands, playing with his fingers, carding your hands through his hair, nuzzling into his neck. There was something that made you feel so loved and safe whenever you felt his skin on yours. 

Then there was that physical touch. His naked body on you, his cock filling you up like no one else could, hands gripping your waist, his balls slapping your ass with each thrust, his lips on your neck, tongue and lips on your soaked cunt, his warm cum spilling all over out of his fat co-

You shook your head, ignoring the way you had riled yourself up; now was not the time. He needed his space and you would give him everything he needed, even if it meant not getting to have your way with your perfect super soldier. 

However.

Bucky was utterly perplexed over the growing distance that had started between you both. You didn’t initiate anything. You hardly cuddled with him. No cozy hugs. You didn’t nuzzle your face into his chest like a cat. Spent most of your time locked away in your room. He missed the way you would randomly grab his ass through out the day or whisper salacious things in his ear just for him. He missed the way your naughty hands would slip up his shirt, your devilish smirk exposing what you really wanted. 

You didn’t even reciprocate when he initiated because you figured he was forcing himself to do something uncomfortable for your sake, no matter how hard it was. 

Things came to a head on the night of Tony’s Party. 

Bucky hated it, he wanted to leave so badly. Not because he wasn't enjoying himself. Not because of the loud music or huge rowdy crowd. Not because he was Sam was drunkenly yelling in his ear the entire time. 

No.

It was you. 

The dress you wore had him in a choke hold, he wanted to fuck you in it the second you stepped out of your room. Before he could tell you how perfect you looked, you had given him a quick peck before making your way down. He couldn't tell what was worse, the thigh high slit, the plunging neckline or the way your legs looked in your heels, it was too much. 

Every time he tried to put his hand on your waist or pull you into his lap you found an excuse to slip away to create some space so you weren’t touching him. It was killing you on the inside.

He smelled so good.

He hadn’t bothered shaving, the stubble on his cheeks made him even more attractive. 

He was in all black again (on purpose because he knew it was your kryptonite), the little shit knew he looked damn good. You couldn't stand the number of agents that kept trying to flirt with him, you were so focused on not jumping on his bones, you didn’t see his pained expression each time you avoided him. 

By the end of the night, Bucky’s heart ached. He had tried to initiated something with you the entire party and you didn’t entertain it once. Normally you were the one happy to drag him away somewhere but you shrank away from his touch each time. 

He had even planned in his look, hoping it’d get your attention but it did nothing. Maybe he didn’t turn you on any more. It made him feel worse because a part of him always believed you were it for him. Now, you didn’t even want to sleep with him. 

He tried to ignore his anxiety as much as he could while you both made your way up from the party. He was going to kiss you good night after walking you to your room but he couldn't hold it any more. You gasped when he took your hand, tugging you to his room, and sitting with you on the couch. 

“Doll...” 

“What is it bubba?” You felt a wave of panic looking at Bucky’s anxious face as he nervously fidgeted with his hands, refusing to meet your eyes. He gives you a sad smile, the sweet name you always called him making his heart jump. 

“Do you-uh-” He continued to fidget with his hands, not sure if he wanted to have this conversation anymore, he should have just accepted things the way they were.  “Are you-are you not attracted to me anymore?” 

“What?” You blinked in pure confusion, surely you heard in correctly because there was no way he actually thought that. Bucky was one of the most attractive people you’d ever seen and you felt that way from before you fell in love with him. “Where is this coming from Bucky”

“It’s just you don’t-you don’t touch me, you pull away whenever I’m near you” He shrugged sadly, his shoulders slumped again. “We haven’t done anything in so long, I-I miss feeling you”

"No baby, I-

Bucky shook his head, not wanting to prolong your misery further. 

“I understand if you don’t want this anymore doll- 

You slapped your hand over Bucky’s mouth, horrified that he felt this way. You shook your head, moving closer to him. 

"Baby you don’t understand. I wasn't sure you'd want that right now, it's been awful, I couldn't stand not being able to be close to you and touch you” 

Bucky blinked in confusion, while you smiled softly, caressing his cheeks with your thumb. 

“I didn’t want to over step bubba, I wasn’t sure you’d be comfortable with anything after you had a nightmare. I wanted to give you some space. I’ve been having to take cold showers with my hand between my legs because I’ve been so desperate for you” 

You felt your heart racing, your clit already throbbing, you didn’t realize how touch starved you felt until now, your body screaming for him. Bucky smirked, pulling you into his lap, causing your dress to ride up, brining you to grind right over his aching length. He’d stroked himself more times than he could count, thinking about your soft body and pretty moans, nothing compared to the real thing. 

"Tell me more" He groaned, guiding your hips to rock back and forth, your soaked panties dampening his pants. 

"I-I've wanted you so badly, craved you Bucky" You moaned in his ear, grinding harder on him, your orgasm already building in your belly. 

"More" He lifted you off the couch, throwing you on his bed and stripping his clothes off before ridding you of your dress and panties. He caged you under him, his leaky cock nudging against your clit while you whimpered, bucking your hips up to rub yourself on his pink tip. He groaned, reaching between his legs to rub his cock in circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

"Missed your cock, wanted it, needed you to fuck me, been so soaked for you" You cried out, panting as kept toying with your clit, his breaths growing heavier, humping and rutting your pussy. 

"Fuck y/n, more"

"Wanted to suck you, feel your cum on my tongue, have you choke me with your cock, stuff my pussy, fill me up with your cum” You wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him closer, you’d waited long enough, you just wanted to feel full of him again and-

"Come here baby, come take daddy’s cock" Bucky snarled, shoving his cock into you without warning, pounding you into the mattress while you cried out pleasure. His thrusts were erratic, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room along with your combined moans and grunts.  

“FUCK DADDY YESSS” You threw your head back against his pillows, clawing at his back while he sat back on his heels, tossing your legs on his shoulders. He firmly grabbed your hips, slamming into you, one hand pushing down onto your belly, groaning at the way he could feel his cock bulge against your tummy.

“Feel that baby?” He grabbed your hand, pressing it firmly against your skin, “You feel my cock huh, so fuckin’ deep in you. I missed this baby, missed this pussy So. Fuckin. Bad” He groaned, head thrown back, biting your calves, before gently licking the area. 

“Tell me how much you missed my cock you little slut”

“Been-been soaked for you daddy” You whined out, your hands gripping the sheets while his eyes were locked on where you were both connected. He couldn’t look away from how perfectly your pussy opened up for him, your creamy white slick making a mess on his cock. He spit right onto your swollen clit, rubbing his thumb in tight circled making your walls flutter, sucking him in deeper.

“Such a pretty little clit, you’re sensitive huh angel, my dirty little girl. You like when I touch you here?” He smirked watching your eyes roll back, soundless screams leaving your mouth while you pussy started to clench around him. “Are you gonna cum princess? You rubbed yourself thinking about me, should’ve just came to me baby, I would have taken such good care of you. Does my princess cum when daddy touches her clit?” 

“OH FUCK BUCKYY” You sobbed out, cumming hard around his cock, while Bucky groaned watching your face contort with pleasure. 

“You’re making a mess on me angel, got my dick all creamy baby, fuck, why’d you hold back, you know how badly I wanted to touch you? How fuckin’ sexy you looked tonight-hell-wanted to tear that dress off you in the middle of the party”

Bucky lost himself, admiring your perfect fucked out face, dropping your legs down so he could nip your ear, telling you all the filthy things he had thought of while you kept him touch deprived. 

“Wanted to fuckin’ rail you in front of everyone, show them you’re all mine. You know how many people were lookin’ up and down at you baby, and how bad I wanted to shove my cock in you, claim you, show them you’re all mine”

You cried out, knowing the sound proof walls had nothing on how loud you were with the way his hips punctuated in you, taking his sweet time now, making you feel all of him. 

“Dadddyyy”

“Oh baby, you have no idea how badly i wanted to hear that” He sucked on your neck, pinning your hands against the mattress, giving you slow agonizing thrusts as he dragged against your gspot. “Sweet heart, I made the biggest messes on myself without you there. Surprised you didn’t hear me moan for you baby, couldn't even hold back, I touched myself everywhere” 

“Fuck, tell me where, how, I- please Bucky” Bucky’s balls and thighs were soaked with your arousal, nothing turned on on more than the thought of your super soldier masturbating. 

“Every night, on my bed, legs spread, naked doll. Hand stroking my cock so hard wishing it was your pussy. Sometimes I had to roll over and rub myself on the bed, wishing it was you under me” Bucky could feel his cock starting to throb, he had started his orgasm off as long as he could but it was getting harder. 

“In the shower, cum all over my chest, fuck I was so horny, it even got my lips. You know what I did baby” He let out a dark chuckle, whispering in your ear. “Licked it up baby, thought about your sweet lips and tasted myself, God I needed you so bad” 

He moaned, dropping his body weight on you, thrusting faster chasing his orgasm. 

“You make my dick so hard baby, make me so horny, can’t take it” His legs squirmed against the mattress as he railed you, his cock throbbing, precum dribbling from the tip. 

“M’gonna cum angel, I can’t hold it, fuck-oh god I need this fucking pussy, m’gonna cum so hard, here it comes baby-FUCK” You wrapped your legs tightly around him while he buried his face into your neck, his body pulled taught feeling pleasure crash over him, his cock throbbing spilling his cum into you.

“I-I’M CUMMING” Bucky nearly roared, “M’cumming so much y/n, shit baby you feel that? It’s so much doll, take my load, daddy has so much cum for his princess” 

“Fill me up daddy” You cooed, cupping his face and kissing him while he moaned, humping himself into you with his sensitive cock. 

“Gonna fill you up till you’re dripping and leaking for days, god you make my cock feel so good angel” 

You both stayed in bed, panting with soft kisses and caresses in between; Bucky was not ready for you to even clean up, he was so touch deprived from the time you avoided him, he kept you wrapped in his arms, his cock still deep inside you. 

“Just so you know baby, I always want you to touch me. I love how you feel with me doll, I missed your hugs and cuddles. I wanted to fall asleep with you every night baby” He whispered, his eyes sincere while he stroked your forehead. “Promise me you’ll hold me? I’ll tell you if I’m not comfortable with it angel, I need your touch. You calm me down baby, your hugs and kisses are everything to me” 

“Always my baby” You kissed him deeply, cuddling him close to your body, playing with his hair as he started to fall asleep. He smiled against your skin, hitching his leg over you so he could be as close as possible, he never wanted you to let go again. 

Tags:

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[leossmoonn]

Welcome back, Sara!!! For a fluffy Mike idea, maybe just a cozy rainy day spent at home with Mike and Abby? Like watching movies with cups of hot cocoa under a mountain of blankets, and all that jazz

Hi Logan ☺️☺️☺️ thanks for sending this in. I’m always afraid of writing fluff fics bc like everyone wants the smut, but it’s reassuring to have this put in lol

it’s a sunday and mike just so happens to have the day off. he’s been working long and hard hours and you convinced him to take the day off. you and abby are so excited; you two planned the whole day from the moment you woke up to the time it was time for abby to sleep. unfortunately, it’s rainy and a sudden wind chill swept through. none of you need to get sick and mike didn’t want to make making abby carry an umbrella, so you make the quick decision to stay in. abby’s a little disappointed, but you try to make up for it.

the first thing you and mike do in the morning is make a fort with abby. and not just a little four corners fort. no, she makes you cover the entire living room with blankets. even the tv was included! you and mike are dragged into some play-pretend games. for a lot of them mike’s forced to play some sort of villan.

“why can’t i play the hero, abby?” mike frowns. “because that’s her job!” abby points to you.

mike gives you a look and you shrug. “abby’s the director here. cant fight with the boss.”

mike rolls his eyes, wanting to get out of the humid blankets and sleep, but he knows how happy this makes abby. and even though abby is making him play the bad guy, he knows she means it out of love and he also loves getting to spend as much time with abby as he can. watching you act is pretty cute as well.

once abby gets bored of playing in her fort — which is like 3 hours later — she decides she wants to watch a movie.

“let’s clean up first, yeah?” mike suggests. “no! let’s keep the fort up to watch the movie!” abby says.

“abby, no. we had our fun with the fort. it’s time to turn the house back to normal,” mike says. “please say we can keep the fort up!” abby pouts as she looks up at you.

mike gives you a warning look, but you can’t say no to abby. “let’s just keep the fort up for the movie, yeah?”

abby squeals and wiggles back into the fort. mike glares at you. “she’s never going to want to take it down.”

“she will when it’s time for bed, which is hours away.” you step closer to him, gently putting your hand on his shoulder. “how about i pop some popcorn — the real stuff on the stove — and i make us some hot coca, okay?”

well, who was mike to turn down stove-popped popcorn and hot cocoa. he felt like a little kid again. it doesn’t help that you and abby’s pouty faces were ganging up on him. he sighs in defeat and nods, crossing his arms around his chest.

“fine, but after the movie, we will clean all this up, okay?”

“of course,” you nod. you turn to abby who is lit up with excitement. “can i pick the movie?”

“yep! do you want any popcorn?” you ask her. “yes. can you put m&ms in mine?” she asks. “you got it, babe,” you answer.

you three settle in the fort, abby laying on her stomach right in front of the tv. she chose “Lady and The Tramp”, which was one of her more enjoyable movie choices.

“mike, you’re kind of like the tramp,” abby comments, popping a handful of popcorn and m&ms into her mouth.

you begin to laugh but cover it up with a cough when mike shoots you a glare. “abby, that’s not very nice.”

“he knows it’s true,” she says, kicking her feet up and dangling them in the air. “And you’re like Lady.”

you glance at mike, a small smile on your face. you lean into him, your nose brushing against the scruff on his cheek. “i think what she’s trying to say is that we are perfect for each other.”

the tips of his ears turn pink. he wraps his arm around you, pulling you in so your head rests on his shoulder. “she could’ve said it differently, though.”

you giggle, “nah, i think it’s accurate.” he rolls his eyes, but there’s no denying the smile on his face and twinkle in his eye.

mike ends up falling asleep towards the end of the movie. his head rests on your chest, both arms around your waist to hold you close. your hands are in his hair, massaging his scalp while the credits roll.

“why is he so tired all the time?” abby pouts. “he works a lot,” you say. “but i’m sure he’ll wake up soon. why don’t you help me clean the fort up?”

“do i have to?” abby frowns. “i think mike would appreciate that,” you say.

“ugh, fine. but only if we can have pancakes for dinner.”

you grin and nod, “you got it.”

mike wakes up to the smell of chocolate chip pancakes. he twists and turns on the floor, the sizzle of bacon him bringing him into consciousness. he begins to open his eyes, his back beginning to ache from sleeping on the floor. he hears some giggling coming from the kitchen, sitting himself up on his elbow and peering over the couch. you’re at the stove, a spatula in your hand. abby’s sitting at the table, crayons littering the wood.

“look who’s up!” you exclaim. mike groans softly as he sits up, using the couch as a crutch to stand up. “i’m sorry i fell asleep. between the rain and the pillows —”

“shush,” you cut him off. he walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, his fingers tracing sliver of skin on the small of your back that’s exposed. “i ruined our day.”

“no, you didn’t. right, abs?” you turn to her. “you did snore a lot, but you didn’t,” she says. you smile at mike, “see? all is well.”

“smells good.” he mumbles as he wraps both arms around your waist, placing his chin onto your shoulder.

“me or the food?” you glance at him with a teasing smile. he takes a not-so-nonchalant inhale of your skin. “both,” he answers.

“ew!” abby grimaces behind you two. you and mike both laugh and he presses a kiss to your cheek before pulling away. he brings some plates and silverware out, sitting across from abby and waiting for the food.

mike stares as you two discuss abby’s drawing. he can’t wipe the smiles off of his face. his life was never perfect and he knew it was never going to be, but if he could just keep this — keep you two — he would then be able to call it perfect.

“mike,” abby says with a little pout. “what’s up?” he asks.

“do you have to go back to work tomorrow?” she asks. “i do, but you also have to go back to school,” he states.

“i don’t want to,” she says. mike sighs, the calmness from his body fleeting. “you don’t have a choice, abby. i’m sorry.”

“i… i just mean… i want this day to last forever.”

his eyes widen and glance up at you. you’re rubbing her back soothingly, giving him an encouraging smile.

“maybe we can do something special for dinner again tomorrow,” you suggest. “we can watch a movie and even eat dinner on the couch.”

abby’s face lights up and she nods. “okay! can i pick the movie again?”

“only if you don’t compare me to a dog again,” mike says. abby giggles and puts a forkful of pancakes in her mouth before speaking again. “we’ll see,” she quips.

mike looks back at you, placing his hand inside of yours on the table. your feet slides up his calf, your eyes soft as you look over his face. his heart warms and for the first time in a while, he feels at peace.

[telvess]

RoR: How they seek attention (Poseidon, Loki, Heracles) 🔞

You, gals and guys, gave me such positive feedback under the previous post with this theme, so I decided to write part II

Poseidon

Poseidon with his I’m perfect, I don’t need anyone mindset is a bit tricky, so you have to be especially attentive, because if you miss the opportunity, you will have to wait until the next time.

If you spot a horny Poseidon, you still need to say or do something to trigger him. He requires it, because his pride holds him back.

You were minding your own business in the library, looking for an interesting book that you hadn’t read yet, when suddenly you felt a chill run down your spine. You froze for a split second, before going back to looking at the book covers as if nothing had happened. You smiled to yourself as you heard the sound of the floor creaking, and then a shadow fell on the bookcase in front of you. — Were you looking for me? — you asked, flipping through a random book. You weren’t interested in reading anymore. You just knew why Poseidon approached you, he basically pierced you right through with his blue eyes. There was a silent expectation hidden in this gesture. — I may have been… — he said, indifferently. Poseidon stood too close to you to ignore. But when you looked at him over your shoulder, he didn’t say a single word. — Do you find this book interesting? — you asked, showing him the cover. — No — you heard. You couldn’t help but giggle. You put the book down and picked up another one, but this time you cocked your head slightly so that your bare neck was in Poseidon’s sight. No reaction. — You know… when I show you my neck like that, it means I want you to kiss it — you advised, still feigning interest in the book. — Oh? — finally something changed in his voice, your provocation worked — Such shamelessness, unworthy of a goddess. You snorted. — Say whatever you want, but you have to admit: it’s a very good neck, even for a goddess. He would never deny that. After all, he was the one who chose you to be his wife. You’re the one who stands by his side, as an equal. You were perfect. To deny this is to deny himself. You felt his cool fingers on your neck, slowly heading towards a clasp that was holding your dress together. Once that was undone, Poseidon removed the straps from your shoulders and watched as they slipped and stopped on your bent hands. Your cheeks got warm at that bold act. Poseidon’s hands touched your waist - causing you to held your breath - as they moved around it, invading the space beneath the fabric of the dress and reached your navel. Your body trembled with excitement, your husband chuckled right next to your ear. Your eyes met. — It seems that every part of your body is perfect — he said, calmly, but you saw in his eyes that he was eager for much more. — Even my mouth? — you loved to provoke him. The corners of his lips twitched and his fingers tightened at your skin. — I can keep that occupied — he assured. Poseidon leaned towards you, his lips felt so soft - such a contrast to his personality - and it always surprised you. The book fell from your hands, and as your hands fell alongside your body, the dress ended up on the floor. You slowly tasted his lips, feeling the tension build in your naked body as Poseidon’s hands caressed every part of it.

Loki

Loki would announce very loud how bored he is, it doesn’t matter if you’re busy or it’s middle of the night. His priority is himself. And „boredom” is the secret code for „let’s do stuff”.

He always appears out of the blue and because he is the biggest trickster in the universe, it’s really hard to take his demands seriously.

How delightful was your bed; cozy and warm… You couldn’t keep your eyes open. There was darkness and sweet silence around you. Then… why were you awake again? You frowned and forced yourself to raise your head. Something tickled your forehead. — What the-! — you screamed, looking up. — Hello! — said Loki, loosely levitating above you. He presented you his naughty smile that you barely saw in the dark. His face was so close to yours that his hair were touching your forehead. — W-what are you doing here! It’s the middle of the night! — you shouted at him. Loki sighed and rolled his eyes, as if you were the unbearable one here. — I’m bored… — he mumbled. — Uh, you always are! — you sat up straight — Besides… did you try, I don’t know, sleep? — Booooriiiiing! — he yelled and laid down next to you. His face was better visible in the faint light coming through the curtains now. — I was thinking… — he laid eyes on your body hidden under the blanket — maybe you could entertain me? Something had awakened in your body. You always have to be careful with Loki, because every gesture or word could be a trap or at best have a hidden meaning, so now you looked at his pretty eyes with a dose of suspicion, but… well, what eyes could tell you? — How exactly? — you placed your hands on the blanket. — I’ll tell you. First take that… — he pointed at your pyjamas — … off. At first you didn’t even process his words, then you took it as a joke, but Loki’s expression didn’t lighten up, he didn’t burst into laughter, he remained serious, so you finally understood the situation you found yourself in. And… You snorted. — Very romantic — you said, covering your lips in a sudden bout of shyness. Loki raised his eyebrows, but his lips didn’t even twitch, which - for some damn reason - you found hot. — Oh, come on! We both know you want me. Enough of the stupid games already — he pouted.

You hoped it was too dark for him to notice your red cheeks. Truth to be told, he was right, but how did he find out? You never let your guard down around him. And what’s more important - now you two were alone, in bed, and you basically had him in the palm on your hand.

— Pff, you aren’t my type — you found yourself saying. Such an opportunity could never happen again and yet you decided to play hard to get… In the name of your stupid pride? Great move. Your body went limp once you realized what you had just done. — It’s not a problem — you heard, but didn’t react to Loki’s voice. You were focused too much on your self-flagellation — What’s your type, girl? — you jumped in fright when you heard Thor’s voice. How did he come into your ro-… oh. When you finally noticed Thor’s massive body next to yourself, you understood what Loki was doing. Such a wide smile on Thor’s usually indifferent face seemed strange to you, almost unnatural. You burst into laughter and hid under a blanket. — How about this one? — asked Loki with his new, much deeper and scarier voice — Girl? — chills ran down your spine as you recognized who your companion was imitating. You peeked out from under the covers and saw terrifying figure of Odin next to you, who was just casually curling his hair with his finger. — Eww! Go back to yourself! — you commanded. Fake Odin gave you one last hateful glare and disappeared in purple puff of smoke. — That’s better — you rolled onto your side and so did Loki. You smiled to him and without any warning or permission, you grabbed his head and pulled him towards you. And you finally had them, these damn lips of his that always could find a way to annoys you, pissed you off or make you laugh. They tasted good, or perhaps that was the taste of success you had just accomplished. Whichever it was, you wanted so much more: your lips kissed his with a passion, greedily, as if you had gone amok. But Loki wouldn’t be himself if he let the good times last long. He moved away. Compared to you who was eager and ready like never before, Loki seemed concerned at best. That cooled the fire in your chest a little. — Na-ah — Loki wagged his finger at you — Do as I say. First - take that off — he commanded. At this point your protruding nipples made you feel uncomfortable, the fabric of pyjamas almost caused pain - you wanted nothing more than to obey his order - but you found just enough strength for one last comeback: — Do it yourself.

Heracles

Poor Herc, he doesn’t know how to tell you this, he’s too pure, so he’s stuck in an awkward situation. Prepare yourself to feel his eyes on you many times throughout the day to the point that someone has to pat him on the head to make him come to his senses.

At the end of the day, when you two are alone, Heracles MAY be a bit more direct - after all, man is at his limits - especially if you’re oblivious.

You sat at dressing table, untangling your braid and slowly getting ready for bed. The sound of the doors opening brought a smile to your face - Heracles had returned from his duties. — Hi — you said, seeing him in the reflection of the mirror. He smiled back — How was your day? You watched as he took off his archery chest protector and began to unbuckle belt of shoulder’s guard. He sighed. — Long — he admitted. That was unusual for Heracles to show any sign of tiredness. For as long as you could remember, he has always been full of vigour: it didn’t matter at how deep end he was thrown, he still managed to finish a task anyway. — How so? I thought you couldn’t wait to take care of the training soldiers… — Well, I couldn’t concentrate — Heracles admitted. Only then did you realize that his eyes still hadn't met yours. You frowned; something clearly was wrong. — Why? What kept you occupied? You had very poor control over your emotions, so the worry in your voice was very clear. Heracles froze for a moment as if he contemplated whether telling you the truth was a good option. — Well… you — you heard. You blinked a few times, confused. — Me? — you repeated. How it could be you? You wanted to ask but then you noticed Heracles’ cheeks turning red and understanding came to you on its own. You giggled when your man turned his back to you in a fit of embarrassment. — Oh… — you hugged him from behind. He was such a big man, yet so pure in the heart. You raised your head to see how red his ears were and giggled again. — Very funny — you heard his growl. — How are you more afraid to ask me that than face Ares and all his troops together is beyond me! You forced him to turn around. — I wasn’t… afraid, I j-just… I, well… ugh! — Heracles — you interrupted his babbling and forced him to look into your eyes. You pointed to your lips — Kiss me. He was much taller than you, even if you stood on tiptoe, so he had to led towards you. And he fulfilled your wish. Your lips met in a short, shy kiss. It always amazed you how someone that strong could be so gentle. That was one of many reasons you adored him so much. You smiled at him and grabbed his hand. — Now come — you pulled him to the bed — Sit down. Heracles’ eyes followed your hands as you massaged his wide chest, your fingers were caressing his sculpted muscles when you sat on his lap. You heard his heavy breathing and felt bulge that was growing between his legs. The air in the room became warmer as you two started kissing. Slowly at first, but soon you started losing yourself in to the passion and heat of the moment. You found yourself moaning into Heracles’ mouth when he suddenly grabbed your buttock and squeezed, and you had to break the kiss to catch a breath. There was no longer any shyness in Heracles’ eyes.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 38

Part 1 Part 37

Steve keeps acting like he’s perfectly fine. Like he didn’t have part of his shoulder carved off. Like he’s not suffering through an hour of glorified torture masquerading as physical therapy every day, trying to build his muscle back up. Like the doctor hadn’t told him he might still never get back to shooting hoops and swimming laps with the precision he used to. Like his ribs aren’t still broken, and he doesn’t still have trouble standing, or wake up screaming, clutching at his throat. Like he doesn’t rub the back of his head sometimes and stare into the middle distance with lost eyes. And it’s pissing Eddie off.

Especially now, as he walks beside Wayne, pushing Steve’s wheelchair down the hall toward the elevator. This in and of itself was a feat. First, Steve had argued that he didn’t need a wheelchair, then he’d argued he didn’t need help pushing it. Eddie let Steve flounder for a few minutes, trying to make his useless arm wheel him forward, angry tears springing from his eyes before he acquiesces.

The latest rub is the worst: Steve wants to go home. As if Eddie doesn’t remember the look on Steve’s face when he said he wanted to go to Eddie’s trailer. As if Eddie doesn’t remember the way Steve’s voice broke when he called the trailer home.

“The doctor said somebody needs to keep an eye on ya,” Wayne says reasonably. “Either we do it, or you can stay with Joyce. She offered to put you up.”

Steve scoffs. “My parents—”

“Aren’t home!” Eddie snaps, pushing Steve into the elevator and pushing the down button on the elevator with enough force that his finger hurts.

Steve sits up straighter in his chair, reading for a fight. Wayne doesn’t let him. “If you’re staying at that house, then so are we,” he says, implacable. “Until your parents are there to watch you.” Left unsaid, is that no one had heard from them. That Steve hadn’t asked about them at all.

Steve slumps down in a position that must be hell on his cracked ribs, sighing. “Fine,” he says, like it hurts. “I’ll stay in the trailer.”

It feels like a knife twist. Eddie wants to shake Steve and remind him he’d called it home.

It’s quick after that. Steve signs himself out at the front desk, tucking the physical therapy schedule they’d made for him into the pocket of the sweatpants Wayne had scavenged from Eddie’s drawers for Steve to wear home.

Wayne and Eddie work together to help lever Steve into the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. Wayne slides into the driver’s seat without asking, so Eddie grumbles his way into the back.

Steve’s quiet when Wayne pulls up front, quiet while they help him in, quiet when he’s settled onto the couch.

He’s looking around his surroundings just like he had the first time – like he’s amazed people live like this. That first time, he’d wanted to snarl, make sure Harrington knew that there was nothing wrong with this life he’d created with his Uncle. Now, he just thinks of Steve’s empty house, the hospital’s unanswered phone calls to his parents, and feels unbearably sad.

Wayne puts on a basketball game that Eddie doesn’t even complain about, and settles himself at Steve’s side.

Steve falls asleep halfway through the game, head falling on Eddie’s shoulder, warm puffs of air hitting the bare skin of his neck.

Wayne huffs, and Eddie looks up at him, already glaring defensively. “What?” he demands, quiet enough not to disturb Steve.

Wayne raises his hands placatingly, even as he smiles smugly over at Eddie. “I didn’t say anything.”

They all sleep in the living room that night. It’s cozy and warm, especially after Wayne drapes a blanket over them both.

It should feel weird, settling this closely to Steve, now that they’re not depending on each other to survive. Now that they’re back in the real world. But Eddie feels like he’ll fall apart if Steve’s not in sight, so maybe he’s not out of the woods after all.

It's peaceful.

It stays peaceful until the next day when it’s time for Steve’s physical therapy appointment.

“I can take myself,” he says. “I have a car.”

He’s not meeting Eddie’s eyes. Eddie takes a few deep breaths. He knows snapping won’t help anything, but he wants to smack Steve until this is easier. He just— he doesn’t get this. Can’t figure out what the problem is.

“It would take just as long to drive you to your car as it would to just drive you,” Eddie says, cleaning up their half-assed breakfast of toast a cereal off the table. He doesn’t look back at Steve, wants to play this cool and nonchalant, and he just knows one look at the obstinate tilt of Steve’s chin will send him swinging. 

“I can walk,” he says, even though he really really can’t.

Eddie slams a dish into the sink. He’s almost surprised the bowl doesn’t shatter upon impact. He scrubs it, back to where Steve is stewing in silence.

He needs to figure this out. Why Steve is being so difficult, about staying here, about Eddie feeding him and driving him. He does the hardest thing he can think of, and asks, “why don’t you want me to take you to your appointment?”

He doesn’t turn around, just keeps scrubbing the dishes like this is a casual conversation over breakfast. Because it should be.

The silence drags him down, lasts long enough that Eddie doesn’t think Steve will answer at all.

“You shouldn’t have to,” Steve says.

Eddie thinks back – big house no parents – and wonders how long it’s been since someone did something for Steve without strings. He turns around, settles back into his seat and stares at Steve until he raises his eyes from the table.

Choosing his words carefully, he says, “I want to go with you,” Eddie says. “You saved my life—"

“But—” Eddie holds up a hand, and Steve stops, brows furrowed.

“You saved my life,” he repeats, meeting Steve’s eyes. “I’m gonna help you whether you like it or not.”

It’s not quite the whole truth, but Eddie’s not sure how to touch the way it feels like worms are writhing in his stomach when Steve’s out of his sight. How his shoulders only really relax when he knows exactly where Steve and Will both are.

Eddie bites his tongue on the too much of it all.

“Fine,” Steve says, still sullen, but he lets Eddie lead him to the van and drive him to his appointment.

It looks painful. Eddie holds his crossed ankles, to stop himself from leaping up and wrenching Steve away from the doctor’s ministrations.

By the end, Steve looks like he just got done with a basketball game, sweat dripping down his forehead, pits stained. If Eddie squints, he can almost see the uncomplicated jock of days past as they limp out of the hospital.

“You wanna go see Baby Byers?” Eddie asks.

“Please,” Steve says, slumping into the passenger seat like the princess he is.

Eddie drives, turning his music up loud enough to rattle their teeth just to see Steve smile.

Part 39

[sloanesallow]

need

Sebastian misses his girlfriend. The solution? Well, surprise her, of course! Alternatively, needy and greedy Sebastian. ✨Sebastian Sallow x F!MC Tags: NSFW! MDNI! Explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), face-sitting, needy Sebastian and lots of cheesy dialogue. 2.6k words [Read on Ao3] | [Read on Wattpad]

Sebastian Sallow is an idiot.

He knows he’s an idiot and it isn’t because his roommates Ominis and Garreth tells him so almost every day. No, it’s because only an idiot—a needy, madman in love—would apparate, uninvited to his girlfriend’s flat in Marseille in the middle of the night.

This is the first time since the start of his romantic relationship with Sloane that they’ve spent significant time apart. While he works his apprenticeship at Gringotts in London, she is in the south of France, researching with an elite group of herbologists. Wary of the split from the start, time and distance has made Sebastian unwell, to put it mildly.

His need for Sloane is a thrumming pulse in his veins, an ache that won’t subside no matter how he tries to distract himself. To say he misses her is an incredible understatement. The separation gnaws at him, a relentless hunger that only her presence can satiate.

When did he become so co-dependent—or has he always been this tethered to her?

The yearning threatens to turn him mad. With an address and her in mind, he slips through space and time itself, traveling over six-hundred miles in the blink of an eye. Sebastian can smell the ocean when he materializes with a pop on a dimly lit street, glancing from the parchment in his hand to the placard on the nearby building.

He is an idiot, he thinks to himself again as he climbs the stairs as quickly and quietly as he can until he’s staring at the bronze number 8 pinned to Sloane’s door. It takes him several moments to collect his thoughts, practicing what he might say when she opens the door—Merlin, he hopes she’ll open the door.

What time is it?

His first few knocks are far too gentle, not nearly loud enough for anyone to hear. Glancing at his surroundings as if he is being watched by some unseen force, he shuffles his feet and tries again, this time rapping his knuckles a little harder against the thick wood. Nearly a minute passes and he wonders how acceptable it would be to just break in when the door creaks open.   

Sebastian forgets how to breathe.

There she is, standing in the doorway—Sloane, dressed in the tiniest chemise known to mankind. Barefoot and bleary-eyed, she doesn’t seem to comprehend his presence, lazily covering her mouth as she yawns. His restraint is threadbare, fingers twitching at his sides as he resists the urge to yank her into his embrace.

“Do you always answer the door half-naked, sweetheart?” he teases, flicking his gaze from one exposed patch of skin to the next.

“I was asleep—” she mumbles half-heartedly, and he grins when realization settles across her face. “Seb—Sebastian!?”  

Fuck it.

He crosses the threshold, and Sloane barely has time to react as he plucks her up off the ground and into his arms. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist, soft hands framing his face as he kisses her like the greedy bastard he is. Sebastian kicks the door shut, relishing in the heat of her body against his. He kisses her until his lungs burn for air, pulling away just enough to alleviate the sting and look at her through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Where’s your bed?” he murmurs against her lips.

Sloane, in a surprised haze, take a moment to reply. “Down the hall.”

Sebastian steadily makes his way through the small dwelling until they reach her cozy bedroom, an organized mess of journals, potions, and plants. Her bed reminds him of the sleeping arrangements back at Hogwarts—large enough for one person, barely enough room for two. Good thing he doesn’t plan on sleeping.

Sloane lets out a breezy laugh as he flops her down on the mattress, her body stretched out for him to admire. He remains standing bedside, mirroring her delighted expression, thankful she didn’t have a negative reaction to his surprise. She watches him with sparkling eyes as he disrobes, haphazardly shedding his clothes until only his socks remain.

“Are you really here?” she asks as he shifts to hover over her, bracing his weight on his elbows. Her fingers trace the outline of his face again as if he is a figment of her imagination that might disappear.

“Yes,” he simply answers, momentarily slowing down to pepper her face with sweet kisses before trailing down the curve of her neck. She smells like fresh rain and lemon zest. “Have you been dreaming of me?”  

Sloane’s coy smile and brilliant blush is enough of an answer. Her breath hitches as he nips the delicate skin above her collarbone. “But why are you here?”

“Isn’t it obvious, sweetheart?” Sebastian teases, a devious chuckle echoing against her ear. He pulls back just enough so their eyes can meet. “I missed you.”

She sighs, something between pleasure and amusement. “It’s been—”

“Three months,” he quips. “I know. But…being apart from you, Sloane…it’s harder than I ever imagined it to be.” He steals a quick peck, and then another. “Work keeps me busy, but when I go home in the evening and you’re not there, I find myself…lonely.”

“And I can’t very well go sneaking into Ominis’ room,” he comments with only a little sarcasm. “Well, I could, but I don’t think he’d appreciate me waking him up for a snuggle.”

“Is that what you call it?” Sloane’s nose scrunches up as she giggles. “You really came all the way here to…fuck?”

“Don’t say it like that!” Sebastian murmurs, hanging his head at the tickle of shame that churns his gut. The optics of his impromptu visit made him out to be an even bigger cad than usual. “Good grief, woman, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“It isn’t like I’m spending every waking hour of every day in a perpetual state of sexual frustration—”

“You aren’t?”

He blinks, realizing Sloane is teasing him. She smirks, leaning up to kiss him in the soft way that always calms his heart. “I missed you too, Sebastian.”

For several moments they simply kiss, languid and unhurried despite the circumstances. A small part of him regrets this impulsive decision, knowing his time in Marseille is limited—a few hours at most. Time will tell if he’s inadvertently added to his suffering when he has to leave, not knowing when they’ll see each other again.

“How long can you stay?” she asks when he breaks away to kiss down her neck and shoulder, as if she can read his mind. Instead of answering right away, he follows the low line of her negligée, her breath hitching when he tugs the fabric down with his teeth.

“I have an appointment at the Ministry in the morning,” he says, words mumbled as he sucks her exposed nipple into his mouth. Sloane moans and it is a sound he’s been yearning to hear. “But I can be…late.”

Sebastian shifts, lowering his body down as he pushes her nightgown up, bunching it beneath her breasts. He kisses across her abdomen, dipping his tongue into her navel and grinning when she squeaks at the ticklish sensation. Sloane lifts her hips when he tugs at the band of her underwear, making it easy for him to peel them away and toss over his shoulder to join the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.

It isn’t until Sebastian is about to make himself comfortable between her spread legs that he notices something…different. He falters, eyes darting up to see Sloane biting back a cheeky smirk. His gaze drops back down to the apex of her thighs, where instead of the soft blonde curls he’s used to seeing, there is only bare flesh.

A strangled chuckle escapes him. “What did you do?”

“I did as the French do,” she simply explains, clearly amused by his bewildered reaction. “One of the other researchers here, a girl my age, insisted on taking me shopping.”

“Is this what they call shopping in France?” Sebastian sarcastically remarks, slowly brushing his fingers across her now smooth skin. Whatever Sloane’s response was to be dies on her tongue as she whimpers, hips twitching towards his touch. Fuck—she’s so warm, and soft, and he suddenly can’t wait to taste her like this.

Just as he’s about to dip his head down, a wicked idea flashes through his mind, a fragment of a fantasy he’d constructed while alone in his bed with only his thoughts and his hand. He pulls away, delighting in the mewling whine that slips from her lips. She watches him with a confused expression as he stretches out next to her, his head comfortably resting on the pillows.

“Straddle me,” he says, rather plainly, flashing a wicked grin. “Sit on my face.”

Sloane’s eyes widen and for a moment Sebastian is worried that he’s scandalized her, but he can’t take it back now. He licks his lips, carefully observing his sweet girlfriend’s face as she mimics the action, clearly envisioning the act in her mind. The second she moves, his hands are on her waist, helping to position her body above his. Her knees press into the pillow on either side of his head, and when she glances down, he thinks she must be an angel sent to escort him to the afterlife.

She flashes a shaky, uncertain smile, “like this?”

Sebastian groans in satisfaction, the scent of her arousal dizzying, intoxicating. She’s barely situated when he darts his tongue out, tightening his grip around her hips to keep her steady. He licks a stripe through her folds, repeating the action in broad strokes as he lavishes her, unable to resist. The taste of her is something he wishes to bottle, to drown in later when he’s forced to depart.

He wraps his lips around her clit, eagerly sucking the bundle of nerves that makes her quiver. Sloane’s breath catches, a broken whine spilling from her panting mouth as she braces herself against the headboard. Her fingers grip the wooden frame and her head sags forward, eyes clenched tight as she succumbs to his fervor.

“Rock against me, love,” he instructs, a raspy request made against her inner thigh. Sloane complies in a heartbeat, brows furrowing together in concentration. Sebastian supports her, his fingers squeezing around her hips as he guides her movements against him. “That’s a good girl—fuck—you taste so good.”

He’s relentless in his desire, desperate to feel her come undone. He pushes his nose against her, nearly smothering himself as he probes her entrance with his tongue, grinning when she makes a high-pitched, satisfied sound. Sebastian groans in response, gripping her tighter as her thighs begin to tremble, her body tensing as he edges her ever closer to oblivion.

“Sebastian,” Sloane gasps out, her voice a strained whisper, a plea laced with the ecstasy he’s drawing out from her. She arches, head thrown back as her chest heaves with every ragged breath. Her rocking becomes more frantic, seeking out the sensations his wicked mouth is conjuring.

Seconds later she shatters, crying out his name in a broken moan that nearly sends him over the edge as well. Sebastian holds her through it all, his arms moving to wrap around her thighs and waist as she convulses against him. All the while his mouth never ceases its frenzy, coaxing out every tremor until she’s slumped against the headboard.

When she starts to teeter, he’s there to catch her, gently placing her against the pillows so she can catch her breath. Sebastian is equally winded, but the slight sting to his lungs is worth it to see such a fucked-out expression on her face. He rolls to frame her body with his own, slotting his hips between her thighs so he can press his aching cock against the slick mess he’s just created.

“Do you need a moment?” he asks, gruffly. He balances his weight on one arm, using his free hand to tenderly cradle the side of her face. Sloane shakes her head, flashing a breathless smile as she shifts to accommodate his eager arousal. She hooks her legs around him and he reaches between them to guide himself, easily sliding into the tight warmth of her core.

As soon as he is fully sheathed inside, Sebastian takes a moment to absorb the sensation, wishing he could stay with her—inside her—forever. His initial rhythm is slow and measured as he watches Sloane’s face, memorizing every flicker of pleasure, every sigh and crease that forms between her brows as she loses herself to the feeling. His pace gradually builds, intensifying with each stroke as the fire between them burns.

Sebastian gathers her hands in his free one, pinning them above her head as he shifts his weight to grind down, the angle allowing him to slip deeper. Sloane responds with a litany of moans, her back arching up to meet each roll of his hips. Eventually his thrusts grow more insistent, more demanding as he craves to see her climax once more. Her legs sinch around his waist and her walls clench around him, urging him on, silently begging for the release that is so, so close.    

He captures her lips in a searing kiss, both hungry and panting as the end draws near. Sebastian grunts as he ruts against her, completely losing control as her entire body shudders and tenses with the wave of her orgasm. His own builds at the base of his spine, a heat that threatens to consume him—and he might just let it. Before he can fully realize it, he’s spilling into her depths, the two crying out in tandem ecstasy.

The next coherent thought Sebastian has is when he’s blinking up at the ceiling, his heart still pounding in his ears from the intensity of their coupling. He attempts to steady his breathing, but it’s a lost cause. Instead, he turns his head to find Sloane in a similar state on her back, a content smile curling her lips in an adorable way.

She lazily glances at him and sighs. “I missed you.”

He nearly ruins the moment with a crass joke about her missing his cock, but decides that saying something earnest is better.

“I miss you every day, Sloane. And I can’t wait for you to come home,” he says, reaching over to delicately trace the curve of her cheek with his fingers. “Well, wherever you want to call home, that is. I don’t suppose you’d want to live in a tiny London flat with two other men–”

He stops when he realizes he’s rambling. 

“Anyways…” he sighs, brushing through her hair. “I am ready to spend every night like this.” 

“Every night?”

“Yes,” he quickly replies. “And morning. And afternoon. Every minute we can spare.”

Sloane smiles, and for several minutes they simply exist, gazing into each other’s eyes as the present and future looms. She exhales, and there’s a sadness in her eyes that he doesn’t want to see. “Are you sure you have to leave?”

“Are you sure you have to stay?” he counters, though he knows it would be unfair to ask her to come back to London. He attempts a tease, “you know, you could come visit me.”

“I could,” she agrees with a nod, though her tone indicates she’s skeptical. “But I don’t have roommates. Ominis may be blind, but he doesn’t need to hear us—” “Nothing he hasn’t heard before,” Sebastian murmurs, earning him a playful pinch. He sighs, closing the distance for a moment to kiss her, knowing their time is running out. “We’ve always been resourceful, sweetheart. We’d find a way to be together.”

The levity gradually melts into a content silence, Sloane scooting to nuzzle against his side with her head on his chest. Sebastian wraps his arms around her, his hands slowly caressing up and down her back until he can sense she’s drifted to sleep.

He’ll stay, just for a little bit longer.