#AND BEFORE THAT. TONIGHT. AND MY TORTILLAS.

[whoslaurapalmer]

the adult horror conversation with yourself of 'i could have tortillas with dinner tonight. i just had tortillas the other day. that's okay. i can, in fact, have tortillas again! i am putting a different filling in them! but if i have these tortillas, i will have a total of six tortillas left in the freezer. eventually i will have to buy more tortillas. by god, girl, you are allowed to eat the things you have in the freezer, instead of feeling like you have to save them for some potential eventuality so you don't run out of them, and like, what situation are you even imagining where the tortillas would be better to have later instead of for this particular dinner??? if you keep feeling like you have to save them for Something you will just not eat the tortillas!! eventually EVERYTHING runs out and you have to buy more of them!! that is the way the world works!! you are allowed to not have things aggressively stockpiled, except for like, tissues, but that was a purchasing incident on mom's card while she was still here, so you just happen to have, a bizarre amount of tissue boxes. AND WHILE YOUR FINANCES ARE STILL BIG RED QUESTION MARKS, YOU CAN, IN FACT, AFFORD TO GO BUY MORE TORTILLAS IF YOU FUCKING WANT TO!!! YOU GET THE STREET TACO SIZE AND THEY'RE LIKE $2.99!!!!! AND WHEN DID YOU EVEN BUY THESE TORTILLAS, HUH???????? YOU DON'T KNOW, DO YOU???? WHICH MEANS YOU HAVE GONE THROUGH THE TORTILLAS AT AN ACCEPTABLE PACE!! WHATEVER THE HELL THAT SENTENCE MEANS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'

anyway i'm eating the tortillas. or i mean they're on the counter defrosting while i have some chicken toasting in the toaster oven

[magics-neptunes-things]

Use me as a cushion

Hello!

I received some requests for fictions with other people than Ona, so here I am trying with Alexia!

It's fluff, literally pure fluff.

I hope you will like it! As always, the reviews are much appreciated :)

_____________________________________________________________

The situation of the Spanish women’s football team was no longer to be explained. After the forced departures of Vilda and the president of the Federation, the fight was far from over. While you naively thought you were going to have a break, you were all summoned to the national team despite the various statements you made.

Like all the others players of the team, you were forced to show up, participate in a few mediation sessions while following the usual training. You were exausted, all of you.

But you know that your girlfriend is even more than you are.

Alexia, as captain of the team, participated in many more discussions than all of you put together. In addition to everything else, she's the team’s anchor for everyone. The one you can rely on, the one you can count on. And it was true, she takes that role to perfection. Like everything she does, in your opinion (not quite impartial tho).

But over the days, you saw her fatigue increase and her condition deteriorate a little more. You told Ona about it, knowing that your girlfriend trusted her completely and that she wasn’t the type to talk further. You were scared for her, scared that she hurt herself on training because of the level of her tiredness.

Ona advised you to continue doing what you knew how to do best with Alexia, to be there for her and take care of her. Even if you don’t feel like it’s a big deal, you naturally planned a small schedule for Alexia tonight.

So here you are, waiting for you girlfriend to come back from an other discussion with some thinking heads of the Federation. You hate them, all of them.

Your game against Switzerland is in two days and you already are in Sevilla. Even if you're together since like a year, you weren't always set up in the same room. Luckily, Alexia found herself alone in her room, allowing you to join her there without disturbing anyone.

Even if it means you two end up in a single bed. You don't mind tho, having a good reason to sleep on the top of your girlfriend all night long.

Lying on Alexia’s bed, you look again at the time on the screen of your phone while continuing to play the mobile game you downloaded. Sighing, you roll sideways, allowing yourself to smell Alexia’s shampoo on her pillow. It's almost 23:00 and still not any sign fo Alexia. Chewing your lips, you hesitate to send her a message but then you heard the door open quietly.

You sit up immediatly, startled Alexia.

"Madre mia" she huffs with her hand on her heart. "What are you doing here? You should be sleeping"

She frowns while gently scolding you, but you make your way to her to hug her. You smile while she melt in your arms, caressing her back tenderly with your fingertips. Alexia is strong, everybody can see that. Everybody know that. But knowing that she trusts you enough to let it go with you is in your eyes the greatest proof of love she can give you.

"I can't sleep without my goodnight kiss" you point.

She smiles and kiss you softly, but you don't leave anyway. Like you said, you have plans for her.

"Did you eat?" you ask her as she takes off her shoes, dropping them to the ground with a thud.

"Not really" she sights "but it's to late anyway"

You roll your eyes before turning on the table behind you. You ordered a meal an hour ago and asked them to find you something to keep it warm. You were pretty sure that she will come back to late to ask the kitchen to make her something.

"What is it?" she asks, approaching the table with curiosity.

Her face lit up when she lifts the lid and you can’t help but smile back. You promised yourself, if Alexia is everyone’s crutch, you’ll be hers.

"Tortilla de patatas" she smiles.

"Con tomato, as you like. Not sure if it will be as good as your Mama's tho"

You shrugs but Alexia made her way towards you to take you in her arms. The hug was longer than before and you play with her hair for a while.

"Thank you" she whispers in your neck before moving back a few centimeters. "But you really should have sleeping"

You roll your eyes once again, before you made her a little smirk.

"If you insist I can go back sleeping with Claudia"

You were teasing, Alexia knew it. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here with her.

"Not funny" she pouts anyway.

You smile again and point to the plate that has still not been touched.

"Why don't you eat while I run you a bath?"

Alexia seems to think a few moments, hesitating between going to eat or spending some time with you. It’s hard to have moments just for you these last few days.

"With bubbles?"

"With bubbles" you answer, laughing at her baby voice.

Letting her eat, you went to the bathroom and do what you said. Waiting for the tub to be full, you get lost in your thoughts for longs minutes, contemplating the foam mix with the hot water. You were pretty tired yourself, but Alexia goes first. You need to take care of her.

You don’t hear her coming into the room though, making you jump slightly when she passes her arms around your waist. You let her lean into your neck, shivering when you feel her smell you.

"How can I thank you enought Amor?"

You turn around in her arms and put your hands around your neck.

"Your love is more than I can wish for"

The kiss she gives you this time is breathtaking. It's like you can feel the love and the recognition she feels for your actions. When the kiss ends, both of you looking for air, she strokes your nose with hers.

"Come with me?"

"Nah, tonight it's all about you"

She pouts again and you bite your lips. She knows that you can't resist her when she does this. And you know that she knows. And she knows that you know that she knows.

"Come on! If it's for me you can be my personnal cushion?"

You laugh at her antics and just give up. Who could deny this to the love of his life?

"Ok, but only because you will use me as a cushion."

[ao3lestappeninchident]

Carlos Sainz 55- spending time

Carlos Sainz x Fem!Reader

Summary: you and your boyfriend finally have a day to yourselves. You want to make the most out of it.

Wc: 2,8k

Warning: lots of nicknames, translated Spanish, Some smutt at the end MDI!

DON'T USE MY WORK PLEASE

It was one of those days when you and your boyfriend both had the day off. It didn't happen often. Carlos was always traveling or training for the next race. He was on the other side of the globe most of the time. Being a personal stylist yourself and having your own mode magazine didn't leave you with a lot of spare time. You traveled a lot in the fashion season, attending shows and even walking some yourself. The thing was that when you had to travel, Carlos was home and vice versa. Of course you both visited each other at your work, supporting each other career. But both of you having free time was rare, so this was a special day. 

This is how you found yourself in bed cuddled up against the chest of your Spanish boyfriend. You sun had woken you up because you had forgotten to close the curtains after last night's encounters. Both of you hadn't moved to close them, to wrapped up in each other's embrace. Your finger was painting circles on his bare chest as his hand went to massage your head. "This is nice." Carlos whispered, echoing your own thoughts as you both basked in the peacefulness of the morning. The world outside seemed to fade away, forgotten in the midst of your shared connection and the desire to simply be together. You knew you wanted to spend some time outside of your home today and for that you had to get up. 

"We can go out for breakfast. I fancy some tortilla Espanola." You look up at your boyfriend, the corners of your mouth moving up in a smile. Carlos returned your smile, his eyes twinkling with warmth and affection as he leaned in to place a sweet kiss on your head. "Just give me a couple of minutes, mi vida. Then we can head out," he promised, his voice filled with tenderness and love. You hum in response. Carlos's fingers continued to weave through your hair, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine as you fought the urge to drift back to sleep. You didn't want to 'waste' this day together by laying in bed all day. You wanted to make the most of every moment spent in each other's company.

Eventually you both got out of bed. Your Dior slip on dress had moved a bit in your sleep, your side boob hanging out. "We can also just take it off completely." Carlos tucked on the dress a mischievous smile on his lips. Before he could take it off you slap his hand away. "You have to waite till tonight cariño. I want to go for breakfast first." he groans in response way too eager for your love right now. You laugh at him as you walk towards the bathroom. It had been your routine that Carlos would make you both a cup of coffee as you went to get dressed. After that you could pack as he took a shower. So that was exactly what you were both doing right now.

Carlos was sitting in the kitchen making two cups of coffee as he heard you singing in the other room. He smiled to himself. He really won in life with you. You walk out of the bathroom in only your blouse looking around for your necklace that you couldn't find. Carlos followed you with his eyes, sometimes looking down at your but. When he noticed that you were looking for something he stood up and went to stand behind you. Putting his hands in your waist he asks "What are you looking for?" You turn around facing him and look up to see in his eyes. His gorgeous big brown puppy eyes. "One of my Vivienne Westwood necklaces. The one that you got me. I don't know where I put it. "

"I got you lots of those." You were obsessed with her jewelry line and he just had to give you everything you looked at for more than one second. You had quite the selection of her stuff. "I know you did. I am forever grateful for that even if I tell you that you don't need to get me those." He shrugs his shoulders knowing he would buy you another right now. "The Valentina Pendant. Have you seen it?" 

"Is that how you are going out." Carlos asks with a smile on his face as he looks at you still not wearing a skirt. A confused look appeared on your face thinking he didn't like what you were wearing before you saw that your legs were still bare of any clothes. 

He did indeed see it a couple minutes ago. He lets go of your waist much to your own disliking and walks to the coffee table. The necklace was laying on top of the current book you were reading. He picked it up and walked back to you. He moved your hair to the side and put it around your neck. "Thank you." You turn around and stand on your tip toes to give him a kiss. He pulls you right back when you want to leave. His hands had moved down to your ass, squishing it a bit. You smile into the kiss and you almost give in to him. "Not now, Carlos. We have things to do. Go get ready!" 

"Alright" He sighs. "There is coffee for you on the counter." He kisses your head and walks towards the other room. You thank him and grab your drink. Sitting down on one of the chairs you check your mail for any important news. You saw a new invitation for a fashion show and some questions about collaborating. You put them unread not wanting to answer them right away. You put your empty cup into the sink, also cleaning up after Carlos who hadn't yet cleaned up his stuff.

You ran back to the bedroom and walked out, this time wearing the skirt you wanted to wear. You checked if you had everything in your bag before walking out of the apartment. 

You walk hand in hand through the busy streets of Madrid. Even though you had moved in by Carlos two years ago, the city never disappointed you.

You can't help but smile as he pulls out a chair for you to sit and you exchange warm glances. His efforts to showcase the beauty and charm of Spain never go unnoticed, but you playfully resist admitting that it is indeed the best country. 

Carlos leans in closer, a playful glint in his eyes. "Come on, admit it. You know Spain is the best," he teases, nudging you gently.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Maybe it's pretty great, but I'll never say it's better than my home country."

The waiter approaches, interrupting your conversation, and you both place your orders. The suspense of your upcoming show hangs in the air as you share with Carlos that you received an email about a performance.

"So, when's the show? I can't wait to see you up there, shining on stage," he says with a grin, his eyes full of admiration.

"I still need to check the details. Don't want it to clash with any plans," you reply, a warm feeling of gratitude for his support. He nods his head agreeing with your statement. 

As you sit at the cozy, sunlit table outside your favorite cafe in Madrid, you can't help but reflect on the memories you have made in this vibrant city. Three years back you were here on a holiday with a couple of friends. That was the moment that you met the man in front of you. The love of your life. You had gotten lost in the crowded streets and asked a stranger for directions. He walks you towards your destination and gave you his phone number. You hadn't sent him a message right away, scared that he may be a creep. Your friends had convinced you after they heard you say his name. They knew he wasn't a creep. He is your future husband. 

You both look up by the sound of the waiter approaching your food. You take the food and thank him before turning back to your conversation. 

"I cleared by schedule for next week so I can come to Imola with you." You say and take a bite from your tortilla Espanola. His face lights up as you mention it. "Really? I already have a paddock pass for you. You are going to bring me luck." You smile at him. It had been some time since you were in the paddock. You really hated yourself for not being there so often as other wags. They all have their own jobs and they still managed to visit their boyfriends. 

After your brunch you walk through some shops. Carlos had bought a new suit for an upcoming event he had to attend. You had bought a matching dress for the event and a new top for next race weekend. 

Right now you were walking in a Victoria Secret and were looking at some new lingerie sets. The last two were broken after some fun activities you had done with Carlos. "What about this one." He shows the set to Carlos. It was a blue one, with lace trim and a little heart on the nipple coverage.

"It is beautiful, just like all these others you have chosen." He sat admiring you in every piece. He was already carrying some of the sets you had picked out and you disliked the idea of him having to waite much longer so you got dressed in your own clothes. When you got out of the changing room Carlos had already paid for everything and was carrying your bags. When you asked for them he just gave you his hand and walked out of the shop. 

"You didn't have to pay for that. I got my own money." 

"What kind of boyfriend would I be to let you pay. Everything you want i will get it for you, mi amor." He kisses your cheek. You blush at his words. "What if I wanted to get a special limited edition car that cost way too much." 

"Then I get it for you. Do you have anything in mind right now. I know that you want a Porsche. I can get it for you. Or a Ferrari, I personally really like those." He jokes in the last sentence. 

It was getting late and you were walking back. "Want to get some ice cream?"Carlos asks as he points towards a Gelato shop. 

"Won't your trainer disapprove?" You ask, knowing that ice cream isn't part of his training and dieting schedule. You are pretty sure it is somewhere at the bodem, just under all other delicious food.  "What he doesn't know doesn't hurt him. Lets go." He takes your arm and together you walk to the shop. The line isn't too long and you can already order after five minutes. 

"I love ice cream." You lick your cone. You had gotten a cone with pistache and white chocolate. You always take the same, can't go wrong with pistache. It is the best. Carlos had a cone with a vanilla scoop. A bit basic, but always delicious too. 

Carlos was still carrying your bags so he couldn't take your hand for the rest of the walk home. You had tried multiple times to ask to hand over your bags, but he just shrug and walked further.

You had stopped and took a picture of the sunset. While you were doing that Carlos took pictures of his sunset, You. For him you are the most beautiful thing in this universe. When you were done it didn't take long to reach your apartment. 

He opens up the door for you to walk through and you find yourself back in your home. You go to sit on a chair and take off your heels. "Finally free." Carlos shakes his head. He knows that those heels go and hurt your feet after more than one hour and still you refuse his suggestion to wear more comfortable shoes. 

Carlos walks towards the bathroom and you take this as your cue to run to your bedroom. You grab your Victoria secret bag and take out one of the sets that you had just bought. Carlos hadn't seen this one yet. It was a red piece with little coverage. You put it on and admire yourself in the mirror. You hoped he liked it. 

You heard the door open again and you went to place yourself on the bed. "Carlos, can you come here real quick?" You say as his footsteps get closer. You see him stop right in his tracks as his eyes stop you. "Mierda, eres tan Hermosa." he breathes out as he walks closer to you. He goes to sit on the bed and you lock eyes. His hand grabs your chin as he moves your head closer to his. Your lips touch into a deeply kiss as a soft moan escapes his lips. You move yourself onto his lap. 

You start to move your hips into his and Carlos groans at the sudden movement against his dick. The bulge in his pants was growing with each movement that you made. A moan leaves your mouth at the growing feeling under you. His lips attach to your neck as his hands move you closer to him. He leaves a trail of kisses down to your breast before staying in one place which was definitely going to leave a mark tomorrow. Your finger tucks on his shirt mentioning it that it has to go off. "It isn't fair that you are still wearing all of your clothes." He removes one of his hands from your ass and takes off his shirt. 

You go from his lap to help him with his belt. You stroke your hand over his throbbing area, this time a louder moan leaves his mouth and it sounds like heaven to you. Tonight the neighbors won't be getting any sleep.  You go further down the bed as Carlos takes of his pants leaving him in only his underwear. He towers over you both hands on either side of your head. He leans back down to place a kiss on your lips. You gasp as his hands move up your leg towards your wetness. He slips in his tongue when your mouth opens. "So needy for me already." He says as his fingers stroke over you pussy. The thin fabric of the lingerie doesn't do too much as you feel yourself asking for more. "Please, Carlos. I need you to touch me. "

He smirks. He pulls down your panties. He puts in one finger helping your adjust to it a bit before adding another. He keeps kissing you as he starts pumping his finger into your pussy. Moans leave your mouth as he takes up the speed. "So beautiful. So loud and all for me."He leaves a kiss between your breast. Your riding his fingers had been something you looked forward to since this morning. He feels you getting closer around his fingers and he takes them out just before you reach your climax. You groan in frustration as you feel empty. "Why?" You cry out. He places another kiss to make it up. "I want you to come all over my cock, princessa."

He takes off his underwear and his already hard cock  springs out. You moan at the sight of it. "Please, just fuck me. " He puts his dick by  your entrance moving it a bit up and down. Your hand fly in to his hair pulling in frustration. You need him now.

He enters you and fills you up. Pain went over you but it was fast replaced with pleasure as he began to move in and out of you. Your hands grab the duvet under you  and the feeling of pleasure goes over you. "Papi, faster" You scream out. Carlos didn't mind if everyone heard you. Right now was all about love. He picks up his pace and your eyes roll into the back of your mind. You feel a familiar knot forming in your belly and you know you are close "Don't stop, please I am so close." He feels himself getting closer to his own orgasm as you tighten around him. He goes a bit faster and you back arches. Heavy panting is heard as you both come riding out  your orgasms. 

Carlos catches his breath before sliding out of you an empty feeling leaving you behind. He walks to the bathroom and gets a wet towel. He helps clean you up and places a kiss on your mouth. " I love you, mi vida." He lays next to you and you put your head on his chest. " I love you too."

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - The Epilogue

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: This chapter is set about a month before "Love Actually." So...are you ready?

Song Inspo: For this last chapter, it’s “The Book of Love” by Peter Gabriel. (It’s just lovely. I listened to it while writing the second half of the epilogue!)

Word Count: 7,800

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Violence and peril, angst, familiar bickering, smutty smut, bit of breeding kink, tender fluff, hurt/comfort, and an ending…

Epilogue: All My Living Time

“I’m not fucking around,” he said. “I want you to live with me.” 

Your smile was soft and bright when you took his hand. Ben wouldn’t admit it, but something in his chest stuttered to life then.

“Okay,” you said with a nod. “Let’s do it.”

Six months later…

You were frustrated with your roommate.

And yes, you used the word roommate, because he hadn’t seen fit to give it any other label.

You stewed in your irritation as you also stirred the beginnings of chicken tortilla soup. It was early in the morning before work, and Yvette had been teaching you how to master the crockpot. Hopefully, by the time you and Ben got home tonight, it would be ready and waiting for dinner.

Six months. You had to nag him about cabinets left open, dirty boots left right in front of the door to your shared apartment, and hell, actually going to his therapy sessions.

While that last one had taken months of convincing and cajoling, he’d caved when you suggested that acknowledging and dealing with what happened to him in Russia might help him control the nuclear power inside him. And maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t have to patch another hole in the ceiling.

Mind you, he wouldn’t actually talk to said therapist about anything related to his PTSD. But at least he was going. And the therapist was apparently getting an earful of Ben’s celebrity encounters, with all the explicit, gushy details.

However, even with all of this, it also sometimes felt like you were an in-house maid rather than a partner.

The latest reason for your frustration returned to you when Ben strolled into the kitchen in search of coffee. He wasn’t yet dressed for work in his supe suit; instead, still in the plain shirt and sweatpants he’d slept in.

He glanced at you, and seeming to sense your mood, he kept to himself as he found his usual mug and poured a cup of steaming French press in silence.

You took in a breath, trying to calm yourself. Maybe he’d had time to sleep on it. You closed the crockpot and went over to him. Your hand on his arm made him pause.

“Hey,” you said, “have you thought about what I asked you last night?”

Ben’s expression remained flat. “I think I already said my piece on that.”

You sighed.

“Why is dinner with my family such a hard thing for you?” you asked. Your brows furrowed. “My sister’s starting to warm up to you! And Mom just wants to get to know you. What’s the problem?”

Ben scoffed. “Your sister fucking hates me.”

You bit your lip. He wasn’t totally wrong, but in fairness, Louisa wasn’t happy to learn about why you’d nearly died in the hospital, when Vought Tower collapsed.

She thought you needed therapy for an egregious case of Stockholm Syndrome. But the more Ben worked with Supe Affairs, helping to clear the streets of out-of-control supes and cleaning up the remains of Vought, you were slowly getting Louisa to come around.

“She just needs time to get to know you too,” you said.

Ben wasn’t having it though. He rolled his eyes and tried to walk away from you with his coffee and a newspaper—aiming to get to his favorite lounge chair in the living room. It was the way he always started his morning, like the old man he was.

You followed him.

“Come on, one dinner won’t kill you,” you said. “And by the way, neither would moving your dirty-ass boots out of the doorway.”

You went over to grab said boots, and in your annoyance, you all but tossed them into the hall. Ben frowned at you, throwing down the newspaper onto the coffee table.

“Why’re you nagging me like a goddamn wife?” he snapped.

“Wife?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You don’t even call me your girlfriend.”

But God forbid another man even smile in your direction. Ben was possessive, protective, and claimed with all but words that you were his. And yet, he wouldn’t say it.

You shouldn’t have been surprised that he was afraid of commitment, but you’d been living together for six damn months. Almost seven, if you counted the safe house.

When you found this nice, but cozy apartment in Scarsdale, you’d sat him down at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, like the two of you used to in that house in Medellin.

And you established the ground rules before you two officially moved in together: 

First, an exclusive relationship meant exclusive. Meaning no fucking around. (He’d raised a brow at you.)

Second, you were his partner, not his slave. You expected him to carry his hefty weight, not only in the relationship, but around the house. (He’d most definitely rolled his eyes at that.)

And finally, don’t be an asshole, you’d decreed. “Be honest when you’re not feeling right about something. But don’t be a dick about it.” 

That cut both ways, of course, just like the other two rules. He’d agreed to all of these, albeit begrudgingly. You hadn’t really known then if he meant it.

And now, looking at him, you still had no idea if he was trying, or if he was just tired of being alone…and if you were just a convenient bedwarmer. You bit your lip once again, this time with a growing fear blooming anxiety in your chest.

“Do you even love me?” you asked.

Ben blinked down at you, and his lips pulled into a deep frown.

“Stop fucking around,” he said.

“I’m serious,” you insisted. Your crossed arms tightened, as if to protect yourself from what he might say. “You’ve never said it once.”

“And the fact that I agreed to live in this mediocre fucking apartment doesn’t mean anything?” he said, gesturing around him with a hand. “I take you out, I buy you shit. Matter of fact, I fucking spoil you.”

“And you take off whenever you feel like it, especially after missions,” you shot back. “Sometimes I don’t know where the hell you’ve gone for hours. For all I know, you’re out there doing blow with a caravan of strippers!”

While that did sound like a damn good time, that hadn’t been Ben’s M.O. in recent months. And in his mind, you should’ve known better.

“I haven’t fucked anyone but you since we moved in here,” he snapped.

Even longer than that, if he was honest. 

Meanwhile, you wanted to trust his words, desperately, but you just didn’t know if you could. 

“Even if I believe you, what’s the problem here?” you asked. Your gaze fell from his as you worried your bottom lip. “Am I doing something wrong?”

You didn’t see the way Ben’s brows knitted together, his eyes softening a bit.

“Other than annoying the hell out of me right now, no,” he replied. 

“Okay,” you nodded with a sigh. You looked up at him again. “Then just tell me the truth. What are we doing here?” 

“What the fuck do you mean?” Ben’s hands went to his waist, and once again, he frowned in irritation. “I’m here. What more do you want from me?” 

“Do you love me?” you asked. “And don’t lie to me.” 

He knew very well that you would be able to detect if he was lying. Which was why, you suspected, he hadn’t tried to. 

He couldn’t seem to answer you though…and that broke your heart.

Shaking your head, you walked away from him to get ready for work.

Your attitude at work was snappish at best. Annie had pulled you from the Surveillance department on your lunch break to join her and your friends in the breakroom, but you couldn’t enjoy yourself like you usually would.

“Smooth and creamy, all the motherfuckin’ way,” M.M. said. Sitting across from him in the breakroom was Frenchie, pelting him with a roasted peanut.

“This is why you are an unsophisticated, bourgeois, fucking fuddy-duddy,” Frenchie remarked. He was also vaping, as Annie was trying to get him to stop smoking indoors. “Extra crunchy peanut butter is the only way to do business.”

“What’s the point? Just eat peanuts if you want it that crunchy,” M.M. countered. He blocked each roasted nut thrown at him and organized them in a perfect pile on the table.

“You know what? You’re right. Smooth and creamy is how I’ll eat out your mother’s sweet and savory vajine,” Frenchie teased.

M.M.’s deadpan face was priceless. But when a peanut projectile strayed and hit you in the cheek, you leveled Frenchie with a glare.

“Can you guys not act like children for five goddamn minutes?” you snapped.

His brows raised, along with his hands in surrender. M.M. and Annie looked at you in mild surprise, and the latter with concern after the guys eventually left.

“What’s going on with you? You’ve looked tense as hell all day,” she asked. You sighed, holding a hand to your brow.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you replied. She gave you a knowing look.

“Is…something going on?” she asked. “Is it Ben?”

Most of the S.A. was still wary of Ben, while M.M. tolerated him at best. (You understood how hard he was trying.)

You appreciated Annie though. She was a good friend, and along with Hughie, she’d been another who started to come around to the idea of Ben. Not only as he occasionally worked with the S.A., but to the man himself, after she’d seen the way he did his best to save you, Yvette, and her son Devon.

You nodded at her question. You couldn’t help the tears burgeoning in your eyes. Annie scooched her chair over so she could rub your back in comfort. You sniffed and tried not to break down here in the middle of the breakroom, over your sad ham sandwich.

“We had a fight,” you admitted. Annie’s gaze was tight with concern.

“Did he…hurt you?” she asked. Her brown eyes were as direct as her words, promising her protection as well as retribution, depending on how you answered.

Your glassy eyes widened. “No. He’s not like that, he…believe it or not, but he’s never hurt me, Annie. Not once.”

After a moment, she nodded. “Okay, good. Well, tell me what happened.”

You wanted to. But before you could, both of you got an incoming text in the team group chat. It was from Grace Mallory.

She had a new mission.

Grace asked you to join the team on your first field mission since you’d returned to work three months ago. She also called in Ben, as in her words, it was another “all hands on fucking deck” situation.

Ben and Butcher eyed one another with similar stoic frowns, before they proceeded to ignore each other. Despite how you felt about Ben right now, the brief exchange almost made you smirk.

Apparently the whole I saved you with my super blood thing was awkward for both of them. You knew Ben had seen it as a means to an end. You still didn’t know how Butcher felt about it, but it seemed as if a begrudging respect had formed between the two men.

Or at least, they were civil, anyway.

“All right,” Grace said, once she saw that everyone was in attendance. “Let’s begin.”

A supe named Sapphire had been giving the CIA trouble for years now. She was moving drugs from South America to the States, to the Middle East, whoever would deal with her. And she was smart. She had a network of spies that transcended continents, and so she had evaded every attempt at arrest.

She was also a powerful supe, with the ability to channel vaporizing energy not unlike Crimson Countess had. However, this supe could spear blue shards of light through her enemies as well.  With her damn eyes.

Grace turned to you after she finished explaining the details of the mission.

“Sapphire’s internal security is advanced. Our system can’t penetrate her firewalls. You’ll need to get a hand on the mainframe from there, shut down her system. Then our Surveillance team can back you up here.”

You nodded, but in the corner of your eye, you noticed Ben frowning as he crossed his arms.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re out of practice,” he told you. “You really think you’re ready for this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I train every day,” you snapped back.

Ben’s expression fell into irritation. “Not the same, and you fucking know it.”

Butcher, Annie, and the others watched the exchange with mixed wariness and discomfort. Grace looked between you and Ben with curious, narrowed eyes.

“Is this going to be a problem, you two working together on this?” she asked.

You turned from Ben’s annoyed face and met Grace’s gaze directly.

“Not at all,” you said.

Sapphire had been spotted doing business in the Meat Packing District. By day, the building was a beef butchering factory. By night, it was apparently one of the most massive drug running operations in the city.

As such, her security team was extensive—at the front, the back, and the roof. So while Butcher, Kimiko, and Ben broke through the front, making a lot of noise and distraction, the rest of you went under.

Unfortunately, that meant the sewer. Annie lit the way through, while M.M. followed a set of schematics to find the right spot.

“It’s not my first time in the bowels of New York City, but please God, let it be the last,” Hughie quipped. You tried not to breathe the foul smell through your nose.

“Watch the fucking rat,” M.M. said with a grimace, before he set up the double-sided ladder he brought. He and Frenchie climbed either side of it up to the metal ceiling which, according to the building’s schematics, led directly beneath the factory basement.

They took up welding guns and masks to carve a large hole into the metal and cement above. And soon enough, they pushed up and slid over a large portion, creating a gap you could all crawl through. 

M.M. helped Annie up first, and she shot a few star bolts at the three men inside, who had been smoking and eating deli sandwiches. Each of them went down, alive, but groaning in pain. That allowed the rest of you to climb up and into the basement.

“We’re in,” M.M. said into the Bluetooth communicator in his ear.

“We’re cutting through her goon squad,” Butcher said. “Sapphire’s here somewhere. I can smell a massive cunt already.”

“Gross. Thanks for that visual,” Annie remarked.

From there, you all took off toward the stairwell. It was your task to find the operation’s security control room. So Hughie and Frenchie went with you as backup, while M.M. and Annie went to join the fight and find Sapphire.

It took you a few tries to find the right room. Most of them were offices. One contained wagons of discarded meat parts (disgusting). But eventually, you found a large room filled with computer equipment and a huge wall monitor with several panels of camera feeds. You and Frenchie raised your guns and took out the team inside.

Then you and Hughie went to the controls. Frenchie watched the door while you worked to disable the firewall first. You instructed Hughie on how to knock out their communications as well. And within a few minutes, your work was done. You were able to make a call to the S.A. Surveillance team.

“Hey, friend!” a cheerful voice greeted you. You smiled; it was your coworker Jess, who you’d worked with for the past two years. 

“Jess?”

“Yep! I’m helping out on this one. What do you need?”

“I shut down the firewall. I’m giving you the I.P. address now so you can connect.”

“…Okay, got it. I’m in. I can see all twenty cameras, and you! Hey, there.”

“All right, where’s Sapphire?” you asked.

“Looks like they haven’t found her yet,” Hughie said, pointing at the camera feed in the main room, filled with rows of conveyor belts, and a massive fight as Ben, Butcher, and the others made their way through the building.

“We’ll just have to help them clear each room,” you said. “Let’s go. Jess, keep an eye on us, but look out for Sapphire.”

“Will do. I’m patched into your comm now too,” she said. So you hung up your cell, and you left with Hughie and Frenchie.

You ran into more security when you left the room, more than the three of you could realistically handle as a fire fight began. You guys ran in the opposite direction, but while you veered right around the corner, Frenchie and Hughie ran left. Bullets tore in between, making sure that none of you could cross the hall to join back up.

“You guys keep going. I’ll find my own way out,” you called out to them. Neither of them liked that idea, but Frenchie nodded and pulled Hughie away when Sapphire’s security team closed in.

You kept running down the hall. You knew you were being chased. Several heavy footsteps thundered behind you. 

“Jess, I need a way out of here,” you commed in.

“You’re on the second floor,” she said. “The closest stairwell is the one you’re running away from.”

“What’s the second closest?” You panted as you ran.

“Hmm, you can cut through room 234. The exit stairwell is right on the other side.”

 “Is the room clear?” you asked.

After a moment, Jess answered. “Yep, it should be.”

"Should be?”you said dubiously.

“What the hell’s going on?” you heard Ben’s voice on the line. You heard the edge of his annoyance (and underlying worry), but you didn’t have time to talk to him right now.

“Looks clear on my end,” said Jess,“but this connection is a bit wonky.”

Damn it, Jess, you thought. When you reached room 234, the door was solid gray. There was no window to peek into, and you didn’t have time for caution, as a stray bullet nearly caught you in the head.

You ripped the door open and ran in, slamming the door shut behind you and locking it for good measure.

You turned around and stopped short. A gasp caught in your throat.

The room was huge, and it was filled wall-to-wall with white packages, of what you could only assume was cocaine. A few men were continuing to stack them. At the center of it all was a tall woman, rich tan skin, long black hair, wearing a deep blue pantsuit and killer heels. She looked like a boss ass bitch.

But unfortunately, she was also looking straight at you, raising a brow.

“Ah,” she said. A smile curved her lips, painted with a dark plum lipstick. “You’re one of the little bitches making a mess in my office.” 

Her eyes glowed blue, and yours widened. You dove for the nearest shelter—a wall of cocaine parcels. White powder exploded and wafted in the air as you ducked and ran across the room (and tried not to inhale). You drew your gun and shot out the legs of her men underneath the long stretch of table, but you yelped as bullets continued to follow you.

“I found Sapphire! Need backup in 234!” you shouted into the comm.

But when a blast of blue energy rocked into the wall directly behind you, you screamed as you were thrown forward. You landed painfully on your side, with the wind knocked out of you.

After a moment, you drew breath into your lungs and were able to pick yourself up. The exit door was close, a mere few feet away, but the second you reached for it, you had to pull back as narrow blue shards of light pierced the door. 

Sapphire was quickly approaching, just a yard or so away from grabbing you.

Instead of shooting your gun, you went for the taser at your belt and shot fast. Sapphire grabbed the end of the line like a fucking moron. Her blue eyes widened in outrage and pain when it shocked 50,000 volts of electricity through her body.

You took your chance, and you ripped the door open and fled. You just didn’t expect the bolt of energy that shot after you when you reached the stairs.

It didn’t hit you, but trying to dodge it made you lose your balance. You uttered a short scream as you were forced to jump the first flight of stairs.

You landed on the middle platform between the first and second floor. This time, you knew you twisted your ankle badly on the way down. You whimpered, holding your ankle and shin, but you knew you didn’t have time to waste.

It was a struggle to claw your way up to the guard rail. You could barely put pressure on your right foot, but you had no choice as you scrambled down the rest of the stairs. Already the door to the stairwell was blown open, and a pissed supe was on her way down behind you.

After shoving the door open on the first floor, you stumbled out and took another painful spill across the concrete floor. To your relief, M.M. picked you up by your arms.

The door behind you swung open, and before Sapphire could fire off a vaporizing blow, Ben raised his new titanium shield in front of you and M.M.

The blue energy bounced right off, and Ben used his shield to bat the supe right in the face—like swatting a fly. With a shriek, she was thrown hard against the wall.

Sapphire sunk to her knees, then the electric blue flickered out of her eyes as she fell unconscious to the floor.

When you all returned to Supe Affairs, Ben thundered down the hall towards the Surveillance department.

“Ben!” You hurried after him the best you could with a sprained ankle, bare-footed and wrapped, while M.M. and Hughie trailed behind. The others were busy getting Sapphire into custody.

Hughie was concerned for you though, while M.M. also wanted to know how you were going to try and reign in Soldier Boy.

“What the hell are you doing?” you called after Ben.

“I wanna know what goddamn moron cleared that fucking room,” he barked, but he didn’t slow down.

M.M. called your name from behind.

“Get your boyfriend in check,” he warned.

You sighed in irritation. At this point, you didn’t even know if he was your boyfriend.

But you struggled to reach him. You were practically hopping on one foot. The moment you tried to put any pressure on your right one, you faltered with a cry as you all but crashed against the wall to catch yourself. Hughie went to help you, grabbing your arm gently with a supportive hand on your back.

You didn’t see it, but that was when Ben stopped short. His jaw ticked. And he turned on his booted heel. When he saw you struggling to support yourself against the wall, he reluctantly went back. He knocked Hughie’s scrawny hands off you and wrapped an arm around your waist.

When he tried to just gather you into his arms to get the weight off your injured foot, you snapped at him.

“I can walk!” you said. “Let’s just go home please.”

His nostrils flared in irritation, but he helped you try to walk back toward the exit instead. You winced in pain with every small step.

Ben growled in annoyance. Fuck this. 

He hefted you effortlessly into his arms. You gasped and clung to his shoulders, and afterwards, you glared at him.

“I said I can walk!” you insisted.

“Shut up,” he grated out, swiftly heading for the exit doors down the hall. M.M. and Hughie watched with wide eyes while you and Ben devolved into what you did best.

“Don’t tell me to shut up!” you raised your voice.

He glared at you. “You’re in rare fucking form right now.”

“You’re the one being an asshole!”

“And you’re being a disrespectful brat!”

You rolled your eyes as anger burned hot in your veins. “What-fucking-ever, grandpa.”

Ben’s teeth clicked and grinded together. It took everything he had within him not to toss you. 

“You really wanna fucking get it, don’t you?”

“Suck my dick. How about that?” you sassed back, unfazed by his warning. 

Ben bulldozed through the double doors with a swift kick that shook them on their hinges. The bickering continued long after you two exited the building. 

Hughie just stared, mouth gaping, while M.M. crossed his arms. 

“That is some volatile shit,” Hughie remarked. 

M.M. scoffed, with a subtle shake of his head. 

“Nah, man,” he said ruefully. “That’s true motherfuckin’ love.”

Meanwhile, in the car, Ben drove home to Scarsdale. You simmered in the passenger seat. He glanced at you.

“Are you gonna be a hissy bitch all night?” he asked. You glowered at him.

“You’re the fucking grouch,” you shot back. In times like these, you liked to fantasize. Sometimes you wished you could rip out his spine and play Jenga with the vertebrae.  

“And you’re the one who nearly got yourself killed,” he retorted.

You took issue with this, your brows raising high.

“Excuse me? You’re really blaming me for what happened with Sapphire? You were ready to take out my friend for making an honest mistake.”

His gaze briefly left the road, turning to you in frustration. He didn't understand how you couldn't get it through your thick skull. You had been one shaky step shy of being fucking vaporized today.

No blood. No body. Just...nothing.

“Case in point, you’re the best in Surveillance," he said gruffly. "You don’t need to be in the field."

His compliment stopped you, warming you a little, but he was missing the point.

“I go where I’m needed, just like you,” you said. “You don’t get to tell me how, when, or where to do my job.”

Needless to say, it was tense for the rest of the way home.

Ben helped you inside, after which, you were determined to get to the bedroom by yourself. He watched you hop away from him with a frustrated shake of his head.

He sighed and started to peel off his gloves and untie his boots…but instead of leaving them by the door, like he usually would, he kept walking until he made it to the bedroom he shared with you. He sat on the edge of the bed and took his boots off there.

He watched you ignore him as you closed yourself into the bathroom.

You came out of the shower a little while later. Your hair was damp, but unwashed as you hadn’t been able to stand there for very long. The wrap on your ankle had gotten wet, so you grabbed the spare one that the paramedic had given you.

Ben didn’t look at you as he took his turn heading into the bathroom. After the door shut, your shoulders slumped with a sigh.

You tried to put on some shorts, but you quickly gave up and instead put on an overlarge shirt over your underwear. You remembered then that this shirt was an old one of Ben’s, and now a favorite of yours, because it still smelled like that earthy mix of his cologne and aftershave.

Frowning, you sucked in a deep breath. And you made a decision.

By the time Ben came back out with a towel wrapped around his hips, he found you still in the bedroom. Except you were packing a suitcase—the same one he’d brought to the safe house he’d shared with you for a month.

You were stuffing clothes into it from your side of the dresser. Something churned uncomfortably in his stomach, and he approached you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded to know.

You glanced up at him, but continued packing.

“Well, you made yourself very clear this morning that we’re just roommates. So I’m going to the guest room.”

“All right, don’t get all fucking hormonal,” he said, reaching out with a hand to stop you. You snatched your hand away from him. His brows raised in disbelief.

When you tried to get past him on the way to your closet, he held fast to your arm. With an angry frown, he then grabbed your suitcase and spilled it over onto the bed. You didn’t need a fucking suitcase to move one room over. Not that he planned to let you go any-damn-where.

“Enough,” he said sharply.

You met his intense stare with your own, but your eyes were shining and red. In that moment, you both stilled. The silence was palpable. For you, it was heartbreaking.

“I can’t do this anymore, Ben,” you confessed. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall just yet. “I put my all into this, and I just…I can’t be with someone who won’t be honest with me.”

You started to grab your suitcase again, along with your discarded clothes. Ben stopped you. 

“I said enough,” he snapped. 

You then threw the heap of clothes to the floor, suitcase and all.

“Why?” you tearfully retorted. “Why should I listen to you?” 

His deep green eyes searched yours. For what, you didn’t know.

Eventually, you started to see through the cracks of his anger.

“Because I fucking love you,” he said. 

You blinked up at him, with hope stuck in your throat. But you were stubborn in your denial.

“You’re just saying that to get me off your back,” you argued. “Either you’ve just gotten used to having me around, or you just don’t feel like being alone. But you don’t really care about me.”

You knew you were saying words you didn’t mean.

You knew that wasn’t true…but you couldn’t help it.

You were more upset than angry now, seconds away from dissolving into pitiful tears. You were just stubborn enough to hold them at bay.

“Just shut up for one goddamn second,” Ben said. He held you by your shoulders, though his hands soon moved down to grip your arms. It wasn’t a painful hold, but it was firm, and quite possibly pleading.

Despite your better judgment, you gave him time to speak.

“You really think I’d stay here in this shithole if I didn’t want you?” he asked. “If I didn’t care about you?”

You unconsciously held your breath. For a long moment, he hesitated to continue.

Again, you waited for him.

Meanwhile, Ben knew he was being a coward. He’d been holding back. Not because he wasn’t serious about you, but because he’d been burned before. 

He knew he’d spent his life being a fucking bastard, in most ways. He knew he’d been wrong, and hadn’t given two shits about it. But Crimson Countess…Tess…he’d been willing to settle down with her. He’d actually told her he loved her and hadn’t been totally lying through his teeth. 

Yeah, he’d fucked around. Flirted with other women in front of her. He knew he was a hypocrite. Still, in whatever way he could at the time, he thought he’d loved her. 

And she’d lied to him. She’d gone through the motions of being with him. For fame or fear or whatever her reasons had been, she went along with it. And then she’d sold him out, along with the rest of their team. 

For nothing. Just to get him the fuck out of her life—out of the world. 

So what was he supposed to do with you? Just let you walk the fuck in, give you the deepest parts of him? A dark fucking space that he’d never given to anyone.

Well, he knew now if he didn’t, you were going to leave. But he wasn’t willing to let go either.

So…he relented. For once in his life, he told the truth.

“I love you,” Ben admitted. “In my whole damn life…I think you’re the only one who’s made me feel it for real.” 

Tears finally slipped down your cheeks. You reached out and grasped his wrist, mostly for stability as you took in his words. He took that hand, held it to his warm chest. Always warm. 

“But one day, I’m still going to fucking lose you,” he said, looking down on you. “Then I’ll be right back where I started.”

Alone. 

You looked up at him with a sad, rueful smile. 

“Not exactly where you started,” you replied. He wasn’t the same man you met last year. You pressed your free hand to his cheek.

“Taking Compound V doesn’t guarantee I’ll come out like you, with a longer lifespan.”

“It’s something the CIA can work on,” Ben said. 

“You want Dr. Baker to experiment on me?” you asked, quirking a brow. The CIA had recruited her, ironically enough.

Ben closed his eyes for a second, letting out a slight huff. “That’s not what I’m fucking saying.”

You nodded and soothed your fingers through his hair. 

“Okay, we’ll have that conversation. I promise.” Then you smiled. “But let me just have this moment…my boyfriend loves me.”

You looked into his eyes and you knew he meant it. His hands moved to your waist, around to the small of your back. You clung to his shoulders and shifted off your aching ankle with a wince. Ben noticed, and he raised you up to him. It had the added benefit of letting you reach his face easier.

He guided you into a searing kiss. You responded in kind, delving into his hair again and opening your mouth to his demanding tongue. With the tips of your toes, you pushed up from the ground and he helped you wrap your legs around his waist.

The towel he wore was starting to slip, and you shoved it the rest of the way off with your foot, until he stood in the center of the bedroom in all his glory. 

He smirked into your lips and walked you to the bed. But before he could lay you down, you broke the kiss and held his face.

“You really love me?” you asked, just to make sure. It was the part of you, perhaps still scarred deep down, that had to ask.

Ben chuckled. He rested his forehead against yours. “You’re mine, sweetheart. Don’t you fucking forget it.”

You grinned, and you kissed him this time, only breaking when he lowered down to the bed. Once your back met the plush mattress, all bets were off. He wrenched your shirt up over your head, and you reached for him again.

Your lips drew a hot, wet path from his jawline to his neck, biting and sucking all along the way to that sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder. His hand clenched in your hair, a deep sound caught in his throat when he felt the sharp sting of your teeth, playfully biting, then soothing with your tongue.

Your nails bit into his skin, but merely felt like teasing down his back, making a shiver trill along his spine. He all but pressed you into the mattress as he made his own descent.

Your fingers trailed up and into his hair while his mouth worked its way down between your breasts, stopping to lavish attention on each one. You made sounds of pleasure when he took a hardened nipple between his lips, between his teeth, dragging deliciously over your skin.

Your thighs wrapped around his hips again, He bucked teasingly into your clothed core, making you moan when you felt his wet tip dampening your panties.

“Ben…”

His lips curved, but he didn’t answer you. His fingers were pressing into the flesh of your thigh as he continued to tease your breasts. You’d felt how hard he was already and frankly, you were surprised he was taking his time.

“Listen,” you panted in his ear. “You’ve gotta wrap it up this time. Do we even have condoms?”

You knew for a fact that Ben didn’t buy them. 

But his brows furrowed. His mouth left your breast as he looked up at you.

“What?”

“I haven’t replaced my IUD yet,” you confessed. Its five-year lifespan had been up, and so you’d gotten the birth control device removed a few days ago.

Now, you watched in amusement at the way his lips curved into a pleased grin.

“No, don’t you even think about it,” you warned. Though you almost laughed at how excited he looked. “We’re not ready for that.”

“Why fucking not?” Ben asked. His pressed his length against your core more insistently. The idea of fucking you raw, spilling into you, putting his seed deep inside you without resistance, had his cock throbbing with anticipation.

“Ben!” You had to laugh. You two hadn’t even been living together that long, and you had just gotten on the same page after six months of trying to figure out what you were together.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want kids,” he said. And he began to ply you with tantalizing kisses along the column of your throat, down your neck, the scraping of teeth making you shudder in delight.

“I do,” you could admit. “But is right now really the best ti—”

He choked a moan out of you as his fingers pushed your underwear aside and spread your folds, then delved right in. Your core pulsed, hot and wet as his thick digits sunk deep inside you.

“God,” you uttered, gripping his hair tight. He stretched and explored your inner channel with two fingers, while his thumb found your clit with ease.

“When then?” he asked. But his hand was unrelenting, working you over until your toes curled and the coil in your lower belly began to tighten. You looked up at him helplessly.   

“Can we talk about this later?” you keened. Ben smirked and suddenly withdrew his fingers from your dripping pussy. He snatched your underwear, ripping them down the middle and making you gasp.

“No time like the fucking present,” he insisted. He lined himself up to your entrance, but you stopped him with a warning look. You knew if you let him inside you now, he was going to try and get his way.

“Ben,” you warned.

He sighed and let you stop him, but then his teasing edge faded.

Ben pressed a hand to your cheek. When he leaned down to kiss you, you felt the need and wanting behind it. 

He pulled away to meet your eyes. You softened looking up into his, because you understood what he wanted.

“We have time, baby,” you promised, stroking his chin. “We’ll have a family…just give us some time.”

He was disappointed…but he nodded. Sighing again through his nose, he clenched a hand into the now tangled mess of your hair.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you’re fucking mine.”

Your eyes widened. In all of this, you’d forgotten to be honest yourself. 

“Of course I’m yours,” you said. “I love you, Ben. So much, I can hardly take it.” 

He closed his eyes with furrowed brows. It had been a very long time since he’d heard those words. Maybe the first time someone had said them with any real sincerity, besides his mother. 

You encouraged him to look at you, both with your voice and your hand gently touching his face. And when he opened his eyes, you marveled at the depths there. 

Smiling, you guided him back to your lips. It was slow and sweet…until it wasn’t, deepening in passion and urgency again. Need burned inside you, so deep and strong that you couldn't take it anymore.

You slipped a hand between you to grasp his still hard cock. You caressed him a few times, letting your thumb circle around the sensitive head. Ben couldn’t help thrusting into your hand, releasing a grunt. His eyes briefly closed again as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck, down his chest.

“I need you,” you whispered against his skin. Ben nodded while you held his length poised at your entrance. He raised your hips, tucking your ankles over shoulders. For your injured one, he rubbed your calf.

“What a fuckin’ trooper,” he said with a smirk.

You smiled, but it soon fell into a moan as he began to push inside you. Every time, he stretched and filled you completely. Your inner walls wrapped around him and already fluttered with heat.

“Fuck, baby doll. Got me tight as a damn glove,” Ben remarked. You had to giggle, but that just squeezed him harder. When he began to move, it was all you could do to cling to his shoulders.

As basic as the position was, you liked being able to see his face. You knew when to spur him on, and when to just hold on for dear fucking life. But above all, he was a skilled man, and you enjoyed watching him work.

You were so consumed by it that when he came, it took both of you by surprise. He spilled into you hot and deep, but he still filled you with ragged thrusts, which hit that special place inside that made your entire body shudder with pleasure. You couldn’t help but come apart with him.

Your nails bit fruitlessly into his skin as your voice rose on a high moan. The two of you panted for breath, and he pulled out and let down your legs back to the bed. Once you felt the telltale dripping of his release slipping down from between your legs, your eyes widened. 

Oh shit, you thought. “We forgot the condom.”

Ben stared down at you, first in confusion, then in surprise. And finally, with a broad, Cheshire-like grin.

You laid a hand over your eyes as you relaxed into the pillow behind your head, trying not to laugh.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you said.

“We? I was following your lead,” Ben said. He moved to lay beside you in full satisfaction, folding his hands over his chest. He looked like the cat that caught the horny-ass canary.

"Haven't you heard of, oh, I don't know, pulling out?" you quipped. Ben rose a brow at you, still with that smug look on his face.

"Not my philosophy, sweetheart," he said.

Your mouth dropped open incredulously. Your gaze narrowed, but looking into his gleaming eyes, you really just had to laugh. His smile grew.

Ugh. Whatever, you thought. For now, you closed your legs and moved over to rest your head on his shoulder. He welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

What’re the chances that I’m ovulating anyway? you thought.

After a beat, you huffed another laugh. With your luck, you’d definitely have to stop at a drugstore for a pregnancy test.

And yet, in times like these, you were happy that you caved when Ben insisted on installing a TV in the bedroom. After you both got cleaned up, it was nice to fall into bed like you used to and find something new to watch together.

There were so many things you wanted him to catch up on, and he was generally game for whatever you thought he might like.

Three episodes of The Office later though, you stopped laughing so much and fell into your thoughts. Ben noticed, tugging on a loose strand of your hair.

“What’s the matter?”

“You really think our apartment is a shithole?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I might’ve embellished.”

“Seriously. If you’re not comfortable here—”

“I’m comfortable,” he said, turning his gaze to you. “Why’re you asking me that now?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I just want you to be happy here. I want this to feel like home for both of us, but not like, boring either.” 

He smirked. “Hence the caravan of whores and blow.” 

You shook your head with a laugh. But he still saw you trying to stem off that worry. That all this wasn’t enough for him. 

Well, Ben could complain about being cramped in this three-bedroom apartment…but he knew that when he came home, he wouldn’t be alone. 

He’d be able to see your stuff on the nightstand, by your side of the bed, your half of the closet, your sweet-smelling soaps and lotions in the bathroom. All of that was familiar to him now. 

It was home, he supposed. And so were you.

The beginnings of a softer smile curved his lips, but he edged it into a smirk.  

“You’ve got something they don’t,” he said. 

“What’s that?” you asked, raising a brow. 

“You try the ever-living fuck out of my patience,” he said, “unlike anyone on the planet.” 

With a giggle, you rolled over onto his arm and chest, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“Buuut…?” 

He conceded with a nod, if also a roll of his eyes. His arm lifted to once again slip around your waist.

“But no matter how fucked up it got, you stayed.”

With me, his tone implied.

“That’s more than anyone else in my goddamn life,” he said.

And that made you tear up all over again.

“So you’re staying,” you clarified, only half-teasing.

It reminded you of when you’d sat tied to a chair, wondering why the hell Soldier Boy would want to let you live. You could’ve never known it then, but you’d stared straight into the face of your future.

You didn’t know if Ben was remembering the same thing, but he smiled a little, brushing away your tears with his thumb.

“I’m staying,” he replied. Your smile brightened, and you leaned up for a kiss.

“Then we’re square,” you whispered against his lips. 

He chuckled and deepened the kiss. He turned off the TV, chucking the remote further down the bed and turned to trap you beneath him again.

“Nope.” You finished wiping your eyes and pushed against his chest. “You’re not finessing me twice. Go find a damn condom.”

He gave you a grumpy look. “Fucking killjoy.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed. You reached up and took his face in your hands.

“I promised, didn’t I?” you reminded. “We’ll get there.”

His gaze searched yours.

“Soon, not someday,” he said. You nodded, soothing your thumb across his cheek.

“Soon,” you agreed. And you reminded him, even as your throat constricted once more with emotion. “Ben, I love you…God, I love you. And I’ve never wanted this with anyone but you.”

Ben paused, but after a moment, he nodded in acceptance. You were grateful for it. Even though you weren’t quite ready yet, he wasn’t the only one who wanted a family.

While your fractured past and upbringing made it hard for you to move past your fears, your insecurities, you knew that this man made you feel safe.

For the first time in your life, you also felt whole.

Soon enough, you’d be brave too.

AN: That's all, folks. Been a great ride...

Ha! Just kidding. I'm nowhere near done with these two, even with this long-ass epilogue lol.

But honestly, no matter what part of the journey you jumped into with this story, thank you so much for sticking with me until the end. It's truly been one of my favorite stories ever to write. And I'm so glad I got the chance to share it with you. 🥹💚🥹

Read More in the BMD-verse:

There are several more sequel stories listed under the Break Me Down Series Masterlist. Next up is a one-shot taking place a shortly after Part 17, and before this Epilogue:

Summary: You and Ben have tackled the insurmountable together, but no one said the recovery would be easy.

▶️ Next Story: In the Dark

Before you keep reading, please let me know what you thought of the BMD finale! 💚💚

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[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yandere Coworker (part 15)

Thank you @i---believe---in---pink for commissioning this chapter.

(2515 words)

tw: afab reader, infantilization, nonconsensual touches from Cyprus, butchered Spanish,

Masterlists (+commission info), part 1, part 16

She grinned, and so did her son; he was happy to see the beginning of a bond forming with his mother and the woman he planned to wed.

"I should start preparing dinner. Excuse me." His mother walked past you and Cyprus to get to the kitchenette.

Whereas Cyprus went on to usher you to the couches. A large hand guided you by the shoulders to sit on the cushion, it was so soft, that you sunk into it much to your surprise. He then left the living room without a word, entering a doorway that you assume leads to his mother's bedroom.

You looked over at her, she was gathering all the ingredients needed for tonight's meal. It appears beans, tortillas and some fresh vegetables Cyprus bought are on the menu later. She paid you no mind as she brought her crockeries and food processor onto the clean counter.

He returned with two pillows tucked under his arm as he held a folded, pink blanket. Cyprus fluffed your pillow before setting it near the armrest, "Acuéstate." He instructed.

You stared at him, vaguely knowing what he wanted you to do. But you wondered if he had forgotten to switch back to English with you.

"Lay down, that's what it meant." He clarified after a few more seconds of staring. You asked why he didn't just tell you to do that in English.

"I want you to learn my language, mi amor." He tucked you under the blanket, gently stuffing your arms with the other pillow. "I'm sure you knew what I just called you." Your boyfriend smiled, ruffling your hair affectionately.

You grimaced when he kissed you on the cheek with a very audible smooch, he was obviously teasing you, loving how your face would heat up like an inferno out of embarrassment. His mother doesn't seem to mind this public display of affection, though. It's almost as if she's encouraging it.

"Get some rest, I'll be helping my mom out." Cyprus took a long sniff of your hair, greedily inhaling your scent. He reluctantly pried himself away from you in the end.

You asked if you could watch TV, at least. He shook his head. "No, you should take a nap; dormir."

You said that you're fine. It's not like that could kill you.

Cyprus merely rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath in Spanish. You bet it's something about how stubborn you are.

The rest of the afternoon rolled by peacefully, with the mother and son duo chatting away in a language other than what you're used to. The soft clanking of utensils, the bubbling of broth, and the occasional sizzling all served as white noise to you. It felt homely despite your circumstances, it felt cozy. Comfortable enough to let your eyelids droop heavily, to let your mind drift to slumberland.

-

"Mija." His mother's soft voice gradually became clearer as you regained consciousness from your afternoon nap. You groan and rub your eyes, only to have her gently pull your wrists away from you. Cyprus must have told her to stop you from doing that. You couldn't believe that her apartment was comfortable enough for you to fall into a deep sleep.

You greeted her and looked around. All you saw was his mother crouching to the level of her sofa. You then asked where Cyprus is.

"I told him to get me something from the store nearby." Her voice was hushed as if she was trying not to alert her presence. But her smile said otherwise.

You asked her what time it was.

"it's five o'clock, my son will be back in half an hour." She stood up and sat next to you. There was an awkward silence between you and her as you sat up as well, what is there to say? You avoided eye contact with her too, but you heard the rustling of plastic. So you looked at what she's doing.

You didn't notice that she was holding your medication, she was unscrewing the cap of your eyedrops and placing it on a sheet of facial tissue.

"Look up, Mijo." Her hands, there was obvious aging but it's still quite supple and soft. She tried to grab the side of your face so she could apply the drops. However, unnerved by this, you declined and said you could do it yourself. She appeared surprised, but unlike her son, she gave you the bottle without complaint.

Just like a regular, adept adult, you pulled your lower eyelid down and placed a few drops in. You did so efficiently and quickly, clearly not needing anyone to do this for you.

So you asked her what Cyprus had said regarding this. His mother folded her hands on her lap.

"He told me you may need some help."

You replied that you never did, Cyprus is the one insisting that he treats you like a helpless invalid. She nodded sympathetically and stayed silent, you took that as a cue to continue talking. This could be a good time to spill everything about Cyprus, all his horrible behaviors, how he's actually trapping you in this relationship. You hoped that his mother could help you out, she seemed sane enough. But you could never be too sure, so you chose your words carefully to test the waters.

She listened to your rant quietly, all her attention was on you and it seems like she expressed nothing but sympathy for you. Did she expect this from Cyprus? Perhaps she could help you pry him off your case.

You were a bit animated in your talking, feeling the emotions and upset that he had put you through. It was hard to control, but you managed for the sake of winning her favor. You ended the vent without a verbal conclusion or a request for her view on this, you simply stared at her as you waited for a response.

She sighed. "Ah, I..." His mother looked away, almost guiltily. It formed a pit of dread in your stomach, thinking that she wasn't going to be on your side.

She took your hands into hers, enveloping it firmly as she prepared to say her piece. Her piercing grey eyes looked into yours as she parted her lips to speak.

"Mija, I have never seen my son this happy." She began, gulping and darting her eyes all over your face. It appears as if she is finding it hard to express her thoughts. "Cyprus had a bad childhood, his father left us when he was very young. Me and my eldest daughter tried our best to raise him, but I knew it wasn't good enough."

The corners of your mouth is threatening to tug into a deep frown.

"My son is not a bad man. Sometimes he is rude, sometimes he cannot control his anger, but he is not a bad man." Her grip on your hands became tighter, desperate, even.

"He will take care of you, I know he will. I can see that you are his light, and I know you are good for my son." She paused for a moment, maintaining a doleful look. "Please, Mija. You must understand, as a mother, I want nothing but to see my son living the life he deserves. I want to see him happy- Cyprus is a good man, I know he is nothing like his father. He will take care of you, Mija."

You think that she's starting to sound like a broken record, repeating the same handful of words as she tries to convince you to stay with Cyprus.

You told her that you're just one of his temporary girlfriends, and you don't think this relationship will last. You just want to get out sooner and you're sure Cyprus will be fine.

She shook her head. "No, you are very different from the other women Cyprus knew. You are a very nice girl, very respectful and kind. Please stay with him, you are good for my son." It was getting harder and harder to look at her pleading face.

You pulled your hands away from hers, feeling uncomfortable at her desperation. You gave up trying to reason with her, she isn't going to help you at all. If anything, you think she will just make your life miserable.

You ended the conversation by telling her you would think about it. But it looks like she isn't done, as she stays in place and stares at you, prompting you to talk again.

You asked her if Cyprus usually heed her warnings or advice.

"My son has a very... strong personality. Sometimes stubborn, but his heart is big. You are very important to him, Cyprus will listen to you if you can talk to him properly." You noted how she avoided answering the question.

You asked her what she meant by 'properly'. It appeared to catch her off guard, as she stammered a bit before formulating a response.

"Ah... don't shout at him, don't say bad things--"

You cut her off and asked her again, if Cyprus listens to her.

She sighed in defeat, "No. It is very difficult for me or his sister to talk to him."

Having his mother change his behavior is out of the question.

"But he will listen to you!" She grabbed you by the arm, her neatly manicured fingers sinking into your flesh. "His eyes are full of love when he looks at you, I know he will do anything to make you happy."

You doubt his mother's beliefs. But you didn't verbally express it, your opinion may have shown itself on your face, though.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but the jiggling of the doorknob stole her attention away, She immediately released your limb and folded her hands on her lap. Surely enough, the front door unlocked and swung open to reveal Cyprus with a case of beer cans in one arm and a brown paper bag in the other.

He grinned widely when his grey eyes landed on you. "Had a good nap, princess?" Cyprus made his way to the living area, placing his items on the coffee table in front of you, as he was itching to hold you again. His mother stood up and went ahead to lock the door behind him. She then brought the items elsewhere, to give you and him some privacy.

He sat next to you and forcefully pulled you into his lap despite your protests and thrashing, he wore his glasses on the top of his head so it wouldn't get in the way. Cyprus then silenced you by peppering kisses all over your face, you couldn't turn your head away either as his lips would assault your neck. His arms caged you in, so there was no escape from his affections. No amount of whining would stop him from laughing and teasing you with such sensual yet strong touches.

"Bésame." He mumbled. You repeated the word quizzingly. And that was met with another barrage of kisses. Spluttering, you managed to push his head away from you.

You demanded to know what that word was.

"You have to be more specific, Mi Princesa." He pinched you on the cheek. To which, you swatted his hand away.

You said the word "Bésame", you wanted to know what that meant. Only to have him pull you into a deep kiss on the lips. The tips of your ears are getting warm as you realize that Cyprus is doing all these embarrassing displays in his mother's home, probably right in front of his mother too. Has he no shame? He must derive some pleasure from humiliating you like this.

Eventually, he lets you go, allowing you to finally fill your lungs with air again. He chuckled and kissed your forehead, cuddling you like a beloved stuffed bear. "What do you think it meant, baby?"

You said you don't know, and you would appreciate it greatly if he would just be direct. It made him playfully roll his eyes at you. "You're boring. It meant "kiss me"."

You told him that you're not using that word ever.

"What word?" A smirk plastered itself on his handsome face.

You clarified which word you meant: Bésame, but you realized you fell into his trap and braced for a kiss that inevitably came. This time, it's much calmer and quieter. His eyes were fully closed in bliss with his long, fluttery eyelashes tickling your skin. His soft, plush lips molded perfectly with yours.

You whacked him on the chest with your fists, he wouldn't let you go until he thought you were about to pass out from oxygen deprivation.

He laughed heartily when he saw you catching your breath. "Eres tan tierno..." Cyprus cooed, caressing the side of your face and brushing stray strands away. "Do you know what that means?" You lied and said yes so he would stop bothering you further.

"Did mom give you eye drops?" He asked. You nodded as you allowed him to examine your eyes.

"You're getting better-" He was interrupted by a knock on the door. The room became deathly silent as he froze, unblinkingly waiting for further response. Eventually, another knock came, this time it was louder than the last. His mother left her hiding place too, confused as to what or who might be outside her door. The mother and son knew that this wasn't necessarily a safe area.

"¿Esperas invitados esta noche, mamá?" He asked his mother. She shook her head.

He merely shrugged and went back to doting on you, ignoring the incessant knocking while his mother looked increasingly worried. You asked if he should handle it.

"Later." He nonchalantly replied, he shared a look with his mother, who told him something in Spanish. "Dinner should be ready in a few minutes, go freshen up." Cyprus urged you in the direction of the bathroom, you could tell that he was actually trying to hide you from whatever confrontation was about to occur.

Regardless, you went into the bathroom and locked the door behind you, pretended to use the facilities by turning the tap on, and let the crisp, cold water run. Thinking it's somewhat wasteful, you decided to use it to wash your face.

A few minutes later, you heard the door opening and the knocking stopped. You picked up on hushed talking that escalated to unintelligible yelling from the stranger. You're sure that they're all speaking in English, but the door and walls are surprisingly thick enough to absorb most of the noises. It sounded like a mess that you would rather not get into, and you don't think that you can handle any more social interaction for the day. If it wasn't for Cyprus, you wouldn't have left your room at all today.

However, you were curious and whatever lies behind the door is killing you. Maybe... Cyprus could protect you if there is danger?

You scratched the back of your head and stared at yourself in the mirror.

[k-marzolf]

I heard somebody whisper “Please adore me.”

Established relationship, nudity, language, fluff, implied oral (m receiving), fem!reader.

@terry2227 @e-dubbc11 @kayhi808 @bookloverfilmoholic @cant-help-simping @tortilla-chips-and-allioli @aoi-targaryen @firequeensposts @milea @thejanecampaign @snowkestrel @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @danzer8705 @vaguekayla @zz-kennedy @fictional-hooman @disneyloverjaime @firexfate @rosaleenablack @idaofinfinity

Your boyfriend came in that night, dragging ass and looking absolutely exhausted as he sat his things down, kicking off his shoes, and coming into the bedroom, loosening his tie. You looked up from your position on the bed, ankles crossed while you read a book. “Hey, Billy.” You said, seeing the dark circles under his eyes.

You stood up, moving over to him. You helped him undo his tie, kissing his mouth. He hummed, tasting the wine you’d been drinking. “How about a bath?” You asked, fingers tossing his tie aside on the chaise lounge, and pulling his suit jacket off, admiring him through his shirt, pressing your thighs together. But this was about him tonight.

“Sure,” Billy said, feeling sore in his shoulder during the colder months. You pulled him into the bathroom, noticing how slow he’d moved. He’d been working overtime for weeks.

“How hot do you want it?” You asked, turning the water on.

“Very.” Billy said, undressing.

As tired as he was, he was slightly amused by how shy you looked when you turned around, making sure your eyes were on his face, your cheeks hot. You were still so shy after a year together.

He climbed in and was surprised when you sat on the side of the tub and not inside, your legs hanging over into the water. He was disappointed. You pulled him between your legs and wetted his hair, before grabbing some shampoo. Billy groaned as your nails scratched his scalp.

Goddamn, he could get used to this pampering. He thought, leaning back, pushing his head into your hands.

You smiled, he was like a cat looking for more petting.

No one had ever taken care of Billy like this, never pampered him, never actually saw him for anything other than a pretty face or an orphan, something with no worth or value.

“How was work?” You asked, softly.

Billy scoffed, “Goddamn bureaucrats.” He said, “They’ve tied my hands in paperwork. It’s why I’ve been busy.” He said, arms on the side of the tub.

“Murder is the only option, then.” You teased him.

Billy laughed, “Don’t tempt me, baby. I can’t be with you in prison.”

You giggled, “Then we go on the run as Bonnie and Clyde.”

Billy huffed, “You’re ridiculous.” He said, but he had a wry grin on his face.

You gave him a good head massage for a bit, making him buzz with contentment, before rinsing his hair. “Lean forward,” you said sweetly, squeezing some body wash onto a cloth.

He obeyed, and you scrubbed his back and shoulders, careful of his bad shoulder and giving it more attention, turning him into putty in your hands. Your heart ached at the thought of eleven year old Billy defending himself. He groaned loudly bringing you back to the present. “Feel good, Billy?” You asked, your dress slipping into the water a little bit.

He looked over at you, “I’m gettin’ overworked more often.” He husked.

You whined, “Don’t. I miss you when you’re busy.” You said petulantly.

Billy hummed, “I miss you too, sweet girl. You’re the only one who’s ever loved me.” He said, quietly.

“The Castles do.” You said, nails scratching down his back.

“Not like you.” He said, back arching.

You felt your heart ache at his words, and an ache began between your thighs. You yanked him back against you, tilting his head back so you could kiss him.

When he climbed out of the bath, you settled on your knees in front of him, hands on his thighs, worshiping him with his fingers tangled in your hair, his heart full of love.

[luveline]

hihihi! request for zombie steve au! maybe someone at the college bullies reader into thinking she’s not good enough for steve?

just gotta say that I LOVE LOVE LOVE all your works & esp this au 😩 it just does something to me

hi thank you so much for your request! I didn't make it so severe as bullying I don't think, but tw for bullying just to be safe, and suggestive! tw mentioned weight loss <3 zombie!au steve 9k words

The dinner line is long and winding. You and Steve stand elbow to elbow, the smell of refried beans and homemade tortillas near hypnotising.

"I know the tortillas are gonna taste a little weird, I just don't care," you say, the hand you’ve curled around your boyfriend's forearm squeezing enthusiastically. 

"Imagine if they had cheese," he taunts. 

"Don't be evil, Steve." 

His laugh dissappears into the swelling sounds of a hundred conversations. It feels like high school, bodies packed into the same room like a bingo wheel, people bouncing off of one another frenetically as the night turns forward. There's a lot of happy energy in here tonight. You're contributing at least half. Not even Steve's unfortunate truths can get you down. Yeah, you miss cheese a lot, but after a full day in the pantry shift and close quarters to such gorgeous smells, you're ravenous. 

Your stomach gives a rumbling groan, and Steve's pressed so close to you that he can feel it. He wraps his arm around your shoulder to kiss the top of your head. 

His easy affection sates you for a while. You turn to watch the people already sitting with their meals, jealous but not too much, and find your happiness isn't grudging. You're happy to be here. You won't take this stroke of luck for granted, not again. 

You and Steve get your plates, refried beans, roasted greens seasoned with a vibrant red that smells spicy and decadent. There's definitely olive oil mixed in. You thrum with pleasure but wait patiently for steve to collect his own helpings, your cutlery, and finally, your drinks.

Robin sees you coming and waves you down unnecessarily. She's sitting with a dark-haired girl called Vanessa, and another girl you're unsure of. Vanessa had been part of your rescue squad, the team of people who'd fought to bring you back to The College. You'd show her some gratitude if she deigned to look at you. 

No matter how snooty you find her, Robin likes her. You try to like her too. 

"Hey," you say, putting your place setting down in front of Robin to encourage Steve to her side. 

He might downplay it but you know how much he loves her, and how much he'd missed her when they were separated. She's an extremely important part of his life. You wish he'd spend more time with her outside of scavenging and supply runs, but Steve is stuck to you like glue. It's awful and amazing. 

"Hi, killer," Robin says. 

You scrunch up your nose. "We're still using that?" 

"You were impressive!" she emphasises. 

Steve puts his drink down before his plate. She's quick to grab it, taking a generous swig as he grumbles and grouches. 

"Do you mind?" he asks. 

"I don't. Tell your girlfriend you think she was impressive!" 

"She knows exactly how I feel about her."

You smile at him. You know more than enough. He's a sweetheart through and through, and though the incident Robin's referencing hadn't been one he loved, he agrees; you'd managed to cut down six zombies all by yourself when they'd split off from a herd that managed to infiltrate community defences, and Steve had thought you were a rockstar. He'd grabbed you, covered in blood and sweat, and asked you why you couldn't just stay inside, and then he'd hugged you for too long, and said later, "My girl's a fucking weapon." Like a nerd. 

It's not complicated. Steve had been in danger. You'd wanted to save him, and you'd tried. Turns out he'd be the one to save you… for the hundredth time. But your efforts impressed him. 

Impressed everyone, according to Robin. 

"Hey, Vanessa," you say warmly. 

Vanessa gives you a strange smile in return. Despite mutual friends, Vanessa hasn't warmed to you. She'd been one of the only people who'd volunteered for your rescue squad but you're starting to think that hadn't been because she liked you, exactly. She just couldn't really say no. 

"Hey," she says. "How are you?" 

Civil you can do easily. You and Steve had been civil for weeks. 

"I'm good! Yeah, we heard there were gonna be real tortillas tonight and thought we'd get here early, but everybody had the same idea, I guess." 

She laughs politely. "We did." 

You wouldn't villainise Vanessa for disliking you. You barely like yourself. And, in your opinion, you'd gotten pretty damn lucky that Steve likes you as much as he does, though a small voice whispers that it'd been a grudging sort of love, like a flower squeezing its way through two panels of sidewalk. A weed that isn't supposed to be there. You worry often and in droves that Steve will come to his senses. He's gonna wake up one day, look at your sleeping face, and realise it isn't enough. 

When you'd first joined The College community, you'd thought for sure that was it. Steve was gonna trample your heart once and for all. He never did, of course. The opposite — he'd doubled down. Told you he loved you for the first time, and a second time, too. 

And now, miles trekked to get you back, his calf a blistering star of heat where it kisses your own beneath the table, your doubts fade away. 

Vanessa doesn't have to like you. That's not the way the world works. With Steve at your side, the rejection barely stings. 

You rub your shoe gently against his ankle. He looks up at you, a crazy amount of tortilla in his mouth, and he looks so silly you laugh hard and suddenly. 

He covers his mouth. 

"I thought you were looking somewhere else," he defends. 

"Pig," Robin says, still sipping at his cup of water. 

You rub his ankle again. A joke waits at the tip of your tongue, You're lucky I love you. It would feel good to say, but it's not your thing. You've never been outwardly romantic. 

His cheeks pink a little under the fluorescents. 

For Steve, you can be romantic. 

"You're lucky I love you," you say. 

There's too much emphasis on 'love', not enough on 'lucky', and the joke refuses to land. Your voice is softer than silk. It's all too sweet. 

"More than lucky," Steve says, grinning at you.

You try to put your glass of water on his tray. He puts its straight back on your own. 

"Robin's gonna go get me another one," he says. 

"I need one for myself," she says, unhappy. 

"You have two hands." 

"Will you get me a refill?" Vanessa asks. 

Christopher, another of Steve's fast friends, slams his tray down next to yours happily. Jonathan is right after him, and then the table's filling up with people: Jonathan's younger brother sits beside him, and the younger brother's friends follow. They're all glued together, you swear. You recognise Dustin in the throng, his chestnut brown curls crushed under a blue hat bragging the Claypole Farmer's Market, wherever that is. 

"Steve's getting drinks?" Chris asks.

"For me too, please," Jonathan adds. "And Will, if you don't mind." 

"I actually do," Steve says. 

"And us!" Dustin says, smirking. "Thank you, oh gracious one."

Steve looks at you for a second, slack-jawed. Can you believe this shit? He stands up, grumbling, and forces his hand between Robin's upper arm and chest to drag her with him. 

"Come on, Rob, I can't carry them by myself." 

"Steve, please, I'm tired," she moans, her words all lifted and croaky. 

"How'm I supposed to carry them by myself? Am I a fucking squid?" 

"I'll help," you say, happy to do it, anything for him and at any time. 

He puts his hand out to you, a universal gesture for Sit the fuck down. "Buckley will be more than capable." His smile softens. "Thank you." 

You pout at him very gently in a kissy face to watch him light up. It's cheesy and rom-com, and it works like a charm. By the time he gets Robin on her feet the tips of his ears are completely blushed, a stark red against the mousy browns and blondes of his hair. 

"Hey, Y/N," Chris says, mouth full of tortilla. Boys are all the same. 

"Hey," Jonathan echoes, and at least his hand is in front of his mouth, "how are you feeling? They let you back in the kitchen yet?" 

"They did. Hopper really didn't like that I broke the lock down rules, but at the same time, I think he understands that I'm a grown up." 

Lock down rules being, once a door is shut, it stays shut. Do not give a herd the opportunity to worm its way inside. 

But you'd made sure the coast was completely clear, and after Maybelle and Pauline, your fellow kitchen staff, had vouched for that, he'd let you off the hook, and back to work. You hadn't realised how punishing not working could be, especially when Steve had stayed on shift, his time split between scrounging outside of the community and fence duty. There's nothing to stop you from spending the day thinking about what-ifs, which is veritable torture. 

"You missed the kitchen? Did you make these?" Chris asks. 

You turn to your food and tear off some of the warm tortilla, sighing with pleasure. "No, I'm just kitchen pantry, you know? I'm sorta like an accountant. Like Dora in the armoury, or–" You nod at Vanessa with a smile. "Vanessa. You're in charge of the toiletries and stuff, right, with Cooper and Dean, and those guys?" 

She clears her throat. "It's more than 'toiletries and stuff,'" she corrects with a stilted laugh. "It's everything that isn't food. Medicine for the medic, the nursery supplies, the batteries. It's important." 

"No, of course! I didn't mean to imply anything else. I can't imagine." 

You're sure her smile this time is genuine. You and Vanessa can't seem to mesh because she's a little more serious than you are and your easygoing tone rubs her the wrong way, but you think your explanation makes it up. 

She opens her mouth to speak when Dustin leans over the table, projecting his voice down the line. "Y/N! Are you coming to cards club tonight?" 

"I don't know, babe," you say, startled at his question. "I thought so. If Steve isn't too tired then yeah, absolutely." 

"You can come without Steve," Jonathan says. 

"I know," you say, softly so you know he's grateful for the reassurance. 

"You're the only one who can beat Will at Yahtzee. You have wicked luck," says Mike, their pale, dark-haired friend, who usually rivals Dustin for hostility. You're glad he seems to like you. 

"Yahtzee isn't luck based," says Will. 

The entire group groans at the ignition of a familiar argument. 

"Robin, if you fucking nudge me again I'm gonna make sure this goes all over you," comes Steve's voice. 

You turn in your seat to watch their procession of glasses, at least six between them with not a tray in sight. Robin looks confident, Steve terrified. You jump to your seat to rescue him, taking his third glass from the nestling group so he can pick up his pace. 

"Thank you," he says, dipping his head down for a kiss. 

You're surprised but never not wanting to be kissed by him, your chin lifting on automatic to reciprocate. You chase him when he pulls away, turning one kiss into two, his lips the tiniest bit chapped against yours. It's a comforting pressure. 

You ease away. "Are we going to card club tonight?" 

"If you want to, of course we are." 

"You aren't tired?" 

"You're saying I look ugly." 

He glares at you, faux-offended.Your laugh is peeling, infectious to your own ears. 

"No!" you deny. 

"Right." He tries to be deadpan, sighing in defeat when he can't keep up the illusion. "Shit, I almost had it. S'too bad I'm a sucker for you when you smile like that." 

— 

Later that night, you and Steve are sitting around the very same tables that have been wiped down with a watery lysol, and you have an amazing three game Yahtzee streak going where nobody can beat you.

Steve's ears are ringing with the clattering sound of dice in the shaker, and he's freezing. It's a great night. He shrugged out of his jacket to lay it over your shoulders, and has to periodically readjust it to stop it from falling to the floor, your arms moving enthusiastically with each new shake. 

Steve winces as Dustin makes a fatal mistake. He’s used his two sixes to mark a 12 in the sixes column, holding out for a yacht.

"Dude, the chances of getting Yahtzee are like, one in a thousand," Steve says.

"One in thirteen hundred," you correct, already scooping up Dustin's die to take your turn. 

"One in seven thousand and seven hundred for each number," Mike says. 

"Ew," Steve says, face slumped into his palm, elbow aching where it's pushed into the table. "You fucking nerds infected my girl." 

"It's in the rule book," you say, shaking the circular dice container with your hand on top. You throw them out on the table and assess your given numbers with a frown. 

You have three threes and two ones. You keep the threes and shake the other two dice again. Yahtzee had felt complicated when Steve first learned how to play, and now it feels maddening. It's definitely luck based, in his humble opinion, and that has nothing to do with his never winning a game, he swears. 

"Does the chance of rolling a Yacht get higher if you keep the dice?" he asks, gesturing to your three threes.

"Yeah," you mumble, throwing your second shuffle out onto the table. "Yeah, but it's pretty negligible, handsome. Goes from point one to point two."

"It isn't negligible," Will denies. "It's probability, not luck, and it isn't point one, it's zero point zero eight, and it can be as high as zero point five. That's one in two hundred."

"That math isn't right," Dustin says. 

"Yes, it is."

"No, it isn't." 

You throw out your last shuffle and everyone leans in to see what you rolled. Your three threes are kept to one side, and your new rolls clatter to a halt in front of Steve. 

"Holy shit," he says. 

You rolled two threes. 

"Yahtzee!" you cheer, pumping your little fist adorably. Little in that it's smaller than his, and not very little in reality. "Alright, who's next?" 

"The game isn't over," Dustin says, peeved. 

You peer down his scorecard. He could win, theoretically, if he were to score multiple yachts, or if he'd been careful with his aces, ones, etc. 

"Nah, it is," Steve says. "Take it like a champ, Henderson." 

Dustin refuses to give up, playing until the end. You score a solid 319 to his less impressive 178. 

Steve robs your hand before you can agree to a rematch, forcing you to unfurl your tensed fist. He loves doing this — he presses the tips of his thumbs into the sides of one of your fingers and pushes down. It must hurt a teeny tiny bit but you never say a word, only giggle at his touch and lean toward him like you might tell him a secret. He would lament how much time he wasted being an asshole to you if he had the wherewithal. As it is, he's enchanted with you, and he isn't casual about it, pushing all of your anxiety down to your fingertips. He brings them to his mouth and kisses them each in turn. 

You pull your hand away. He thinks you're standing up to leave the table, but you're moving closer to him and straightening your back. He can picture the ache between your shoulder blades as it is between his own, the weird raw feeling, a tightness. 

"Want a neck massage?" he asks as you place your hand against his cheek. 

You brush your thumb over his stubble. "Do you want a neck massage?" you ask, unperturbed by his sudden question. His jacket threatens to slide onto the floor. 

"Are you offering?" 

"Not in cards club." You look over his shoulder. "We could play poker."

"The buy-in's too expensive." 

"What?" You frame his face with your hand. He's not sure you know you're doing it. "We can spare it, isn't that why we brought it?" 

Buy-in tonight is a bar of soap. Half the time everybody goes home with what they brought anyways, so you're obviously not worried. 

You squeeze his cheek and laugh. "You'd be cute if you were chubby." 

He grabs your hand, face warped by an irreplaceable joy, a delight to have you and be with you, a sparkling kind of lightness to know you're safe and happy here. He kisses your cheek, and says, smushed up against your skin, "You're cute." 

"Thank you." 

He hums. "So. Poker?" 

—

You have a small sink in your room with a hot and cold faucet, though no matter which one you choose, the water comes out cold. It chills your face as you scrub. When your face is reasonably wet, you lather the bar of honey soap Steve insists on keeping at the side of the sink between your fingers before dropping it imprecisely into your boyfriend's waiting palm. He laughs under his breath at the clumsy manoeuvre. 

You listen to him do the same as you had as you soap your face. You give special attention to your nose, your eyebrows, and your ears. Steve laughs again as you work a small towel behind them. 

"What's funny?" 

"Nothing." He holds his hand out for the towel, patting down his face with less ardency. He isn't less clean for it. "You have suds under your nose. Tiny moustache." 

He reaches for it with the towel, lifting your face with the back of his hand under your chin. His eyes are their forever warm brown, fixed on your top lip with a dedication that makes your baseline fondness for him surge. 

"I was pretty bad at poker, huh?" you ask. 

"No?" He dries a lingering stretch of dampness painting your cheek before dropping the towel behind the faucets. "You didn't win. Doesn't mean you were bad." 

"Vanessa said I should stick to Yahtzee," you tell him. You pause, wanting his input, and worried you're feeling offended by something that isn't inherently offensive. 

"Vanessa should stick to lawn darts," he says, chucking you under the chin. 

He starts to pull his pants down like it's no big deal. It isn't, not after so many months together, you've seen him do worse in worse states than this, but it feels forbidden anyhow to watch him climb into bed. 

"Could you pass me my sweatpants?" he asks, face turned into the pillow, his shoulders deflating.

"You're decompressing without me." 

"Am not." He pushes his hand under the pillow, shoulder blade shifting under his shirt noticeably. "Hurry and decompress with me."

You throw his sweatpants at his calves and he does a sort of vertical dance to put them on, one leg then the other, lifting his hips and dropping heavily back into the sheets when he's done. He looks at home. His relaxation catches you off guard, a pleasure to see even if it isn't strictly new. He feels safe here with you. 

"She's good at those darts," you say. 

"And shit at poker," Steve says agreeably. He lifts his head off of the pillow. "Are you coming in or are you gonna sleep standing up tonight?"  

You shimmy out of your stiff jeans and try not to feel the huge weight of his eyes on your skin. It's an impossible task, and you fail immediately. 

"Stop looking at me." 

"M'not." 

You glare at him, find him absolutely looking at you. Your glare fades when you realise how loving his gaze is, how it doesn't waver for a second. He pushes the sheets down on your side of the bed and waves his arm for you to get in. 

You pull on your pyjama pants and take off your bra, climbing into bed beside him. He wraps his arm around you quickly, or rather under you, his bicep crushed by your shoulders. Chills prickle against your skin as he cups the flesh just shy of your breast. If Steve wanted to touch you like that, he could. You want him just as much as you don't, content to cuddle with him, content to kiss like teenagers with nowhere to go tomorrow, content to do worse. He spreads his fingers over your torso, pinky nudging the underside. You'd let Steve touch wherever he liked, and he'd enjoy doing it, you think. That's a gift in itself such casual intimacy. 

"Vanessa, is she…" Steve's minty fresh breath pushes over your face like a small gale. "She's not picking on you, is she?" 

You like to be honest with Steve, and you want to be honest now — I don't know. But you hate thinking he'd have to look after you more than he does already. 

"No," you say, "we just aren't a good fit."

"Like a puzzle?" Steve asks sceptically.

"Guess my pieces are a little warped after spending so much time with you." 

He laughs like you're the funniest girl he's ever met, a big breathy sound with the punch of his voice behind it. "Guess they are," he says, hand climbing higher over your chest. "Is that a bad thing?" 

"Never," you say lightly. 

He smiles at you. You forget Vanessa's out of place comments, her weak smiles, her for-show friendliness in front of Steve. She doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, and letting her dictate your thoughts in gorgeous, glowing moments like this would be a waste. 

"Love you," you whisper. 

Steve nestles into the space under your jaw. He doesn't fit but he does, of course he does, he's your everything. If that's where he wants to sleep tonight, so be it. You turn into his grasp to take the pressure off of his arm and return his gentle hugging, forcing his face closer so you can breathe in the smell of his hair. 

"Love you," Steve says. He kisses your neck chastely. "Turn the light off?" 

You reach back blindly and switch off the lamp. Everything will be okay as long as you have your boy. Right? 

—

Vanessa gets worse. She makes neutral comments with enough friendliness to make you wonder if she's truly being cruel? Am I just looking for a fight? What do I want? 

Maybe it's Vanessa's clear preference for Steve. You could be jealous. You aren't sure what jealousy feels like in relationships until she's touching him when she doesn't need to be and smiling at him like he hung the moon. She doesn't go overboard, though. She keeps her hands mostly to herself. She goes as far as to tell Steve that she thinks you're beautiful. 

You don't know how to explain your reservations to him if he can't already see it. If she'd really thought you were beautiful, surely that's something she could say face to face, rather than the unhappy little nod she gives you whenever you cross paths? Despite evidence suggesting it, you don't think Vanessa's trying to make a move on Steve. 

She's a bit of a bitch, but that's not a crime. Unfortunate? Yes. Illegal? No. Immoral? You aren't sure. 

It's her most obvious dig yet that manages to grab Steve's attention a second time since the poker incident.

"I couldn't let my eyebrows grow out like yours," she says, voice bubbly with a faked awe, "I think it's super cool of you."

"Vanessa," Robin says, eyes on her plate, an inquisitive twist to her voice that you've come to know as her sarcasm, "we're in the apocalypse." 

Steve, who'd seemed torn between speaking up and genuinely confused about the comment Vanessa'd made, chokes on his food beside you, soup dribbling down both corners of his mouth as he laughs. You wipe the corners of his mouth with your long sleeves.

"Jeez, you're like my baby," you say. Your voice is occluded by Jonathan's silvery giggles. 

Steve swallows roughly, "I resent that."

He still lifts his chin so you'll rub the bead that's escaped down his throat. 

Vanessa ends up laughing too, says, "I think I'm just crazy tired," punctuated with a high-pitched laugh. 

"Honestly, me too," you say, because maybe she is, and maybe she needs just a little smidge more benefit of the doubt. 

"I've been keeping her up," Steve says smugly. 

"He still making you read that King book? The Gunslinger?" Jonathan asks. "Will wants it whenever you're done." 

"Every night," you say. 

You're pretending it's a chore because that's what you and Steve always used to do. These days room for sincerity is much larger, but it's fun to give him a hard time when, at the end of the day, you'll crawl into bed together and tuck his face into your neck, flipping to the dog-eared page of your worn paperback to read in dulcet tones until he's a dozing weight warming your skin.

Steve looks for your hand under the table and lets your small group of friends laugh at him. Chris makes a whipping sound through the corner of his mouth. It's surprisingly accurate, and it makes you laugh worse, leaning your weight into Steve's arm for support in an action so familiar it's entirely thoughtless. 

"It's not that funny," he murmurs, breath tickling your forehead. 

"M'not laughing," you say. 

You are most definitely laughing. It's a good moment, even if Vanessa's comment sticks around underneath to nibble at your heart. 

He doesn't let your hand go for a really long time. Not when you're taking the plates up to the dirty dishes trolley, or on the walk back to Little Hawkins' with everybody in high spirits. He struggles to unlock your door one handed and he's still insisting when you try to tug away from him. 

"Let me make the bed." 

"We're getting back in 'n like, ten minutes." 

"You're tired?" you ask. 

"No. I just wanna lay down with you." 

He says it simply. Concise, with neither affection nor anything less. It's damn near factual. Steve just wants to lay down with you, out of everything in the world he could do. He could be haunting Robin's room, stealing snacks from under her bed and claiming them as bribes for not tattling on her to Hopper. He could be with Dustin in the new rec room —aptly labelled Nerd Club, when put to a vote— arguing on how to spend the valuable alloted half hour of TV time. 

He could stay with you and insist on other things. Reading. Self-defence. A walk around the community. Sex. An early night. A cold shower. 

But he's content to lay with you, to share one another's space without asking for anything else. 

Though you won't rule everything out. His kisses lately are a lot more than you're used to. 

"Let my hand go, you fiend!" you declare, overcome with a rush of affection for him. "I'm gonna make the bed and we're gonna lay down and then after that we're gonna go bother Robin." 

"You know, I'm not sure I like this you and Robin thing." 

You tug your fingers from his. It's like trying to escape a sticky fly trap. 

"You mean us being friends?" you ask.

You throw all of your throws and pillows onto the ground and grab your thick quilt, shaking it out over your mattress as Steve groans. 

"Exactly!" 

"I thought you wanted me to have friends?" 

"Of course I do, you word-twisting douche." 

"Nice, nice. Dustin or Mike?" 

"I stole that one from Will, thank you very much." 

"See! You have upwards of four friends, Steve, and I'm not allowed to have any?" 

He grabs you from behind. You drop the quilt with a sigh, going limp as a fish in his arms. He staggers backward under your dead weight but manages to keep you up, breath tickling the inside of your ear as he says, "No, you're not. Just me." He kisses your ear.

"I tried that and everyone got mad at me." 

"No, they didn't." 

They really didn't. You cover his arm with your fingers, rub your fingertips over the hill of his arm. His arm hair is soft. 

"Steve." 

"What?" he asks, his hands crawling down to cover your stomach.

"Don't squeeze me." 

"You're very squeezable." 

"I was way more squeezable before, remember." 

You'd lost some weight from the start of the apocalypse to now. Steve hates it. You're perfect, he'd said once, no matter what. But still, he laments your lost weight for what it represents — times where you and he had struggled to survive. 

"I'm working on that," he promises. 

You turn your face, shifting in the circle of his arms to meet his eyes. He has gorgeous eyes. You'd admitted that to yourself a long time ago but each time you really stare into them it takes a moment for it to settle. He is a pretty, pretty boy.

He's looking at you with a soft smile. Then, for a split second, you swear his eyes rove up to your brows. It's more than likely your imagination.  

"Let me finish making this bed," you say, turning back to the discarded pile of pillows and blankets. 

"You want your jammies?" 

You snort happily. "Yeah, sweetheart. Lay 'em out for me, please." 

—

For the last week or two, Steve has noticed a change in you. You've changed a lot since you met him (for the second time). You've gone from prickly and distant and somewhat distracted to determined, vigilant. You may not come on scrounging missions outside but you're brave, and you've survived more than he ever wanted you to have to go through. 

This change is distinctive. It's like you've reverted to how you acted when you were more friend than girlfriend; you're self conscious. 

He really hates it. 

He can't work out what he did, or what happened, but it sucks. He sucks. 

"There has be be something you want," he says. 

You're standing with him by the south fence. He and his team are about to head out for the shopping mall for as many blankets as they can carry. 

"I just want you to be careful," you say. 

You look tired. It's early in the morning, and you'd woken up earlier still. Your hair is freshly washed from a cold shower. 

You're still not comfortable showering without him, but of course the other girls aren't comfortable with him sitting in there when they're naked. You've had to schedule your showers for the dawn hour. 

"I'm gonna be careful for free," he says, pulling at a wet strand of your hair. He scratches lightly around your ear before hooking his fingers underneath it, his thumb drawing from your cheek to your lips. "Pick something you want and I'll find it. You know, Robs said we might be able to pass by a real small cherry garden on the way home. Do you–" He should know this. Why doesn't he know this? "Do you like cherries?" 

Thankfully, you laugh at his question and let your face fall into his hand. He thumbs your ear lobe gently. 

"I don't want anything at all. 'Cept for you to be extremely careful," you say. 

He pulls you in for a hug, smashes a messy kiss to your head, and tries to pull away because he's cool and the guys are watching. 

You're less quick. You rub your cheek against his chest. 

"Please, Steve," you whisper. 

He frowns. There's something you're not telling him. He wishes you would, but clearly you don't think you can. He's gonna try to do whatever it is he needs to do to get you there.

Steve takes your face into both hands. 

"I will be super careful, dummy. That's my middle name, I'm Steve Careful Harrington," he says. 

"I thought your middle name was Danger?" 

He kisses you. "No? Who told you that?" 

Your laugh is pretty enough to keep him smiling for most of the hike to the mall, until Robin says, mid sentence, "–Jeez, you're pathetic." 

Pathetic for you is something he doesn't necessarily mind being, but pathetic in general he cannot abide. He spends the rest of the hike stepping on the sides of Robin's shoes as she retells the plot of Murder on the Orient Express. Steve had seen the movie once but he's never read the original novel. Lucky him, Robin had an Agatha Christie phase when she was twelve, and she knows all the best parts. 

Hike is a strange word considering all of their walking is through steep roads. They move past rundown cars, streets and streets of abandoned houses scraped clean. There's an elementary school with a rusted playground in front. Vegetation has already started to spread through the packed wood chip flooring, and one of the swings has a broken chain. Steve hadn't realised how quickly human things fell into disrepair when attacked by the elements and left maintenance. 

The mall is a better example. Smashed glass lays around the entrance in tiny pieces like a huge back of upturned sugar, and bluegrass eats its way between paving stones. The team consists of eight people, including Steve, Robin, Christopher, and one of the College's co-leaders, a mister Jeremy Livingstone. They make their way carefully through the glass and grass in a wave of crunching footsteps to the front of the mall, where Steve wedges the flat blade of his knife between the automatic doors and works them open. When there's enough room for a second hand, Chris slides in beside him, and they work the doors open. Steve's biceps are burning by the time they're inside the mall. 

"Alright, guys," Jeremy says. "There's a bedding store toward the back of the mall. We'll go there first, and then we'll try to work through the list of requests. Blankets and sheets are our second priority. Staying safe and alive is first. Only grab what you know you can carry, you can bring back whatever you want, just… don't be greedy. Alright?"

They head out for the bedding store at the back.

"How much stuff can we carry?" Robin asks him. "I have weak arms. I'm a weakling." 

"Isn't there uh, a fancy storage place? We could drag a suitcase back." 

"For two hours?" 

"Is it two hours? Livingstone! You want me and Robin to grab some suitcases?" 

Everybody fills a suitcase with sheets and blankets in plastic wrap. The brand new stuff feels like a luxury, and Steve dibs a double mattress bedspread made of Egyptian cotton, knowing that'll make you smile. Now he's got your mattress up on those crates from behind the cafeteria, your room has really come together. Blankets and trinkets and sweet glassware. You have a small shelf of books, your clothes, your pens and pencils. 

Steve'll bring you anything you want, only you don't seem to want anything at all. 

He'll just… have to bring you some of everything. 

—

Your tears taste salty. You feel gross for licking a tear off of your top lip but nobody's around to see you do it; Steve might not be home until dark. You have time to get this upset out of your system. 

You'd been asked by Maybelle to swing by Armoury and Amenities, an unofficial name for the building where the community keeps the bulk of its collective resources, for a new propane tank. You'd gone inside, said hi to Cooper, said hi to Vanessa, explained why you needed the propane, and left. 

Or, you'd tried to leave. The propane tank was heavy, and the front door had been difficult to open one handed. You'd swung it open, quickly put your hand back on the tank to stop yourself from dropping it, and watched in frustration as the door slammed closed before you could worm your way out.

"She's the one who got, like, taken?" came Cooper's voice, pretty much as soon as the door stopped bouncing. His voice echoed from the next room.

"Sure, taken." 

You'd stilled instantly. 

"What, you think she wanted to go?" 

Vanessa sighed. "No, I don't think so. She didn't try very hard to come back, s'all I'm saying." 

"Chris says Harrington's infatuated with her. Like he's under a spell," Cooper said, chuckling.

"It's gotta be some kind of magic, she's… Well, God knows he'd have his pick if he came back to reality. You have the catalogue? I wanna note the propane before I forget." 

And that had been that. 

You don't understand why Steve loves you, sometimes. You know he does. It isn't up for questioning. Love with Steve is a lot of things — long talks in the mornings about anything and everything, his fingers tucking your shirt into your jeans. It's him pulling your hood over your eyes whenever he's behind you and laughing when you grumble. It's hiding in places you shouldn't be, hand in hand. It's miles of Indiana highway. It's heart-racing anxiety that one of you might not make it to the end. Love with Steve is a devotion: he takes care of you. He's taken care of you ever since you met. 

You haven't stopped to wonder if you deserve it in a long time. 

I don't, you think, half tears and all heartbreak. You don't deserve it. You don't deserve Steve. He's too good, the kind of good that starts life in the marrow of bones. He's sweet and soft-handed with a softer heart. He looks like a dream, and it shouldn't matter but it does. His voice is the only one you like waking up to, his lips hovering by the shell of your ear. 

Time to get up, dummy. Rise and shine, angel. Baby, come on. We slept in, loser, and you need to get dressed. Hey, are you listening to me? I miss you, wake up. 

"Y/N?" Steve asks, trying the handle. 

You flinch hard, and your heart jumps with you. A flip flop somersault feeling in your chest that plummets to your stomach. You scratch madly at your cheeks with two woollen sleeves and stand up as he opens the door. 

"Hey," Steve says, and he's safe, he's alive and well and home again. 

He stands in the doorway with a bulging rucksack on his back, windbreaker zipped tight to his neck, hair a windblown mess. His nose is red from the cold and his cheeks are ice-bitten, though the colour is coming back to his skin slowly. 

You don't feel as though you deserve him but you can't help yourself from springing into his chest, arms around his waist before he can blink. Before he can see the wet mess of your face, and your tear swollen eyes. 

"Hey," he says again, leaning a great deal of his weight over your shoulders. He sniffs your hair. "Hey  dummy. Told you I'd get home fine, huh?" 

You try not to breathe too loudly against his chest. The fabric of his coat is stiff and cold, a contrast to your heated skin. 

"Hey," he says, for a third time. This time it's all powdered sugar soft. Concern and exhaustion wrapped together. "I know, I'm sorry it took longer than usual. It's my fault, I wanted to get you something 'n' I made us all late coming home, I know you worry."

You don't answer again. You don't know how to explain it to him. You can barely understand it yourself. You cling to him and his solid mass until he gives in, his mouth pressed to your temple, his arms tightening behind your head. He shields you from the world for a handful of long, stolen minutes. There's nothing but his hugs, no sound to battle the plastic sounds of his windbreaker or the blood rushing between your ears. 

"I didn't mean to worry you," he murmurs.

You don't trust your voice to come out whole. 

He freezes under your touch. A slow hardening. His hands pause where they'd been rubbing short, featherlight lines. 

"I'm sorry," you say, enthusing your tone with some self-deprecating cheer.  "You're tired, I'm sorry. You wanna sit down." 

"I really do." He laughs. 

You peel away from him, the two of you sheepish and awkward and it's so unlike you, unlike him. You think you've made a fool of yourself as he takes off his rucksack, laying it carefully on the floor by the bed as you turn to your shared dresser and rummage through the top drawer for some clean clothes for him to take when he showers. 

You've freaked him out, and he thinks you're a weirdo, and he's gonna realise you don't deserve him and you never could. You're bad at nearly everything, and you're a total slob, and you should've tried harder to get back to him, and it's all your fault. Misery grips you and drags you down hard. It spirals, surface level comments from a shallow, jealous girl, they twist and twist until you feel wrung out and useless. And now Steve's home, and you're–

"Are you mad at me?" Steve asks. 

You wince and face him, his sweatpants pressed to your chest. "What?" 

"You're not talking to me, and you only ever used to do that when you were mad." 

You pass him his sweatpants, clear your throat. "Stevie, I'm not mad at you." 

"Then what's up?" He unzips his windbreaker, keeping his eyes on you. "I know it's something." 

You force yourself to keep a mild smile. You can't think of a lie — you don't want to lie. 

Steve frowns as your face crumples, a large palm leaping to the curve of your neck. 

"What's wrong?" he asks. 

You can't align this Steve with the one you knew in Hawkins. He's so different. Or maybe he isn't different at all, and you're lucky to see the depth of his feelings, the expanse of his goodness and his heart and his secret smile, corners pulled up and eyebrows pushed down just so. It says, You're okay, because we're gonna do this together. The world will keep spinning for us as long as we want it to.

"I had a bad day," you say. 

"Are you sure? I've seen you on some bad days, baby. This doesn't feel like that, you know? And I get that I don't always know what to say, but I promise I wanna know. Whatever it is that's been making you all grumpy." 

His smile glows, his eyebrows rising. His teasing tone toward the end of his reassurance is a lightness you cling to. 

Lately, everything has felt so heavy. 

"I'm worried I don't…" Even attempting to say it has your throat aching. You cover his hand with yours. "Steve, I– I feel bad lately. I feel like I'm bad." 

He shakes his head, strands of his brown hair unsticking to dance in front of his eyes. "You're not bad." 

"I don't deserve you." 

He stares. 

"Being with you now, having you look after me, I didn't deserve you when I met you." A tear gathers in the line of your lashes. "I don't deserve you now. I'm just me, I'm useless, and you don't have to be with me and I've," —you take in a shuddering breath, and step away from Steve's hand— "been trying to work out why you're still with me and it doesn't make sense. Why do you stay with me?" 

"That's a stupid question," he says. 

You try to swallow a lump. It stays right there in your throat. 

"I got a policy against stupid questions, remember?" 

"Steve…" 

He cuts you off, tangling his fingers with yours, and easing you close until his breath is warming your lips and you can see the honey-browns that circle his pupils. They feel bigger the longer you look at them. 

"How can you ask me that?" he says gently. "You know how much I love you… Right?" 

You nod and knuckle a tear off of your cheek. "I know," you say, and you're crying now, little bubbling sobs that wobble your shoulders. 

"Listen, if I haven't been showing it I'm sorry, and I'll prove it to you. I don't want you to question it."

"It's not you," you say, pressing your forehead to his collar, craving his comfort so much that you don't care if you don't deserve it. 

"Everybody knows that line is a lie," he says.

"I'm not lying. Everybody knows I'm the part that doesn't fit." 

"Who's everybody?" 

You try to backtrack and pull away, but Steve won't let you this time. "I'm just having a bad day," you say, "and you've had a long one–" 

"Stop it." Steve looks at you seriously. He takes your face into both hands, like he always does when he's worried. "I don't care if I crawled home with two broken arms, loser. I gotta know what's wrong. All of it. And you need to tell me." 

He thumbs at your damp cheeks. 

"Okay," you mumble, embarrassed and relieved at once. "I'll tell you."

You insist that he take his shoes off and stretch out in bed even though he's got dirty jeans on, and he doesn't wanna get your nest of throw blankets dirty, so he peels out of them and sits in his boxers at the top of the bed. You slide in next to him, and he works his arm over your shoulder, and you cry like a baby when he calls you honey under his breath. 

—

"And these are for you, too," Steve says, pulling a slightly smushed box of cherries from the bottom of his rucksack. 

You look beautiful. Afternoon sunlight drips in from a crack in the curtains, kissing up and down your smiling cheeks. Your eyes are still puffy, but your smile hasn't moved all morning. 

"You didn't get anything for yourself?" you ask, though any outrage for him you harbour is hidden by your awe. "I don't remember the last time we got fresh fruit, and you didn't even put them at the top of the bag." 

"You're such a whiner. Just try one." 

Your fingers play delicately over the punnet of cherries. The cherry garden had had a lot of supplies left to 'borrow', and after a sickly half an hour of him and Robin staining their teeth, he'd managed to grab a perfect box's worth for you. Perfect before they got squished, that is. 

"You should have the first one," you say.

"No," he says, and shoves the box at your calf. "They're for you. If you like them, I want you to eat all of them and throw up like a godzilla." 

"Not sure you're remembering that movie right," you murmur, plucking one of the cherries out of the box. 

You bite into the cherry and your eyes screw up. "Oh wow, that's sour. I don't…" You finish chewing, and Steve is rocketed to cloud nine when you go in for a second cherry, and then a third. 

Last night had been tough. Steve spent a long time talking you down from what'd been sewn into your head, and he'd pulled the truth from you in strings. Vanessa had been cruel to you on more than one occasion now, which Steve had known but not to the full extent, and her last comment had been too much. Steve, unapologetically, hates her. 

But Vanessa isn't the sole problem. 

You're having a really hard time. All of this has been so much for you. It is, in Robin's words, the fucking apocalypse, and between nearly starving to death and all the shitty things that have happened to you, he isn't surprised to find you're fragile. And he doesn't say fragile, meaning weak. He doesn't know a lot about the world but he knows the human brain and body isn't built for this. You're his girl, and you're hurting, and while he knows objectively this isn't his fault, he vows to do a better job at protecting you. 

He won't fail you again. He can't. 

He watches cherry juice escape out of the corner of your mouth. 

"You're cute," he says. "Where's the disposable? Pass it over." 

"You are not taking a photo of me right now, baby." 

"You look beautiful." 

"When will we ever get the photos developed, anyway?" you say, laughing, kissing juice off of your fingertips. 

He leaps for the camera and tussles you when you fight back. You laugh and lose, weak with giggles as he holds you away, his fingers pressing into the soft plush of your waist. 

"Jonathan does all of that stuff," Steve says knowingly. 

He gives you a little shove. You cover your face with your hands, words muffled, "Thought the camera was for me?" 

"We're sharers. We share things. Look, if you don't smile for me I'm gonna take a picture of you in your underwear." 

You throw your hands over your lap and he snaps a photo of your shy face. 

"Shithead fucking pervert," you say. 

Steve knows he's off the hook when you laugh. 

He's gonna give Vanessa the coldest shoulder anyone has ever given, and if she were a guy Steve would defend your honour in a more physical manner. He'd suggested a verbal defence last night but you'd begged him to never, ever bring any of it up to Vanessa or your friends. It startled him —you have nothing to be ashamed of— but he'd agreed. Whatever's gonna make you happy is, perhaps cornily, what he wants to do.

Right now, making you happy is gifts on the floor of your tiny shared bedroom, pantsless but, fascinatingly, with socks. He points the camera at your ankles.

You grab the new blanket he'd given you and drape it over your legs. "Pervert," you reiterate. 

He puts down the camera. 

"Not my fault they made you perfect." 

"Who's they?" 

Steve shrugs, and can't keep the smirk off of his face as he says, "They made every damn inch of you perfect, especially but not limited to your pretty eyebrows." 

Your smile settles into something more timid. You push your hill of gifts aside, careful not to spill your cherries, and walk the short distance on knees to wrap your arms around his neck. Your face fits into the curve of his neck exactly the way it always will. His hand cups your lower back. 

"Love you, Harrington," you say. 

"How much? 'Nough to let me have some of the cherries?" 

You shake your head gently, the tip of your nose bumping his Adam's apple. "No…" you say apprehensively. 

"No? You don't wanna share with me?" 

"No." Your mumbling is adorable. Steve wants to eat you alive, or at the very least kiss you until you turn to jelly in his arms. 

If he starts now, he can be done by dinner. 

"Five seconds to change your mind. After that I'm taking all of them by force. Five, four, three…" 

You shriek, and even your shrieking  is a sound he wants to hear. You drop away from him and grab the cherries, cornering yourself too fast as you stagger to your feet and hide by the desk. Shoulders against the cabinet, you grab up one of your rare books like a shield, and you glare at him over the cover. 

"You said they were for me!" you say, real panic in your voice. You know from experience Steve will tickle you until you can't breathe.

"They are for you! I love you," he says, words dripping with a false sincerity (though he loves you, undeniably). "I'm just trying to help you, sweetheart. You don't want my help?" 

"You keep your help away from me, beast." 

It doesn't take him nearly as long as he'd thought to melt you. He tickles you, and he steals a handful of your precious cherries, and when he kisses you dizzy it leaves red-pink splotches over the column of your neck, his smile temporarily printed into your skin. 

—

ty for reading <3 I hope you enjoyed, and if you did pls consider reblogging <3<3

[bullet-prooflove]

3500 Follower Celebration: Germany - Beau Simpson x Reader (NSFW)

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Hitting the “Shit baby— that’s it. Fuck me, sweet thing.” Bingo Sqaure

It’s the evening before Beau’s deployment to Germany and you’re in a hotel room off base giving him the ride of his life. Until now everything between you has been tender, loving but tonight it’s messy, raw. Your thighs straddle his hips, your palm coming to rest on his chest as you grip him so tightly it feels like he’s died and gone to heaven.

“Fuck sweet thang.” He drawls, his hands fastening on your waist as he thrusts up into you. “That’s it.”

Your hand slips up to his throat and he smiles that devil may care grin because his baby has a wildness in her tonight and he’s loving every second of it. You squeeze just enough to constrict his oxygen and it sends him through the stratosphere, hips arching, burying him even deeper as the ecstasy surges through his veins.

“Harder.” He murmurs, his voice rough as you increase the pressure just a little. “Give me something to think about when I’m fucking my hand in Germany.”

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[killerpancakeburger]

Peace of mind // Miguel O'Hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x female reader

Summary: After a long day of tending to the multiverse, Miguel goes to you for some comfort.

Warnings: swearing.

Tags : fluff. That's it.

Words: 733.

A/N: Inspired by @/the-cat-and-the-birdie's post about Miguel's cooking.

You blindly reach inside the bag of chips on your desk without taking your eyes off your computer screen, grab one and eat it. Tonight’s your weekly online meeting with your friends on your favourite online game. You can’t afford to miss a single kill. You have your noise cancelling headphones on and are completely occupied by the things your companions are yelling are at each other and where your aim is.

It’s probably why, despite your usually sharp instincts, you don’t hear the interdimensional portal who opens in your living room. You don’t notice the imposing – yet looking like he’s buckling under an invisible weight – man in a faintly glowing suit who crosses it. You don’t spot him either when he gets behind you.

However you certainly can’t ignore his presence when he bends over your chair, closes his arms around you and lets his forehead fall on your shoulder.

“FUCK! Miguel! Are you trying to give me a heart attack!” you shout in shock.

He mumbles something unintelligible, his mouth pressed to your back. Your surprise has been clearly noticed by your friends as they don’t miss the opportunity to tease you for it. You grumble and mute your microphone.

You ruffle Miguel’s hair, taking the opportunity to mess it up a bit.

“So? Did something happen?”

He sighs and his warm breath tickles your skin.

“Can you please…?” He starts, but never finishes.

“Uh-Uh?”

You’re still playing your game, but way more casually, and even though you’re pretending to still be busy, you’re actually taking in Miguel’s every word.

“You know…”

“No, I don’t. Still can’t read your thoughts.”

“Urgh.”

There’s a part of you that finds this way of speech endearing but there’s an even bigger part of you that enjoys making Miguel works for it.

“…lay down with me for a bit?”

You pat his head in congratulations.

“There we go! Knew you could do it!”

“Stop it.”

He grunts. You turn your mic back on.

“Alright, game’s over for today. See you later”, you announce before logging off and taking off your headphone.

“Can you have a look at the code I wrote for Gizmo n° 564 before we do that?” you ask.

You pull up said code on your screen. Miguel doesn’t raise his head.

“It’s great”, he says.

“You didn’t even look at it”, you retort, slightly annoyed.

“I don’t need to.” He replies with that unsufferable indubitable arrogance of his.

“Oh really now?”

Your voice is dripping with sarcasm.

“You made it so it’s good.”

You roll your eyes but you can’t help being moved.

“I think I prefer when you’re brutally honest.” You mumble to yourself. “Did you eat today?”

His stomach grumbles loud enough for both of you to hear, effectively stopping him from bullshitting you. You chuckle.

“Should I order food?”

He grunts something that you know means no.

“Oh so you want my cooking? I’m so flattered”, you laugh, the both of you pertinently knowing that while he’s great at cooking, you… are not.

He finally gets up.

“Just do as I say.”

You get up, give him the chips from your desk, and head to the kitchen. Since your relationship with Miguel got more serious, aka him crashing at your place whenever he felt like it, there is always tortillas, sour cream and salsa verde in your fridge. You stop halfway realizing Miguel isn’t following and remember he moves like a zombie in this kind of situation, the situation being “I just spent 24 hours non-stop monitoring the multiverse without eating nor sleeping so now I am on the cusp of a breakdown”.  You turn back to grab his hand and bring him with you.

He leans against the counter as you take out of the fridge and cupboards what you need. You put on some music and make conversation as you tackle your tasks. Once you’re both fed, you go lay down with him on your bed. You hug him against your chest, delicately stroking his hair. He closes his eyes and looks relaxed for the first time since he arrived. You feel his chest raising and decreasing and listen to his steady breathing while contemplating your ceiling. When you know for certain that he’s deeply asleep, you get up as discreetly as you can, leave a kiss on his forehead and go back to your nightly occupations.

[thedirtybeanlife]

If you’re down for it could you write a chubby nb reader x Rudy or Alejandro? (Can be SFW or NSFW I don’t mind pookie)

(ofc! it's a little short, but i hope you enjoy!! <33)

Alejandro x Reader

You stand in the kitchen, preparing ingredients for tonight's dinner. Alejandro had been at work since early this morning, way before the sun had risen. Knowing he would be hungry, you ran out to the store and bought the things to make his favorite meal; carne asada, homemade flour tortillas, and fresh pico de gallo. Quickly working, you take the steak that has been marinating since this morning out of the fridge and place it on the counter.

Walking outside, you open the lid of the grill and throw the meat onto the hot rack, closing the lid again and bringing everything else outside and place it on the counter surrounding the grill from a safe distance, making a makeshift outdoor kitchen. After placing everything down, you start chopping the red onion, cilantro, tomatoes, and a jalapeño to make the fresh pico de gallo. You carefully squeeze in some lime juice from a fresh lime and mix it all together, covering it and sitting it aside.

Just as you go to start preparing to make the homemade tortillas with the dough you had made a little bit ago, you hear footsteps approaching you making you look up with a smile.

"Huele increíble aquí, mi amor," Alejandro says with a smile as he walks over to you and wraps his arms around you, effortlessly picking you up like you weigh nothing making you blush slightly. Even after all these years together, you struggled with accepting his affection when it came to your physical appearance.

"I figured you've had a long day, so I'm making your favorite," you say with a grin as he holds you in his strong arms, your feet still not touching the ground below.

"Carne Asada, huh? You know me so well, mi cielito," he laughs before placing a kiss to your lips and putting you back down, moving to lean against the counter your working on.

You smile happily up at him, leaning up to place a kiss on his cheek before going back to rolling out the flour tortillas and placing them on a tea towel carefully. You then put a cast iron skillet on the burner of the grill, heating it up and oiling it slightly so the dough doesn't stick.

"I was also thinking i could make you and the boys some dulce de leche mousse this weekend for the gathering Rudy has planned," you offer sweetly.

"I think everyone would love that, baby," he smiles and nods as he watches you, "Do you want any help?"

"Absolutely not. This is my treat to you. You work too hard all day to have to come home and make dinner too," you scold playfully, swatting him away with your dish towel as he tries to step in and help.

He laughs as you swat him away and puts his hands up in mock surrender, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around you, kissing the top of your head and placing his chin on it after. Alejandro runs his large hands under your apron and shirt, his calloused fingers gently grabbing at your plump flesh and caressing it as he runs his fingers along your curves whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you work.

Within thirty minutes, everything is done and Alejandro insisted he at least could set the table. After a few minutes of trying to tell him no, you give up and he happily walks inside to grab plates and silverware for the table. You carry all of the food inside in two trips and place it in respect places on the kitchen table.

"Dios mío, mi amor. esto se ve increíble," Alejandro gapes at the food as he watches you set it down.

You laugh at his reaction and grab two glasses, pouring some wine into each, handing him one and putting yours down on the table. You pile food on his plate before sitting down and doing the same to yours. He digs in immediately, moaning around a mouthful of steak and tortilla, nodding before swallowing and going in for another large bite.

"Calm down, Alejandro!" you laugh, "It's not going anywhere. you're going to choke, Baby." your smile widens as you look at him from across the table.

"Amor, this is simply the best thing you've ever made," he says in astonishment.

"Ale, honey, you say that every time i make it," you laugh softly and take a bite of your food, eating at a slower pace than Alejandro so you don't choke.

"And I mean it every time," he says seriously around mouthful of food, manners fully forgotten as he savors every bite.

Later that evening, after everything's been cleaned and leftovers are put in the fridge, you and Alejandro sit on the couch, watching a random western movie he had put on, neither of you paying any mind to it as you lay in each others arms, talking about your days and what you did. His fingers run through your hair as you cuddle into his chest under the fuzzy blanket draped over both of you. With his other hand, he slowly runs his hand up and down your back under your shirt, his nails grazing comfortingly over your soft skin.

"i love you, Ale," you say softly, placing a kiss to his jawline.

"I love you more, mi amor," Alejandro responds with a grin, placing a kiss to your lips.

The two of you spend the rest of the night cuddled up on the couch, simply basking in the comfort you bring each other, never more content than in this moment.

[cifer-ulqui]

Ulquiorra x Reader Drabbles

All of these drabbles I originally wrote in Portuguese to practice writing! They're all highly self-indulgent and too sweet; Ulqui might be rather ooc; I kind of like the whole "he's definitely in love with reader but neither of them think he's capable of it" thing I've got going on here. Part 2

I’m Not Cold The moon is very pretty tonight. His eyes are prettier. The sand blows across the empty desert. The wind disturbs his hair.

Cold sand… Cold hands.

“You’re cold.” It wasn't a question. His voice causes shivers down my spine.

“And you.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not cold.” Ulquiorra says.

“Your heart is cold.”

“It’s not.” His eyes close. “I have you.”

--- ---

A Peculiar Cook Ulquiorra looks over my shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“I’m cooking.”

“Why? We’re hollows. We don’t have to eat.”

“Because it’s tasty.”

Ulquiorra clicks his tongue how he does when he’s being cynical. “That’s the reason? It’s useless.”

I turn my head and look with a glare. “You’re going to eat it, and if you complain I will make you eat more. Understood?”

“... Understood.”

“Good.” I mix the vegetable puree. “It’s gazpacho, a soup.”

“Gazpacho.” His voice has no inflexion. “From Spain?”

“Yes. It has tomatoes, olive oil, garlic, cucumbers, peppers, and breadcrumbs. I already made tortillas, and I’m going to fry some calamari last,” I prattle.

“... You like to cook. It’s pleasant for you?”

“Yes,” I say while I go to the fryer.

Ulquiorra sighs and follows after me. “You are peculiar.,” he says.

“You like peculiarities. They’re interesting, right?”

His eyes find mine. “No, I only like you.”

--- ---

Rude “Ow,” I complain. My leg bleeds slowly onto the floor, leaving a trail behind me.

Ulquiorra clicks his tongue while he follows me. “I said you would hurt yourself. You didn’t listen.”

“Fuck off.”

He sighs. “Let me help you.”

“You hurt my head when you speak.”

He grabs my shoulder. “You’re being rude because I was right.” Ulquiorra pulls me by the shoulder. “My quarters are here.”

“I can go to my own room,” I object.

“No. Come.” He doesn’t release my shoulder and drags me to his room. He pushes me to sit on the bed.

Ulquiorra narrows his eyes and points at me. “Stay.”

My blood drips to the floor. I wait for him.

Ulquiorra returns with a medical kit. “Your leg,” he kneels in front of me. He takes my leg, examining the wound before he opens the kit.

Cold hands work diligently to staunch the blood. The manner in which he touches my leg could be considered careful, if he was capable of caring. Ulquiorra is not gentle, but wraps my leg with caution.

“Thanks,” I murmur when he finishes.

“Hm?” Ulquiorra tilts his head… certainly, he heard me.

He wants me to repeat it. “Tsk. I didn’t need your help.”

He lifts an eyebrow, looking at me impassively. “That’s not what you said.”

“Then why did you ask?!”

“You’re rude when you’re upset.” Ulquiorra closes the kit. I stand.

… I try to stand.

Pain shoots up my leg and I lean against him. I wince. He stands up. His hand touches my chest and he pushes me back onto the bed.

I sigh and lay on his sheets. “I’m stealing your bed.”

“Rude.”

I wink at him, making his eyes roll. “Thanks, my bat.”

--- ---

The Heart Does Not Exist “I have no heart.” Ulquiorra closes his eyes and turns his head. “It’s a useless idea that the weak use to forgive their weakness.”

I touch his face gently, turning his gaze to me. His skin is cold and smooth like marble. “Then… I could be your heart.” I look at the hole in his chest. Maybe he really doesn’t have a heart.

His pupils are constricted, black lips parted slightly. His disbelief is clear on his face.

“Idiot,” Ulquiorra scoffs. “Your words have no significance.”

I laugh. “You can be cute when you're mean, my heart.”

“Stop.” He removes his face from where my thumb touches a tear. “You won’t change my opinion. Stop with your prattle.”

I roll my eyes. “And what if I said… You have a heart?” He clicks his tongue.

“Absurd. The heart does not exist.”

“I’m going to take your hand.” I smile. It’s never a good idea to surprise an arrancar, much less the fourth Espada. He lets me take his hand in mine.

His cold hand touches my chest. “My heart. Do you feel it? Beating beneath your hand. Ba-dum! This is my heart, the organ that pumps the blood through my body.”

Ulquiorra’s eyebrows furrow while he looks at his hand. One of his fingers moves, tapping my chest to the rhythm of my heart.

“This beating is your heart?” His voice… sounds gentler. His fingers curl like claws against my chest. I try not to flinch, remembering his propensity to pierce bodies where his own hole is.

“Yes. And even if you don’t find one in your chest, mine will also beat for you. You’re in my heart.”

Ulquiorra stares, seeming confused.

His hand trembles. Disbelief and determination cross his face.

“Impossible.” He pulls his hand away.

Ah. My chest hurts for a moment. I knew that he wouldn’t believe so easily. “You don’t have to believe. I just wanted to show you.”

I sit on the bed. I don’t feel disappointed. I have no reason. I know who he is. He has no heart.

But why does it have to hurt.

The bed dips under his weight. A hand touches mine.

“A heart… I have no heart.” His voice… it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “It’s impossible. I cannot see the heart, so it doesn’t exist.”

His eyes are so green. So somber. Those tears must be the cry of his empty soul.

“Then disregard what I said. It’s not important.”

His other hand touches my chest. “This is your heart?”

It seems difficult to breathe, but I ignore the sensation in my chest. I lift my hand.

“Yes.” I touch.

His eyes widen.

Ba-dum.

His chest… something beats beneath my hand.

--- ---

Snowflakes It’s cold. Snowflakes float to the ground. I can see my breath in front of me.

Ulquiorra looks. “What is this?”

“Snow,” I smile. “In winter, when it’s cold, the rain can turn into snow. The pieces we call snowflakes.” He's holding my hand; I told him it was to keep mine warm.

He watches the sky. The tears and mask are hidden. His skin is abnormally pale, his dark bangs fall over his face and beautiful green eyes. Flakes land in his black hair.

He’s perfect. I sigh. Too perfect.

It's been a year since Aizen was defeated. Ulquiorra and the other Arrancar that survived wander between Hueco Mundo and the world of the living. I've been tasked with watching Ulquiorra when he visits. Poor Ichigo is regularly haunted by Grimmjow.

It's the first of December. Ulquiorra’s birthday.

We’re shopping in the human world, in gigai.

He doesn’t know my motive, just that I wanted him to join me. A shiver runs down my spine and I tuck the scarf closer to my neck.

I pull the sleeve of Ulquiorra’s shirt and point to a small bakery. The smell of bread and sweets calls me to open the door. “Let’s get some treats, Ulqui.”

He follows without arguing, letting me drag him.

“It’s warm in here,” I smile at him. “Smells good?”

Ulquiorra looks out the window. “This is all useless.”

I roll my eyes. “Ok, Mr. Gloomy.” I order two pastries and two coffees.

My hands are frozen, and I take the to-go cups of coffee and hand one to Ulquiorra. He takes it, furrowing his brow when I also hand him one of the sweets.

The coffee is so warm; my hands heat up quickly and I take a bite of my chocolate treat.

Ulquiorra follows me outside, looking towards the snow-covered street.

“Let's go, my heart.” I beckon for him to follow me to the next store. I drink my coffee while we walk and he mirrors me. His face scrunches up and I can't tell if he likes it or not, but he keeps drinking it. Cute.

We look at clothes, snacks, coffee cups, and games. I look longer than necessary, pointing things out to him and explaining what they are. I check my phone for the time.

Ulquiorra is obviously not interested, but walks by my side. He finishes his snack and coffee. I feel a little warm inside. He puts up with my nonsense until we get to my apartment.

A commotion quiets on the other side of the door when I knock and I try not to laugh.

The door opens.

Ulquiorra's face is still while the group calls out, “Happy birthday!”

He takes my hand, and my eyes find his. “It's ridiculous. Why are you all doing this?”

I shake my head. “Because we like you, Ulquiorra. Happy birthday, my bat.”

Ulquiorra stares at me. Our friends bring us inside to the party. He sighs and squeezes my hand.

“...Thank you.."

[howlsofter]

Nextdoor iii.

John Wick moved in last year but you’re just home for the summer. He hires you to dog sit for him while he’s on business trips but it doesn’t take long til you’re pushing the limits of your “professional” relationship. Part 3, first here. John shows up unexpectedly for dinner.

Words: 3.9k

Tags/warnings: nsfw, small age gap, John is 28 reader is 22, unprotected sex, p and v penetration, straight smut basically, no proofreading lol :pp nothing too kinky or insane

I don’t intend on having to face John for awhile. Not until he texts me again, or we catch each other outside. But it was only a day after the incident when I find him downstairs, standing in my living room.

“Get Mr. Wick some water, will you, honey?” My mom calls from the kitchen, I stand at the top of the stairs, he stands in the foyer peering up to me.

He raises one eyebrow, wondering if I’m going to get him his water. I try to play in cool, not throwing him another glance as I make my way down and slipped into the kitchen.

“What’s he doing here?” I ask under my voice, getting a cup out beside my mother who stood before the stove.

“Why’d you say it like that?” She scolds, “I’ve been asking him to dinner for months, he finally accepted this morning.” She stirs the soup on the stove, chicken tortilla, I can smell it.

That bitch. This was completely on purpose. I walk back to the living room, holding the cup out for John.

He looks clean, his usual black slacks and white button up. He’d showered recently, hair still slightly damp. I eye him up as he reaches out and takes it.

“Your mom really is sweet,” he tells me, taking the cup. He acts like nothing ever happened but that glint in his eye gives him away.

“Maybe you should ask her to house sit for you,” I reply, flat. John almost loses his giddy composure.

“Depends. Will she give me a little show too?” He sips the water like he didn’t just violate me. My jaw hangs open.

“John,” I start.

“Mr. Wick,” he corrects.

I was putting off my own heat, smoothing down the hem of my shirt to try to calm down. “Mr Wick,” I begin, he nods for me to continue, “you are a massive fucking asshole.”

I begin to walk past him and he catches my arm, reeling me back around. His eyes flicker to the kitchen, the coast still clear.

“I’m just teasing,” he coaxes me back, “I could never replace you. Best dog sitter in town.”

I huff, trying to knock him off and he lets me. Following behind me a few steps back as I start my way back up the stairs. He stops there at the bottom, not sure he’s allowed up. I step to where I can look down at him, “I have to get ready for dinner.”

He leaves me be. Until dinner rolls around and I’m the one who can’t rip my eyes away from him. He looks so natural, chatting with my mother about her garden in the front. She asks how he got Daisy and John goes cold. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and his eyes sink to his lap. The obvious change in John’s winds puts my empathetic mother on edge.

“Of course, you don’t have to, if it’s personal.” She starts but John is already waving her off.

He smiles still, so pained and drawn on, “my wife, actually, got me her a few years back.”

Ah, I look down at my own plate. He doesn’t add any mot details, quickly moving on, “no pets?”

“No not at the moment. This one has been wanting a cat for graduation,” my mom nudges my elbow and I look back up to John, nodding. He’s done with his soup, resting his hands in his lap thoughtfully.

“Fitting. I think,” he encourages.

My mom hurries up to collect our plates when I’m done. Just before John can start to take his own. He stills in his chair and thanks her, looking back to me.

“What are the plans tonight?” He asks when she leaves. I find it hard to make eye contact with him. He’s been too hot and cold with me, I’m not sure which field to play.

“The usual. Get really high and go to sleep.”

“You really do have a routine,” he presses his lips together tight before opening his mouth again. “I was thinking of watching part two of that movie?”

“Kill Bill? You’re willingly going to watch another movie?” I ask, peering up at him. He shrugs, taking the last sip of his water.

“If you’ll watch it with me?”

It’s blatant. I press my nails into my palm under the table where he can’t see. Is he still teasing me?

“Maybe later tonight. If you can stay up that late.”

“Open invitation, only if you want to.” He collects his napkin and stands up, I watch him from my seat. My mom steps from the kitchen, wiping her hands off onto her casual dress. “I should be heading home now, have to catch up on some work. Thank you for the wonderful dinner, Dixie.”

She approaches him for a motherly hug and John almost seems apprehensive. He gives in, of course. He wouldn’t be rude, but he does make it quick. His thanks is sincere enough.

“Why don’t you walk our guest to the door?” My mom proposes, grabbing the rest of the dishes. I look between them, cautiously pushing myself up and walking to John who falls in my stride.

We move silently, I open the door for him and he steps out with enough space where I have to step out to say our goodbyes, less I break social etiquette. I step out the front door, closing it behind me. Again, I’m struck with his height, having to peer up to him.

“Did you have fun?” I ask politely, but he’s staring at my lips. It’s inevitable, I shift on my feet and John leans down just slightly. Just enough for me to understand. We both freeze, only for a split second, to mutually agree, and then we’re both filling the gap. His hand reaches up to my jaw, brushing the exposed skin where I’m arching my neck up to him. He kisses me neater than that night, but not less ravenous. His sobriety probably comes into play.

It only lasts a few seconds and he’s standing up straight. “Are you coming over tonight or am I going to have to come upstairs?”

“John!” I exclaim in a hushed tone, pushing him away, “gross, my moms home.”

“Oh, that’s where you cross the line.” I tsk and he steps back. “Thanks for dinner, I’ll see you tonight.” He put a hand up in a curt wave and walks off. I cut into the door, realizing I’ve been holding my breathe.

I joined my mom in the kitchen to help her finish cleaning, trying to hide my hurried pace. I dry the dishes and put them away, she thanks me as I’m rushing up the stairs. I complete my door with its frame softly and pressed flush against it. Fuck. I didn’t think it would actually happen. I strip my jeans off to change underwear, making my way to my dresser. My nicer panties are buried in the corner of the drawer. I pull out a few of the lace ones, holding them up and picturing myself stretched out in the pink lace. I like to collect them, but I’ve never actually worn any for somebody.

I am so far past being embarrassed, I hardly think as I pull my black thong up. It barely hides anything, and delicate lace frills out at the hips sweetly. I pull on a tank and sleep shorts, there’s no point in getting so dressed up if he’s going to strip me down.

I take my tshirt off and put on a hoodie with nothing beneath, looking in my mirror I looked like every other night. Good. I didn’t want to try too hard, I’ve already been desperate enough.

I waited until my mom dismissed herself into her room, the sound of her tv playing into the hall. I grab my phone and a joint, holding them securely in one hand as I sneak out the way I have every other night.

I come up to John’s front door rather awkwardly, shuffling after I knock. The thought of ringing the doorbell make me cringe.

John opens the door in his slacks, no belt, the nice button up he was just wearing undone partially to reveal his under shirt. He looked disheveled, like he was just getting undressed. He smiled when he saw me, letting me and closing the door. The way his eyes swept over me was concealed anymore, he stepped back closing me in to the door. I hold the joint up between us quickly, slowing down his steps. My heart was racing, “I uh, rolled, this.” John steps closer to me, I can smell his cologne. It’s masculine and salty, it makes my brain short circuit, blinking as his heavy eyes lift to meet mine again.

He bore an amused smirk, “do you want to smoke it first?” He asked, figuring what I’m hinting at. I hadn’t even thought of it, I just rolled it. Now that I’m standing here, panicking, it sounds like a great idea. He plucks it from my trembling finger, sliding out of the way and moving to guide me towards to the stairs.

I look to the patio, puzzled. “You don’t want to go outside?” I ask, following where he directs.

“Don’t worry about it,” he assures me. The way up the stairs is nerve wracking, feeling John’s looming presence behind me. I pause before his room and let him allow me in, he points to the bed and I kick off my shoes by the bed.

“Fuck, I forgot my lighter,” I realize as sit on the edge of the neatly made bed. John comes back over, reaching into his side drawer. He procures a white lighter and I chuckle this time, bringing my knees up.

He lowers himself beside me, pushing himself further up the bed. I turn my body to face him as he puts the joint between his lips, lighting it up. He takes a short puff and hands it to me. I take it, not any less shakily, and pull it up to my mouth. He reaches his hand out, running it along the outside of my thigh, he pulls me closer and I oblige. I take a longer puff and blow and smoke up away from us, smiling shyly and handing it back to him.

“You smoke cigarettes in here too?” I ask him, his hands don’t stop. He has his legs half off the bed, fingers padding and prodding at me until my legs over his and I’m right beside him. His slides the same hand up my side, under my hoodie.

“Jesus, no,” he answers, handing it back to me, “why’d you wear this, it’s so hot outside.”

“It’s nighttime,” I argue in my defense, leaning into his touch.

His hand brushes the navy material up, “take it off.”

“Noo, not now,” I go to push his hand away, “not yet.” He doesn’t push too much, settling his hand back on my thighs. I pass it back to him and reach out to his shirt button, “why don’t you take this off?” I ask but I’m already doing it. I can feel his chest beneath the shirt, rising and falling, he’s watching from the bottom of his eyes. He returns it and slides his shirt off his shoulder.

When it’s almost out I hand it to him, “no ashtray,” I point out. He shrugs, extending his long arm and dropping it into a water bottle on his bedside. There’s a beat where I’m not sure what’s going to happen, but John has a plan. He wraps his arms up around me, drawing me in close and pressing his lips up against my jaw. His beard his scruffy and almost tickles as he moves down, leaving more down a line of my neck. I shiver and grip his bicep, willingly pressing my side up against him. He groans deep in his throat, and I press closer. His fingers delve back under my hoodie, groping my sides and tickling my ribs. My high makes my whole body sensitive, on edge about John’s next move. He’s taking me in slow, nipping at my neck and sliding his nose back up my jaw to kiss me. We both taste like weed, I run my hands up around his neck, sliding into his dark black hair.

He kisses me for a nice amount of time, breaking it by pushing me back. He stands up over the bed, looking down at me until I’m getting nervous all over again. I press my legs together, shifting my knees to the other side and John reaches for me again.

“Sorry, I’ve just pictured you here before,” he almost mumbles it, leaning to press more kisses on upper thighs. No one’s ever kissed me all over, I try not to wiggle beneath him as I watch.

“Yeah?” I hum under him, brushing his hair over in a side part. He hooks his fingers over the waistline of my silky sleep shorts. I lift my hips lazily, pushing myself up onto my elbows to watch him better.

“Don’t play dumb,” he speaks clearer, pulling them down. His breath catches for a second and he looks back up to me in surprise, backing up to near rip them from my legs. He runs a finger over the straps of my thong, taking in sight.

I tilt my head to the side, committing to the part. He grips my hips, pressing his to meet mine. The thin line of fabric does nothing to protect my pussy from his slacks. I can feel his cock through them, splitting right between my folds. I shift to press against him harder, the pressure right up against my clit.

John mutters a curse and dips back to undo his pants and push them down, meeting my body in the familiar position.

He’s being so careful, sliding his hand between us. He coats his fingers with me before sliding two in without warning. I yelp at the intrusion, jutting my hips forward against his hand.

It feels as good as I imagined. A million time better than my fingers ever have. His fingers are long and thick, he reached up in me and pets where I’m most sensitive. “Can’t wait to fucking destroy you.” It catches me so off guard, the most I can do is moan, continuing to grind down against him. “I know you want it... sleeping in my bed.” I don’t know how I managed to blush when I’m literally riding his fingers, turning my head to the side.

“So obviously too… didn’t even fix the pillows.” More involuntary noises are slipping from my mouth, in rythme with the repetitive movements up inside me. I’m shaking my head like he’s lying. “Don’t even get me started on the camera…” he breathes out, he’s pulling himself out of his briefs. “Waited til I was watching?”

“Hated you ignoring me.” I say it with my eyes closed.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he instructs, standing up straight, pulling his fingers out and wrapping them around himself. He strokes himself quick and messy, only for a little and he’s lining himself up.

He’s dipping his head down, kissing my back, “wasn’t ignoring you,” he assures. He presses the head in and I tense, gripping the sheets under me. John waits for me to relax.

“Didn’t know you were so needy,” he continues to tease, pushing in deeper. I struggle to keep my hips up, lowering my upper body and keeping my ass up. John slides his hand down my back as I do, “so inpatient, had to get yourself off on my fucking couch,” his voice is breathless as he digs his hilt it me. I spasm when hits me deepest, pressing my cheek into the bed.

“Wanted you so bad, Mr. Wick,” I tell him in a whine and he snaps into me. It feels so good, he continues the motion his hand sliding over my ass before landing a sharp slap there. I hiss, my moans becoming loud and consistent each time our hips met.

He was quiet now that he was busy. His eyes fixed on our bodies meeting, I was slowly failing at keeping my hips up. John paused to yank them back into position, holding me in place as he sped up.

I’m not that experienced. Certainly not as much as John, who seemed to have been in a long term relationship. I like having sex, I like the feeling, the closeness, I like men. My problem have been the men. Most of my experiences have been rushed, awkward, or one sided.

John is sexy, lean, tall, his cock is beautiful but I didn’t get much time to examine. He’s precise, in tune with me. Fucking me in patterns. He goes hard and rough until I can’t take it anymore, then he slows, holding most of my weight up and letting me breathe. It’s when he’s slowing when I get all shaky and weak, so stimulated. It’s not awkward at all, I can’t focus on anything but the low noises John is making above me, completely tuning myself out.

When I’m giving out completely, John turns it up a notch. He wraps an arm up under my hips, leaning over me to press deeper. His strokes went from rough to solid, pulling completely out of me and slamming back in. The sounds I made ripped straight from my vocal cords, near screaming as John put his other hand over my mouth. I shove myself into the bed, trying to get away before our bodies meet again. My legs have buckled, John holding me up easy. My body was on fire, twitching and writhing, getting closer and closer to coming each time the head of his cock rakes against my gspot and slams into my cervix.

Not without struggle, he manages to readjust my hips and angle himself better. A few more long, complete strokes and I’m starting to fall apart. My arms reach out over the bed spread with nothing to hold onto, I can only manage to say his name in a warning. My voice is so tight and he barely responds.

I’m glad he has such a hold on me, focusing on nothing except for the orgasm tearing through me. It explodes and turns into tingles throughout my body. John’s cock feels so good I realize through the haze I’m begging him for more. He obliges, fucking me harder until I just can’t and I’m shoving him away. John pulls out when I do, but doesn’t just drop me. He lowers me back onto the bed and lets me lay down, wrapping his hand back around his cock and stroking himself casually as I huff.

I feel like the winds been knocked out of me, I take the allotted time to breathe, finally weakly lifting my head to look over John. He reaches out, tucking my hair back and stroking my cheek with the back of his hand, “feel good?” He asks with a chuckle.

Funny how I can do zero work and still feel absolutely spent. I push myself up on my arm, crawling back up to him and pawing his hand away. John sits back and settles, letting me take whatever control I want.

I bring my lips up to his wet cock, running my tongue along the underside before wrapping my lips around it. It look up at John, who takes a hand and places it on the back of my head lightly. I try to watch him, swirling my tongue around the head and giving it a little extra suction before sliding down the base.

John has his mouth open, rutting his hips up into my mouth I gag on him. I push my hand to steady his hips but the moan that leaves his lips watching my choke makes it worth it. So much spit has collected in my mouth just from that, it makes a sound when I slide down again. John wants to hold my head down, I can tell with the way his fingers keep pressing against the back of me head but he doesn’t pressure me.

I go all the way down on him again, peering up to him through my eyelashes. I swallow around him and nearly gag again and John is entranced. He blinks back and desire swirls in my stomach again. I sit back up and a line of spit connects my mouth to him. I giggle, wiping it clean and sliding up. John has leaned back into the pillows against his headboard, legs extended out and pushed apart slightly. I climb up, straddling his hips and positioning myself above him. John gets the memo quickly, hands going up to help guide me. He holds his cock up for me, sinking down easily I moan. I brace myself on his shoulders, getting into position and bringing myself down against him. John lifted his slightly, just pushing in that extra inch deeper and tilting his head back against the wall. I forgot how hard this was. Each time I go down I take a moment to drag my hips, grinding him deeper into me with a low moan. I’m not as vocal in this position, I have to focus on my movements, john on the other hands can’t stop making quiet little sounds. His breathe slips, his breathing rugged, I can feel his cock twitch up in me and I moan. John’s hand comes between us again, finger nudging up against my clit. Each time I come down against him it ghosts right over where it feels best, I speed up for the friction, my legs opening further to get closer.

John’s finger speeds up as he gets closer, I start to loose my rythme, bouncing up on him sloppily. I bent over to touch foreheads with John, but my eyes are dragged close. I’m so close again, his fingers and his dick coaxing my orgasm to come up. I dragged my hips down in circles, yanking John closer. He’s about to cum, I can tell in the way his jaw clenched, eyes dragging all over me.

“God- John- I’m gonna,” I try to warn him this time but John’s already spilling. He lifts his hips up inside of me as deep as he can, his finger doesn’t stop stimulating me, pushing me over the edge as he releases his load inside. My grip is death on his shoulder, the ripples of pleasure spamming through me, pussy squeezing and milking his cock for all he’s worth. I lay up against him when I can relax, still not pulling out. He shifts under me and I squeeze around him again in pleasure, John lets out a surprised groan.

He holds my hips, pumping in and out of me slowly before he got soft. His cum and mine make it completely slick, he pulls out of me and wrap his arms around my back. I press against him as I breathe.

I haven’t cum that hard in awhile, and I haven’t cum twice ever.

“I need a shower,” I complain, not making a move away from John. He has closed his eyes and gone still.

“We’ll shower, soon.” He assures me, staying still. I sit up from where I was laying on his shoulder, peeling out stuck bodies part. John’s eyes flutter open, letting out a sigh, “do you want to sleep here?” He offered.

I brush my messy hair back, actually yes, “I don’t think I can.”

“Snuck out? Aren’t you an adult?”

“Obviously. I like to keep the whore part on the down low.”

“Didn’t seem that way to me,” he pushed himself up, “let’s shower so you’ll stop complaining.”

[docholligay]

How do you plan for the meals of the week? I find coming up and deciding what to do for dinner is the hardest part.

here's how I do it!

So, usually Saturday or Sunday--more often Sunday--I sit down in between work and chores and decide: What am I going to make this week?

I look at a couple things before I menu plan:

What's in the fridge?

What's in the freezer?

What is the weather going to be?

Am I working late any nights/is anyone going to be gone/do we have any events?

Then, i get started! I actually haven't done the menu for the week, so let's just do it here!

So this week I have chicken thighs left over from fonjew, and I'm also very busy, so it has to be something I can do quickly and easily. Beeb is very excited about the new knife set she got tonight (more on this later) and wants to help by cutting something. There's no day this week that's particularly hot or cold.

Okay then, we'll make chicken tacos. It's easy, it's quick, she can help me cut up all the things we'll need for garnishes and a side salad. I have tortillas, cheese, sour cream, tomatoes--all I need to grab is some lettuce, maybe.

wednesday night is the last night of hanukkah, and I already bought a rib roast for that. Easy peasy. I have shrimp, we'll do surf and turf. Maybe I'll make fondant potatoes, those are easy but fancy and beeb can use her peeler. Okay, so i have duck fat, butter, garloic chicken broth, seasoning. Just need to get potatoes. I have broccoli and caulifower--bake that with the leftover cheese sauce from fonjew. Dessert is ice cream made from the failed rosace l'orange.

Still have chicken thighs, will still be busy. So let's look at what else I've got in the fridge. I've got a big caesar salad kit. I'll do a marinated chicken thigh served with salad. It's boring, but this is a boring week culinarily.

friday, shabbat. i bought a bunch of chicken breasts on clearance and precooked them, we still have a ton of broccoli and carrots, so we'll make chicken and dumplings. I have onions, chicken broth, wine, flour, baking powder, milk. I think the only thing I might need is celery. I've got a caramel made, I think i'm gonna make a chocolate caramel crunch cake. I've got butter eggs, cocoa, flour, sugar. I think that'll be fine. I might need to go get more butter for frosting.

Saturday everyone is going to be on their own because i am not doing JACK SHIT.

so my shopping list is: lettuce, potatoes, celery, butter (possibly). I don't always have fonjew, so I don't always have a fucking BEVY of ingredients already at my disposal, but I do fill my freezer with clearance stuff.

So there we are! I did not this week, because I am so busy, go through the recipes I've highlighted as wanting to try, nor have a I pushed the boundaries of my skills, really--well, that caramel crunch cake is a bit of an undertaking I guess. Anyhow.

This is what I do! A lot of it is just experience, and the only way to get experience is to keep at it. Just pick a day to sit down and at least do the next three days!

I should add I got a lot of this experience and information out of necessity. I lived a fairly lean life, in some parts of it, and it made me very good at looking at the food I had and knowing I could make something of it. I'm a pretty good "chopped" style cook. And now I'm pretty alright, but old habits die hard, and I think being the sort of person who knows how to take leftovers and make food is a good thing indeed.

I find just opening a document and getting started to be the hardest part of the whole thing.

[drpeppertummy]

Leon makeshift meal shenanigans? :3c

at the request of my deranged friend . soder as well,

[hunger, stuffing, mild burping]

Leon trudged into the kitchen, dropped himself into a chair--he nearly missed and narrowly avoided tumbling to the floor--and let his head fall against the table with a thud. His stomach let out a long, whining growl. For the moment, he ignored it. He was utterly exhausted, and sorting out dinner was just too much for what tiny bit of brain function the day had left him with. It had been a wildly busy afternoon. He'd worked through lunch, and all he'd eaten since breakfast had been a few of the Dum-Dums he always kept in his desk drawer to keep the cigarettes out of his mouth. Now, his stomach ached badly, as did his head, and his back, and his feet, and just about everything else. He felt awful, and he'd have likely remained still there until he passed out if it weren't for his rumbling belly urging him to get going.

Of course, it wasn't enough that he had to think about dinner, and drag himself out of the chair to make it, and then sort out the steps of preparing it, and then actually put it together as well. To add insult to injury, after neglecting to go grocery shopping for far too long, Leon's cabinets were looking sparse, and there was little to work with. With a miserable groan, he pushed himself upright and began rummaging around. His first thought was pasta, but there was none of that left. He was out of Lean Cuisines. He'd finished off the last of whatever leftovers he had last night. No cans of soup. No ramen. Not even an egg. Frustrated with himself, Leon bumped his head against the fridge and remained still like that for some time.

Sighing, he began to fish out what few ingredients he did have. He had bread, but nothing to put on it. Half a pack of almond cookies. About a quarter of a can of soup in the fridge that still smelled alright. The remnants of a bag of tortilla chips. A handful of olives. He scrounged up a number of little odds and ends, belly rumbling impatiently as he did, and sat down at the table with his unimpressive harvest, kicking himself for not going shopping sooner. He supposed he'd have to go tomorrow after work; his shabby dinner tonight would leave his kitchen just about empty, and he doubted it would do much in the way of filling his stomach.

As hungry as he was, his belly ached terribly after going empty for so long, and he nibbled cautiously on a cookie. The nibbling was interspersed with sips of Pepsi, which he hoped would help fill out the skimpy meal a little, and it wasn't long before his stomach felt steady enough to have an appetite. With his hunger in full swing, Leon picked up his pace, and before he realized it, he was wolfing down the odd assortment of scraps like his life depended on it.

While Leon hadn't expected much from his dinner, it was more filling than anticipated, and between it, the soda, and all the air he was swallowing in his frenzy to eat, it wasn't long before he began to feel full. He paused for a moment and let out a burp, then rested a hand on his belly. It had rounded out considerably, and he could feel it grumbling away as it worked at the jumble of poorly-chewed food and carbonation inside it. He felt another gurgle bubble up under his hand, and another burp slipped out.

He was full now--certainly more full than he'd expected to be, and bordering on stuffed--but his appetite was still there, along with not quite enough food to put back. He sat for a moment, giving his stomach a moment to catch up, then took a long swig of Pepsi. A piece of bread still remained, and he supposed he ought to save that for breakfast. The rest of the cookies, however, did not have the same prognosis, nor did the tiny bit of soup that remained in his bowl. These were promptly devoured, along with the rest of the soda.

The finale of his dinner pushed Leon just over the edge, and he leaned back in his chair, resting both hands on his belly. It felt uncomfortably tight, and the quiet of the kitchen was disturbed by its continuous grumbles and gurgles. He groaned softly, cautiously rubbing his bloated tummy. It let out a loud rumble, and before he knew it was coming, a long burp suddenly pushed its way out of him. He was surprised at the size of it, but relieved to feel that the pressure inside his stomach had lessened a little.

Leon remained at the table for some time, holding his bulging tummy, trying to muster up the energy to pull himself out of the hard wooden chair and put himself to bed. At long last, he dragged himself upright with a groan. His already-taut stomach felt far more strained upon standing, and he paused for a moment, leaning against the table with one hand and holding his round belly with the other. Then, slowly and half-heartedly, he cleaned up what remained of his mess, put away his lonesome slice of bread, and trudged off to brush his teeth.

At long last, Leon did what he'd been dying to do for hours: he changed into his pajamas and collapsed into bed. His pajama shirt barely covered his bloated tummy, but he didn't care; nobody was around to see. He yawned--his belly felt uncomfortably snug as he did--and curled up on his side. With his hunger finally sated, if a bit excessively so, Leon closed his eyes, and, lulled by the soft gurgles of his bubbly tummy, drifted off to sleep.

[spookypete-94]

Beastie: Chapter #5 GhostxFem!reader

Slow burn, following MW2 storyline, eventually branching into my own. Warning for canon COD violence and language.

Word count 2,537.

part 4.

part 3.

part 2.

part 1.

The Las Vaqueros came out and assisted with carrying in the bulk of food that her and Ghost had retrieved. This left her with nothing to carry in, but she held the door for the other soldiers as they did.

Alejandro came to meet her, "We're having a candle lit vigil for Rodriguez and the others we lost yesterday. Do you want to help prepare the meal for that?"

"Sure," she said happy that he still had work to do to help keep her mind off of Laswell. She still hadn't heard from her... but she threw that idea to the back of her mind knowing she could assist Alejandro with this. She chopped peppers and onions for what felt like hours. Seasoning the vegetables and helping mix the dry ingredients to make tortillas.

She watched as the others helped set up chairs and tables for the large gathering to take place. A thought crossed her mind if they did this often, just not at the expense of losing someone. Her mind floated back to the man that was shot when Ghost pulled her forward to keep running, or Rodriguez himself that had been taken out by the sniper... her heart aching for them both.

The food was placed in roasters and carried out to the card tables they were using for the buffet. Vaqueros coming out and sitting at the tables, some dressed up nice in respect towards their fallen comrades.

Alejandro stood at the front of the room trying to gather the others' attention. She was sure he was going to give recognition and and a prayer for his lost men. The lights above were dimmed as the candles on an alter for a shrine were lit.

"We are all family here tonight," he started off. Pausing trying to find his strength to keep speaking, "We are family with no matter what side of this Earth we are on. I am grateful you are all willing to fight this war with me, whether it is drugs or terrorists. You are my family, and I'm proud of you all," he said lifting his glass with what she assumed was tequila.

"Saludos!" he said the others repeating it back to him as the downed the tequila.

After his speech, she snuck outside grabbing her phone to try to call Laswell one more time. The sky looking like a tropical explosion with the pinks and oranges along with the faint purple.

Still no answer... this told her in her gut that something was completely wrong. She sighed, anxiety making her feel lost, she chose to stand outside for a bit. trying to decide how she was going to try to make contact with someone who knew what was going when her phone started ringing. She glanced down at it.

LASWELL it read. She eagerly answered.

"You ok?" Y/N asked instantly hoping for an update.

"Who is this?" A British man asked her.

She was quiet, her tone dark. "Think the better question is who the hell are you?"

"You know Laswell?"

"Who the fuck is this?" she asked starting to be frustrated.

"This is Captain Price."

That was one of the men Laswell was supposed to be with.

"I'll ask you again, do you know Laswell." he repeated, tone calm even though she was far from it.

"I'm one of her agents."

"Beastie?" he asked.

"That's what she calls me yes." She confirmed.

"What the caller ID said, listen- I've got some news."

"What happened? Where is Laswell?" her tone getting louder rushing with concern.

"She was taken-"

"Taken?" her voice serious and borderline hostile.

"We are on the way to get her now. "

"Who is we?"

"Sergeant Garrick and I."

"How do I get to you?"

"Honestly, it is probably best you stay where you are for now. I have a team we are planning to engage with to get her back quite soon."

"Who even has her? Where are you headed?"

"Al Qatala, and Urzikstan."

She sighed hands rubbing her temples.

"I told her I didn't want her to go alone."

"I didn't want her to either." His tone solemn.

"How did you find her phone?"

"Assuming she threw it on the boat before they captured her, I've had it in my pocket but couldn't answer it on time when you called. I'm going to get her back, I have a whole squad assisting."

"General Shepherd send them?"

"General Shepherd advised he couldn't help us."

"He fucking what?"

"You heard me." His tone showing annoyance, not at Y/N but the fact Shepherd was leaving Laswell to hang out and dry.

"Thank you for going to get her then, are you sure there's no way I can help?"

"Not at this time, we are all regrouping now setting up to rescue her."

"Be careful then."

The line went dead after that as she sighed.

"What happened?" She turned to see Soap and Ghost, Soap the one asking the questions. They must of heard her the few times she yelled or seen she was distraught on the phone.

"Al Qatala got Laswell on their mission in Spain and took her back to Urzikstan." she said turning to face them briefly before turning around.

"Shit...." Soap said quietly.

"Yeah... That was your Captain advising me that he and Garrick are on their way to rescue her with a squad."

"General Shepherd send men then?"

"General Shepherd advised he couldn't assist," her tone getting worse and angry once more. She worked hard to keep it down though, not wanting to draw attention from the vigil.

"What?" Ghost asked stunned.

"Right??" she said, and before she could think about what to say next she blurted it. "Starting to not trust the old bastard." Soap clapped an arm on her shoulder, choosing to not say anything. Y/N realized she was squeezing the phone with enough force that could fold it before she finally let go. It couldn't be damaged with her only way of communicating with Laswell or Price.

"Come back inside, try to have fun," Soap said.

She looked at him trying to keep her composure. "I really do not think that is possible. The person who I am employed under is being held by terrorists."

Soap sighed, hand rubbing his neck looking over at Ghost for help.

"You can either sit outside and fret, or you can come inside and try to pass some time. If Price says he's going to rescue her, he will get it done." Ghost's voice grumbled.

"Fine," she said just wanting to end the conversation.

"Gonna be alright, Lass," Soap said again.

Ghost opened the door for them to enter back into the main room of the base. Alejandro looking at them curious as to what was happening, but instead of Y/N having to explain, Soap was already on his way to inform him about it. This left her standing next to Ghost. Still feeling antsy by the way he seemed to make her feel and her worry for Laswell, she decided to make a beeline to the food figuring eating something might be good for her even though her stomach felt like rocks. Ghost stood close, but not to far off. Y/N had no idea but he felt the same way, worried for Laswell and in return worrying for Y/N.

She sat down at a table, Ghost choosing to sit at the opposite side. Her food looked wonderful, brightly colored and seasoned, but she couldn't help but stare at her food.

"You need to eat," Ghost said his eyes glowering down at her. If she hadn't had good interactions with him recently she would of seen it as him judging her, but she knows better now.

"I know," was all she said quietly staring at her food.

"You got it, don't be rude to your guests and not eat it." He said. It was honestly what she needed to hear, anyone else might of been offended but she knew what he was trying to say. If it was seen as her food was untouched, the people providing her might see it as rude. The Mexican culture as generous as it was, took those things personally, and the last thing she wanted to do was to transgress their hospitality.

"You always know the right things to say," she said looking up at him through her lashes trying to joke a hint of a smile on her face.

"I try." his tone now warmer towards her.

Soap finally came back and sat with them.

"Foods good 'eh?"

"Delightful," she admitted, her stomach thankful she was finally putting something inside herself that wasn't coffee or water.

She listened to the chatter of Soap and Alejandro, Alejandro trying to teach him Spanish. Soap butchering most of the words with his strong Scot accent making her chuckle.

"I'm tryin' dammit," he would say to Alejandro as Alejandro would slow and dumb the words down for him, his way of teasing Soap. Y/N couldn't help but look across from herself again, her eyes landing on Ghost. He was staring at her once more, but this time, it didn't make her uncomfortable. Whether she was used to it or her adrenaline dump from her recent phone call with Price making her unable to be skittish. She cocked her head to the side, a small smile, her silent way of saying You're staring again, to him. She could hear him exhale, his eyes changing shape. He's smiling, she realized unable to see his face from the mask.

"Gonna go for a smoke," he said getting up and excusing himself to go outside.

She chose not to follow, not willing to push her boundaries with him, she still didn't know him so well and didn't want to ruin what they had.

She instead turned her head back to Soap and Alejandro as music came on a speaker.

Everyone was lining up to dance to it.

"What is happening?" Soap asked

"Line dancing," she answered.

She watched the dancers for a bit seeing Soap intrigued.

"You wanna learn how?" She asked him.

"Yes," he said not even hesitating, chomping at the bit to learn.

"Come on," She said standing up from the table.

"Hopefully you dance better then you speak Spanish!" Alejandro teased Soap making him turn around flip the Colonel off. This caused Y/N to belly laugh.

"Just watch, you'll see the pattern with the music better that way." She said standing with with the group of people letting him observe a song before she tried to explain it to him.

"Scoot, Scoot, brush, kick and turn." She said breaking it down to him. "All it is to it."

"Think I can manage 'at," he said slowly mirroring her moves.

"There you go," she encouraged watching him get better at it working in the line of the other dancers. She stood back and watched him glad he learned how to do something else for the night. She danced a couple songs with him, before starting to feel tired and wanting to sit down.

She returned to the table, Ghost must till be outside smoking leaving Alejandro. Choosing the chair she was in before, Alejandro turned to talk to her better while still watching Soap.

"Good teacher, 'cause he's a difficult student." Alejandro teased.

"Ah' he wasn't that bad, think he is a visual leaner."

"So did your step dad teach you that too?" Alejandro asked.

"Him and his family," she answered watching Ghost come back in from outside, himself watching Soap dance as he came back to the table.

Alejandro turned to better face her, wanting to ask more questions.

"So what of your other family?" he asked catiously.

"What of them?" she countered not sure how to answer as Ghost sat down.

"You must be close with your mother and step dad... your actual father?"

She remained quiet, waiting for him to better clarify.

"Is your father still around?"

"Don't know, don't care."

Ghost glanced over between the two of them, feeling the heat from her last statement.

"I see," Alejandro spoke not wanting to push the vagueness of her question.

Y/N let out a heavy exhale realizing she was being rude again. "He was an angry alcoholic, did unforgivable things to us. My mom took me and left when I was younger. I don't care to ever see him again."

"I understand, I'm sorry was just trying to make conversation."

"It's alright, you didn't know. Just pick a different topic-", She stopped talking because her phone started ringing. Pulling it out of her pocket and answered seeing it was Laswell again placing it on speaker.

Alejandro motioned for the music to be turned down, Soap seeing something was happening came back from dancing.

"Hello?" Y/N called out to Laswell.

"Heard you yelled at Price." Laswell said warmly.

"Heard you got yourself captured," Y/N rebuttled.

"I'm alright now.. Price and his team found me."

"Good."

"I have information," she said.

"I got everyone here," Y/N said everyone scooting in closer to hear what Laswell had to say.

"There were no missiles in Spain just guidance systems given by the Russians. I think the El Sin Nombre has something to do with this. The missiles could be there, or they know where."

"I know where a safe house, it's supposed to house the one they call El Sin Nombre." Alejandro spoke, Rudy now sitting down with the group.

"I need you to breach it and capture whoever that is."

"Alright," Alejandro said.

"Beastie," Laswell spoke directly to her.

"Laswell."

"Stay there for now, assist them and stay safe."

"Think that's advice better for yourself." Y/N teased lightly.

"I'm going back to the states for the time being, and will be at home. Tomorrow go with Alejandro to check out the safe house and come up with a plan to get inside. Update me with what you can." Beastie looked down at her watch seeing it was later then she had expected.

"Yes Ma'am," Y/N stated and hung up the phone. A relieved huff escaping her.

"Told you, she'd be fine Lass." Soap said. "LT, Beastie taught me how to line dance!"

"I saw, you looked like a fool out there." Ghost quipped teasing Johnny.

"Did not! Did I look a fool out there Beastie?"

"No Soap, no you did not." Y/N said the music resuming. Soap ran back out there, ready to dance more.

"Going to make his head swell," Ghost said leaning closer to her, his accent making her head swim.

"Let him have his moment," She said leaning closer countering Ghost, her face so close to his. The same motion that happened earlier to his eyes when she realized he was smiling at her happened again. She was starting to be able to read his features even through the mask. Y/N leaned back into her chair watching Soap dance more Alejandro and Rudy pointing out the things he was doing that they considered wrong making them chuckle with each other. Unable to control herself, she looked back over at Ghost. He refused to remove his honey colored orbs, looking into hers. Honestly, she was starting to be ok with it.

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[stonegolem]

tonight i was Food Crimed by my favorite local taco place. in a good way, but STILL. the crime is this. i wanted a burrito and a lil extra. maybe like one additional taco or some chips and salsa

but i saw that for just six dollars more, a mere 50% increase in price, i could have the Monster Burrito. i have had Monster Burritos before from other restaurants in the past. i was expecting this to be an Overeating Indulgence. i was anticipating a big ol' burrito made with two burrito shells layered on top of each other, so i could have a big ol foot long burrito and take a big burrito nap afterward.

what they did to me instead was send me a five pound burrito the size of a grocery store bread loaf.

y'all, this is not a reasonable amount of food for eighteen dollars. this is barely even a burrito - it's definitely food wrapped in a tortilla, but one does anticipate being able to BITE a burrito. this is unbiteable. in order to consume this like a human i have cut off the end quarter with a knife and poured it into a bowl.

please observe that that is three quarters of the Monster Burrito and one entirely goddamn full bowl of burrito carcass. the upside is that it's delicious. the chicken is stewed and so tender, the fillings are fresh, the salsa is spicy, the cheese to rice ratio is ideal. the downside is that i hate leftovers. i did not enter into this covenant willingly. i asked for a gently more burrito so i could gently more enjoy my dinner. what i received instead was a Family Curse. I have THREE MORE BURRITO BOWLS to go.