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boowritess · 7 months ago

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very mild 18+ simon riley x reader

lmaoo i can't breathe Simon Riley is just a man.

atleast to you.

when he's home, all he is to you is dry humor, a couple beers every night, sat in front of the tv on his spot on the couch, the game is playing - some soccor or rugby match. he doesn't wear his mask, his clothes are a simple t-shirt and some pair of shorts he just threw on.

he uses your shampoo and conditioner, as much as it pisses you off because it's expensive and for some reason he uses half the fucking bottle everytime he's home, but when he does the groceries he still comes home with '2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner' he would’ve got the '3 in 1' but the last time he did that he got no head for 3 weeks.

he'll go to the pub, take you out, pushes the trolley, holds your bag, let's you dress how you want it, belly gets a little soft because he eats food like he's never ate before, buy you anything you want even after the 'do you really need it though?' talk.

he's bit lazy on workouts only goes on the occasional run, but will fuck you whenever you want; always vanilla and only gets rough when you ask.

he will say he'll fix whatever appliance needs tending too but won't do it right away, starts the occasional handyman job at odd times.

it's just - he's so mundane and normal that you'd never know just how dangerous he is ???? like he so carefully hides that side from you. seriously. when he's home, he throws his gear in the bottom of his closet in a box, locking Ghost away and just existing as Simon.

even when the rest of the task force come around on the occasion. they're so normal and are just... men. yelling at the tv during a sport match. teasing each other. stealing snacks and helping with cleaning. they never speak about work and when you ask them, it's always a smile and shrug, "just another day really." "little boring and slow." "oh not too bad." their answers are so half-assed, that you don't even ask anymore; which is what they want.

but you really aren't missing anything. not when you don't even know what you're missing out on.

it's crazy, because he even keeps Ghost hidden when you're being harassed by men. whether that be when you're shopping or just going for a walk.

he'll loop an arm around your waist or over your shoulder, look at the guy with a grin - that's more of a sneer, "can i help you, mate?" he'll drawl. his stature and stare is enough to make the man who had been harassing you back off.

"what a freak..." you mutter with a roll of your eyes, letting Simon guide you away as he presses a kiss to your temple, a deep chuckle leaving him.

around midnight you wake up to Simon in the laundry room washing his hands. he doesn't blink or hesitate when you wonder in and wrap your arms around his waist. "what're you doing?" you mumble, sleepy eyss dropping to the sink.

Simon's hands are red, and you would be alarmed, should be alarmed. but how could you when Simon hums softly, a sound that rumbles deep from his throat, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. he's so warm and casual that you don't even do a touble take seeing the blood.

"caught a rat. right pest they are. the trap i set snapped it clean in half." Simon's mutters, he raises a bloodied hand to you, sniggering when you crinkle your nose up in disgust and step away from him.

"ew, i'm going back to bed." you huff, yawning and leaving him to what he was doing.

Simon laughs softly as you head off. "just be a sec, love." he says as you go. all he receives is a yawn and a tired 'mhm'.

he cleans his hands and then his phone chimes. he pulls it out and it's a private message.

'getting rid of your pest now, LT.'

image attached

Simon opens the picture and sure enough there's the man from earlier in the boot of a car. all bloodied like Ghost left him.

Simon heads back upstairs to your shared room, you quietly snoozing away. you don't steer or wake as the closet door opens and Simon's putting his mask back in with his gear. No. Ghost is too quiet to let you wake from such a warm and sweet sleep.

he turns from the closet after putting everything away and changing clothes. he crawls into his side of the bed and wraps his arms around you. letting your body nestle back into his side. limbs tangling together.

just you and your simon.

a/n: inspired by a tik tok video on how he is just a man lmaooo

#my post #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mwii

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shotmrmiller · 8 months ago

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simon isn't a man you take home. he's for the literal streets. dresses like he's homeless because all that matters is that his throwing knives and handguns are pristine. the only reason his home is spotless is because he doesn't live in it, it's all for show. his pantry has only salt and mouse traps, his fridge a long expired bottle of ketchup and something that if anyone ate, they'd gain superpowers.

he's got a crazy look in his eye, and who can blame him after all that shit he's been through? gut-wrenching betrayal, unimaginable torture, then buried alive shoulder to shoulder with his ol rotting buddy, ol decaying pal? he joined the military a butcher's apprentice, and now he's an echo of what simon riley used to be, a fading silhouette that wanders the corridors in base. a ghost.

he has to play music whenever he's not at work just to keep the screaming voices in his head at bay, and it has to be loud enough to drown out the incessant high-pitched ringing in his ears. a cacophony of noise that wears his thin string of patience into in-existence.

he's a killer, he's a man who's donned his skull mask for so long that he's forgotten the face underneath.

you don't bring a man like him home. and when you eventually did, even your parents had agreed.

he looks one clown short of a circus.

he hovers over you like a ghost. (ha)

possessive, obsessive, paranoid.

he'll kill you if you try to leave him.

simon heard everything, not like they had tried to keep their voice down. it hadn't really mattered to him, empty words pelting knotted flesh only a sharpened knife could cut through. but you hadn't taken any of it.

his little hero, coming to his defense. it'd been the first time- in a long time- that his icy cold, tiny heart skipped a beat.

simon's always been his own savior. he saved himself from the shit life he had with his family by joining the army. he'd clawed his way out of his own grave, freshly turned soil stuck under his fingernails for weeks. he'd gone after the head of roba, in the name of vengeance. even now, he's a part of the justice league, the task force 141.

unsung heroes.

and here you were, standing in your parent's kitchen, all bared teeth and scalding temper- over him.

simon's so aroused that when he rises from where he's seated, he sways on his feet. there's no stopping him from briskly walking over to you and hoisting you up and over his shoulder, heading for the door.

there's no stopping him from throwing you into the backseat, and climbing in after.

you weakly try to stop him with stammered words, just wanting to know what the fuck he's doing but when simon starts to impatiently undo the button of your jeans, his confined manhood pushing up underneath you, it clicks.

you don't want him to stop when the calloused pad of his thumb rubs your slippery clit with expertise, thick fingers curling inside your swollen cunt.

you definitely don't want him to stop when his cock slides through your slick folds, his hand wrapped around his thick base. his tip pushes inside, mild discomfort already flaring. gravity then does the work, slowly sinking you onto him until his thighs are flush against your arse. the sweet, decadent burn of him splitting you in half sparking your nerve endings alight, from the waist to your knees.

you beg him not to stop when he fucks you in earnest; desire, sticky and wet, dampening the coarse trimmed hair of his cock. the air inside the truck muggy, heavy and thick with sex. he places his hand under your navel, right when he knows he is, and grunts when he gently presses down. the noises coming from you and your sodden pussy are obscene, lewd, downright vulgar and he wonders if you'd let him record it- to replace the banal music he usually listens to.

your breath hitches beautifully, and simon makes sure to watch how you let go of his shoulder to weave that hand downward to take yourself over the edge.

"impatient little pet, can't even wait f'me to get ya there, eh?" the low chuckle he lets out is cut short at the feeling of your slick walls fluttering around him, making him groan. he keeps his sharp gaze on you when your body tenses, back arching as you jerk fast, little circles over your pearl. he plants his feet and begins to thrust upward, your weight nothing to his strength and-

how beautiful you look in the pleasure he brings you.

it's cliche, truly, that he comes when you do, but he couldn't care less in this instance. your cunt squeezes him like a silken fist, a tight vice that milks his cock almost painfully so. his grip around your waist is bruising, but it only adds to the sensation- the delightful bite of pain prolonging your pleasure.

the base of his spine tingles from his climax, and his breathing is ragged. alive. your hands skim the wide breadth of his chest, as if brushing off the dirt he'd once been buried under.

his little hero.

you took him home, so now he takes you to his.

(...don't look in the kitchen, pet.)

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #ghost smut #ghost x reader

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rafecameronssl4t · 2 months ago

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Could you do reader and rafes reaction to when they found out easer is first pregnant for the force’s marriage au? LOVED the first part!!

First pregnancy || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: this fic is a 100% how i think rafe and reader would react in this situation

Warnings: mention of pregnancy, angst if there's anything else lmk

Word count: 1,457

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

You flip over the pregnancy test, your heart sinking as you see two lines. Of course. It was inevitable, given the life you’ve been cornered into. You sigh, throwing the test into the bin with a mixture of resignation and dread.

Leaning against the cool marble sink, you catch your reflection in the mirror—your eyes heavy with a sense of inevitability that’s become all too familiar. The pristine bathroom feels suffocating, its sterile white tiles and polished fixtures reflecting the stark reality you’re trapped in.

Leaving the bathroom, you make your way downstairs to the living room, each step heavy with the weight of what this means. Rafe had left for work a few hours earlier, leaving you alone in the house. It’s been this way for a while—his absence during these crucial moments only magnifies the distance between you.

The quiet of the house, broken only by the soft footfalls of the servants, feels more isolating than comforting. In the corner of your eye, you notice Anita descending the stairs. She’s one of the few people who’ve been with you since you were young, a steady presence in the chaos of your life.

You assume she’s just finished cleaning your room, making everything perfect as always. “Anita?” you call out, your voice softer than intended. She stops, turning to you with a gentle smile that’s both comforting and bittersweet. “Yes, Miss?” she replies, her tone warm and familiar. You look up from your phone, hesitating for a moment.

“Not a word to Rafe, please,” you say, your voice firmer this time, carrying the weight of the secret you now bear. Anita’s eyes soften with understanding. She doesn’t need any more explanation. “Of course, congratulations to you both. Your parents will be overjoyed, they’ve been waiting for this,” she says before continuing on her way.

Her words hit you like a blow to the chest, knocking the breath from your lungs. Of course, your parents would be thrilled. This is all they ever wanted from you and Rafe—a continuation of the family bloodline, a legacy to carry forward. They didn’t care if the two of you were unhappy, if this marriage was more a prison than a partnership. As long as the family name persisted, nothing else mattered.

"Where is she?" Rafe's voice echoes through the quiet house, sharp and impatient. Anita’s calm response cuts through the tension. "She isn’t feeling well, Mr. Cameron," she says, her tone polite and soothing. Rafe grunts in acknowledgment and takes his seat at the dining table, his eyes scanning the empty chair opposite him—usually filled by you each morning.

Later that day, as you and Rafe drive to your parents' house for lunch, a wave of nausea washes over you. You place one hand protectively on your lower stomach, the other coming up to cover your mouth as you close your eyes and focus on steadying your breath. Morning sickness has been relentless lately, more intense and persistent than before. While you’ve managed to keep it hidden from Rafe up until now, the strain is starting to show.

Rafe’s gaze flickers to you briefly, his eyes narrowing with concern. Without a word, he reaches into the console and retrieves a bottle of water, handing it to you with an absent-minded flick of his wrist. He doesn’t even glance at you as he passes it over. "Thanks," you murmur, your voice barely audible as you unscrew the lid and take a slow sip, your eyes fixed out the window.

As the car rolls to a stop in front of your family estate, Rafe is already unbuckling his seatbelt, eager to get this over with. But before he can move, you reach out, your hand covering his, halting his actions. He glances at you, confusion etched across his features. You swallow hard, struggling to find the words, your eyes searching his before you turn away, staring blankly out the windshield.

You feel his gaze on your side profile, waiting, perhaps sensing the gravity of what you’re about to say. "I'm pregnant," you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hang in the air between you, heavy and unyielding. You feel Rafe tense beside you, the atmosphere in the car growing thick with unspoken emotions. His reaction is immediate and sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife.

"Are you seriously telling me this right now? Just before we see your parents?" His voice is laced with anger, catching you completely off guard. You turn to face him, your expression one of disbelief. Is he seriously getting mad right now? Of all the reactions you had braced yourself for, this wasn’t one of them.

"I just told you we're having a child, and this is how you react?" you snap, incredulous. Your disbelief quickly morphs into anger as you watch him look away, his jaw clenched in frustration. His silence only fuels your rage. "Fucking unbelievable," you mutter under your breath as you unbuckle your seatbelt and shove the car door open.

The door slams shut behind you with a resounding thud as you storm toward the front entrance, your emotions boiling over. You’re only a few steps away when you hear Rafe’s car door fly open, followed by the sound of his voice, sharp and laced with frustration.

"What do you expect me to say when you just laid that out on me?" he calls out, his anger evident in every word. You whirl around, arms crossed tightly over your chest, your eyes narrowed as they lock onto his. His expression is a mix of confusion and fury, as if he’s grappling with the enormity of your news and how it collided with the timing.

For a moment, neither of you speak, the tension between you crackling in the crisp air. "I expected you to care!" you finally snap back, your voice trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. Rafe’s eyes widen, caught between defensiveness and something that almost resembles guilt. "I do care," he retorts, his voice softer now but still edged with frustration. He takes a step closer, closing the distance between you.

"But you couldn’t have picked a worse time to tell me. We’re about to walk into your parents’ house, and you drop this on me like it’s nothing?" You can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes your lips. "You think I planned this? That I wanted to tell you in the driveway? I’ve been dealing with this alone, trying to figure out how to break it to you. But every time, you’re either too busy or too angry for me to even get a word in."

His expression falters, and for a split second, you think you see a flicker of understanding in his eyes. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the familiar mask of indifference. "And you thought now was the best time?" he asks, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What do you want me to say, Rafe?" you ask, your voice raw with emotion. "That I should’ve kept it to myself? Pretended everything was fine until it wasn’t? We’re having a child, and I needed you to know before we walked in there and pretended to be the perfect couple again."

Rafe looks away, his jaw clenched tight as he struggles to process the situation. You watch the conflict play out in his eyes, the tug-of-war between the emotions he’s expected to feel and the reality of what he actually feels. His frustration is palpable, and after a tense moment, he sighs heavily, bringing his hands up to massage his temples.

"Can we just get through this lunch, please?" he finally says, his voice soft, almost pleading. His tone catches you off guard—there’s a vulnerability there that you’re not used to hearing from him. You stare at him, torn between wanting to push the conversation further and knowing that now isn’t the time.

His request isn’t unreasonable, but it stings nonetheless, a reminder of the emotional distance that still exists between you. "Fine," you reply after a moment, your voice tinged with resignation. "But this doesn’t change anything. We still need to talk about this—really talk about it."

Rafe nods, his eyes briefly meeting yours before he looks away again. "I know," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the unspoken hangs heavy between you as you both turn toward the imposing front door of your family estate, ready to face the charade of normalcy that awaits inside.

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plasticspecializes · 2 years ago

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#Bottle Trap for Kitchen Sink #Kitchen Sink Bottle Trap

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helluvapoison · 9 months ago

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Make Me Weak

˚✧₊⁎ The Vees ⁎⁺˳✧༚

warnings: violence

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Everything you are she should abhor– and would if it was anyone else— so she doesn’t pretend to understand how you weave into her life so easily. That time is instead spent wondering how the fuck she’s survived both her hellish lives without you

• Velvette always felt she was owed the praise and compliments she got. Receiving them from you was an entirely different type of high to ride. Your candied tone and sickeningly sweet words clung to her like smoke and had her itching for more

• You massage her hands so she has no choice but to surrender her phone, only then does she realize how cramped they’ve become. You sit in her workshop during Hell Week, sending a mellowing wave that relaxes her chaos in the form of a simple thumbs up. You make up for not being on the receiving end of her camera by setting up aesthetic dates for her to capture instead

• Velvette captures your chin, “You put up with a lotta my shit, Dollface. I’m not great at sharing credit, but I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“But I didn’t do anything?”

“You’re my muse, baby. Gimme the word and I can have you on a billboard tonight. Fuck Joanne, the raggetty bitch, I’ll bump her and have you up there for all of Hell to see!”

Your smile falters to a grimace, your eyes telling her what she already knows. Vel doesn’t get why you hate the limelight. This conversation always ends one way and if she hears you say one bad thing about yourself, she’ll tear out her hair. With a sigh, she tucks you back under her arm and kisses the crown of your head

“Fine. I didn’t wanna share you anyways.”

Your light laugh makes her smile again

˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Val does everything in his power not to allow you to witness one of his volatile moments. He has a very specific image of you in his mind and to a looser extent, you do too. You’re not prim or naive that you don’t know what he does, but his violent tendencies are something else to behold. You’re too sweet, too pure to completely join his world

• It’s never bothered him before, seeing that look on someone’s face. The one where their eyes go wide in horror because they know exactly what comes next but there’s no telling what would happen if the pedestal Val put you on crumbled because you saw him grabbing a whore by the neck and using them as an ashtray

• Truly, no indulgence he’s ever sampled has come close to taking the edge off him like one of your hugs. Softer than angel wings and more intoxicating than any elixir, you’re euphoria trapped in a sinner’s body

• “I almost feel bad for keeping you to myself,” Val purrs in your ear. He’s been laying underneath you for six minutes and already the shittiness of the day evaporated, “I could bottle and sell you. Make everyone in Hell as happy as I am.”

A nervous, bitter laugh escapes you

“You wouldn’t make much money, Val.”

“I would make millions, corazón” He argues seriously, though he has no intention of sharing you

˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• The irony is lost on him; someone as soft as you could bring him, an Overlord, to succumb. Below the surface, he’s more insecure than he lets on. He’s perfected the mask of a charming show host, developed it so well that it bleeds into his personality. So much so, that you make him glitch when he gets an inkling of self doubt. Your gentleness makes him weak and it terrifies him, fills him with the urge to push you away but your arms are so inviting that he lets himself be cradled by them. How could he do anything but?

• Rare are the days where he actually feels tired but those are the days he seeks out your affections. To him, you’re safe. You won’t judge him, you don’t pry for details, you’d never tell him to suck it up

• Vox lets himself sink into the couch beside you, tapping your thigh with a claw to invite you to come closer. You never fail to accept and deliver exactly what he needs. It’s bizarre how you know what he needs when he doesn’t himself. Turning to straddle him, you rest your head on his chest and hug him impossibly closer

• “You’re tense today,” You comment quietly, giving him a comforting squeeze.

“Come with me to set for once, you’ll find out why.”

Nuzzling into his chest as if trying to find his nonexistent heartbeat, you replied, “Nah. Sounds like too much of a hassle.”

“Exactly why I need you there.”

“Promise not to bring me on air like you’re always threatening to?”

A dry cackle escapes as he keeps his gaze towards the ceiling. Vox has this fanatical plan that you two could be the power couple of Hell, outranking Lucifer and Lilith (and lasting twice as long) if you would just sit at the same desk as him, deliver news and playful banter that would knock 666 News down a couple thousand pegs. You were worried someone wouldn’t want to see your face, you’d make his ratings plummet, you’d ruin everything he worked so hard to build. He hates when you spiral like that.

“No.” Vox mumbles honestly.

He’d prove you wrong like he’s done everyone else, one way or another

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #vox headcanons #vox x reader #vox imagine #velvette imagine #velvette headanons #velvette x reader #valentino x reader #valentino imagine #valentino headcanon #help i’m actually falling for val

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pretentious-blonde · 2 months ago

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soft spot

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: after being drenched by the rain, steve just wants to take care of you whilst reminiscing over his “king steve” days

warnings: none

a/n: it was raining so here you go, also steve is a gossip you can't change my mind

The stairs leading up to your apartment were usually a challenge, but today they felt endless. Each step you took was accompanied by the squelching sound of rainwater trapped in your shoe, only irritating you further as you climbed. Your hair was plastered to your face and you could tell how horrendous the strands looked as they stuck to your skin, drops of rain that still clung to your eyelashes blurred your vision. You started to regret your ambitious decision to walk home, Steve had insisted on picking you up but of course, it had to start pouring halfway home. Typical.

You let out a sigh as you reached the top floor, rummaging in your bag before your hands managed to snag your keys, shivering slightly from your soaked clothes, the coldness seeping into your bones. The door let out a gentle creak as you entered, stepping inside and savouring the warmth of the flat as you allowed it to flow over you.

“Steve?” You called out into the empty room.

Within a few seconds, his head poked out of your shared bedroom, brown hair falling over his forehead from jumping up so quickly. His brown eyes widened as he took in your drenched state.

“Oh, honey, what happened?” His voice was laced with concern, his question answered by the loud crash of thunder that rumbled loudly from outside.

“You said you would call. Look at you! You’re soaked through.” His large hands flew to your coat, heavier due to the rain, peeling it off your body like it was tissue paper.

“I was fine—“ You began to say, only to be cut off by his excessive fussing.

“You’re clearly not,” he shook his head as he hung up your jacket, a small puddle already forming underneath that he would have to deal with later. “I can hear your shoes from here, sweetheart. And your hair—“ he brushed a wet lock out of your face and behind your ear, his concerned expression making you giggle. “You’re shaking, honey. Gonna get sick like this.”

You just smiled at him through your waterlogged lashes, his over-the-top worrying making you laugh more are you batted his hands away. “I’m fine, Steve. Really. It’s just rain, it happens all the time.”

“Nope. No way,” he said, not letting you respond as he was already halfway to the bathroom. “You’re gonna catch a cold and I’m not gonna let that happen.”

His voice was playful but still firm, the sound of running water became audible as he returned to your side.

“Bathtime,” he said teasingly and you knew there would be no point in arguing, not when he was in full-blown protective mode. God, he could be so stubborn sometimes.

The brunette boy led you into the bathroom, muttering under his breath about how you should have just phoned him as you trailed behind, wet clothes dripping onto the floor. You stood patiently in the doorway as he rummaged in underneath the sink, his furrowed brows relaxing as he found what he was searching for. He straightened up with a playful grin and held two bottles, bubble bath from one of those birthday sets you got ages ago and forgot about, finally being put to good use.

“Alright, angel, we got options here,” he said as he inspected the labels on both. “Lavender or…this one’s called ‘Sunset Bliss’. I guess they are bottling sunsets now.”

You roll your eyes before tapping your finger against the small orange bottle, trying to hold back a smile. “Sunset Bliss, obviously.”

“Good choice,” he said whilst nodding as if you passed some sort of test, opening the cap and pouring it into the tub. “Gotta get some sunshine back into today, right?” His voice was light as he leaned over the bath, holding his hand underneath the faucet to check the temperature, adjusting it just how you like it. Just shy of scalding.

He stood back up and hesitated as he looked down at you. “Do you want me to stay with you, or should I wait outside?” His tone was gentle, so as to not pressure you. Just that lovesick gaze that was laced with a hint of concern.

You shrug your shoulders at his question, still shivering slightly as you respond. “You can stay. I still have to tell you what Robin and I got up to.”

Steve’s eyes softened as he nodded, stepping towards you with a tender smile. His fingers were gentle as they brushed against your skin, treating you with care as he helped you out of your rain-soaked clothes. He was so sweet as he worked, treating you as if you were the most precious thing to him. To which he would probably agree.

There was nothing suggestive in his movements, no expectation—just the quiet intimacy you had come to associate him with. He adored being close to you in this way.

Once you were free of the drenched clothes, he held onto your arm as you lowered yourself into the water, feeling a sense of pride as you sighed in relief. The water was soothing to your freezing skin, helping thaw out your numb fingers and toes. He took a seat on the bathmat next to you, resting his chin on the edge of the tub as he gazed at you expectantly. He always had a soft spot for your ramblings.

“So,” he began as he drew out the word, an amused look on his face. “What did you and Robin get up to while I was slaving away at work? Any trouble?”

You splash a bit of water on his face at his teasing before sinking deeper beneath the bubbles, beginning to babble about your day, not leaving anything out as he loved hearing all the small details. No matter how mundane. He listened, amber eyes focused as he nodded along, occasionally throwing in a sarcastic comment and then laughing at his own joke. God, he was a dork.

Steve reached out and traced small patterns on your arm with his fingers, his touch light. “Do you want me to wash your hair, sweetheart?” He asked you with eager eyes—he always wanted to do things for you. Things you really didn’t need help with. He was constantly coming up with excuses, helping you made him feel good. He liked to feel needed.

You shook your head with a chuckle. “You don’t have to.”

He scoffed and you knew he would not take no for an answer, already reaching out for the shampoo bottle on the side of the tub. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.” He said with finality, popping open the cap and allowing the scent of citrus to fill the steamy air. “Besides, I’ve got hair down to a science,” he said with a wink as he moved behind you.

You tilted your head back to look up at him and he placed a soft kiss against your lips, gently moving you to face forwards, careful not to get any water in your eyes. His fingers were firm as they massaged your scalp, blunt nails moving perfectly as you shut your eyes, leaning closer to where he knelt.

“You do have great hair,” you tease, eyes still shut, focusing on the motion of his hands.

“Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington was my nickname in high school,” he smirked, you don’t see how proud he looked of the title at that moment.

“Part of your charm huh?” You poked at him.

“Oh, absolutely,” he agreed as he carried on with his movements. “Speaking of charm,” he continued, “any updates on Robin and Vicky? Has she finally made anything resembling moves?”

You groaned as you recalled the previous conversation you had earlier that day, the hour spent listening to Robin pining. “She is still being awkward about it. I swear she panics every time she talks to her, and you know how she talks too much when she’s nervous.”

Steve snickered, a sound so boyish you couldn’t help but join in. “Robin? No way.” His sarcasm earned him another splash to the face, making him laugh even harder.

“Hey! I’m just stating the facts!” He said. “But seriously, she needs to just ask her out already. Vicky is clearly into her.”

“I know right? They would be adorable together,” you agreed with him, enjoying the playful sass he was giving. If there was one thing Steve secretly loved, it would be gossip. He ate it up just like he did back in school, he always knew the drama from listening to people talk in the hallways. Plus he could never keep a secret, that’s what he had you for. You pretty much knew what every citizen of Hawkins was going through based on their movie choices at Family Video, he always kept you up to date on those.

“She better not mess it up,” Steve added, rubbing conditioner through your hair, making sure to focus extra on the ends. “Might have to step in. Play matchmaker.”

You scoffed at the statement. “Like you’d do any better?”

He shoved your head playfully. “Honey, I have excellent matchmaking skills. You’re looking at the guy who got Nancy and Jonathan together—but maybe that’s not the best example.” He paused, thinking for a second, before the both of you burst into laughter.

You felt his hands slow as he finished working product through your hair, you turned your head to find him looking at you warmly. “I’m not worried about Robin and Vicky. If they’re meant to be, they’ll figure it out. Just like we did.”

Your heart clenched at the look on his face, all soft eyes and adoring smiles. The expression that was reserved for you and you alone.

“Yeah,” you whispered as you turned back around, allowing him to carefully rinse your hair for the final time. “Just like we did.”

He finished up and shifted to your side once more, fully facing you. “All done, angel. Feeling better?” His voice was low and sweet, like syrup. Sticky and saccharine.

“Thank you,” you tell him honestly, as you move to get up. He rose as you did, hands outstretched to help you climb over the ledge of the bath, making sure you were steady on the bathmat before reaching for a towel. Wrapping you up with exaggerated care.

“Alright, sweetheart, wait here. No running off,” he said as he finished tucking the towel around you.

You giggled, watching him scoop up your pile of wet clothes from the bathroom floor. “And where exactly would I go?”

He walked to the door and held a finger up, pointing at you. “Knowing you, you’d probably find some trouble to get into. Plus, I don’t want to mop up any more water from the living room, so stay put.”

He disappeared into the hallway and you could hear the familiar beep from the dryer, along with him talking to himself about what buttons to push. He always complained about how many setting the damn thing had.

Not wanting to keep you waiting for long, he reappeared, holding a pair of your pyjama bottoms and—of course—one of his old school jumpers.

He handed them both to you with a small smile. “Vintage Hawkins, what do you think?”

You raised an eyebrow as you inspected the item. “Didn’t think you’d want me wearing something that is so… ‘King Steve’”

Barking out a laugh as he helped you into the soft material. You had spoken a bit about his past, he openly disclosed that he may not have been the best person then. You withheld using the nickname, usually reserving it for when you wanted to rile him up.

“I don’t mind,” he said with a shrug. “You would’ve been way too good for me back then. No way we’d be friends in high school. I was kind of a dick.”

You hummed as you wriggled into the dry clothes. “Kind of?”

Steve held a hand to his chest in mock offence. “Wow, okay! That hurts, honey. I’m nicer now aren’t I?”

He helped you tug up your pyjama bottoms, taking a step back to admire you, as if you were dolled up for a date. He loved you like this. Warm and comfy, wearing his clothes. “You are very nice. Maybe too nice.”

He flashed that beautiful, boyish grin once again. “Too nice? No such thing.” He pulled you closer to him. “I had to change my tactics to win you over. I’m whipped for you, just ask Robin.”

Leading you to the couch and pulling you down next to him, he grabbed a blanket and draped it over you both, looking over your shoulder to make sure your feet were covered too.

“You know, I don’t think I would have liked you much back then,” you teased, poking his side and earning a surprised yelp from the boy beneath you. “Mr. ‘I’m too cool for everyone.’”

Steve ruffled your drying hair playfully before continuing. “Yeah, I was pretty insufferable,” you can hear the cringe in his voice as he looks away, cheeks heating slightly at the embarrassing memories. “But look at me now, completely reformed and with a gorgeous girl looking all pretty in my lap.”

It was your turn to blush as you hid your face in his chest, TV playing softly in the background as you let yourself melt into his embrace. He always made it easy for you to unwind around him. Completely relax. It was simple with Steve, it always was.

“I’m glad I’m not that guy anymore,” he said, his quiet voice laced with sincerity, fingers running through your hair. “Because now, I get to be here with you.”

You tilted your head upwards, eyelids beginning to droop, surrounded by his warmth. “I’m glad too,” you tell him as you feel your body getting heavier.

The white noise from the TV and Steve’s embrace lulled you into a gentle sleep. He smiled down at you, seeing you completely at peace on his chest. He placed a soft kiss on your temple, inhaling the smell of you mixed with the citrus shampoo he had used earlier. He felt content, full.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he whispered, not speaking too loud at the risk of waking you. His fingers drew shapes across your back as the TV droned on, but he wasn’t paying it the slightest bit of attention. Way too focused on the sweet girl in his arms, and nothing in this world could make him want to move.

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #stranger things x you #str

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reiderwriter · 6 months ago

Text

Satisfaction Feels Like a Distant Memory

Chapter Three of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Your mounting attraction to Spencer Reid pushes you to the edge, turning begrudging friendship to deep hatred when he finally shows up on your doorstep. He's the only thing that can out you out of your misery even as you sink further into it.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, hate sex, rough sex, argument as foreplay, oral (f recieving) and face fucking, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, forced orgasms, "forced" submission, creampie, p in v penetrative sex, etc.

A/N: I've had about as much sleep as the reader in this fic has for the last week, but HERE IT IS! Chapter Three 🥰 You may need a bottle of water on standby, or at least a hand fan, because this one gets a bit heated....

Masterlist || Add yourself to the taglist!

You hesitated in front of your office door, which you supposed was going to become a bad habit of yours now. You tried lying to yourself, that nothing was different now, that you weren't attracted to him in a completely stupid way, but you still stood frozen in front of your own office door.

Frozen and horny.

Shit.

You mentally went through a list of the worst things that could happen if you went in.

1. He was there.

2. He wasn't there.

3. He was there, and he touched you again, and you moaned.

4. He was there, and he didn't touch you again, but you still moaned.

5. He was there, and you threw yourself at him immediately because why wouldn't you when you'd seen what you could be working with the night before? Fuck moaning once, moaning multiple times as he pushed you against the bookshelf would-

“Are you gonna go in, or are you just going to fondle the door handle?” He asked from behind you. From too close behind you.

You turned, keeping the doorknob in your grin, and immediately flattened yourself against the door as he took a step closer.

So close. He was so fucking close and it was suddenly all you could think of.

“W-What?”

“You know, the CDC warns that door handles should be washed every 20 to 40 hours To prevent bacteria like Escherchia coli and Staphylococcus aureus from-” You ignored his words, drowning everything else out as you tried to dampen the fire burning under your skin.

“Cock?” You said, all attempts obviously not working.

“Staphylococcus, yes. It can cause Adenovirus, Rhinovirus, not to mention-”

“Okay! Okay, Spencer. Taking my hand off the handle now.”

Finally, you twisted it and walked backwards into your room, walking backwards a few steps before your foot caught on a stray pile of books.

“What the-” you cried, waiting for the impact of your landing as you swung out your arms frantically for purchase, screwing your eyes shut as you found none.

Instead, you found an arm snaked around your waist, another wrapping your hip tight as Spencer Reid cradled your body to his own.

“Thanks,” you breathed out, not even hearing the words yourself for how much air was in them. How was it possible to expel air and hold your breath at the same time? Because that was how it felt being in his arms: at once a sigh and a stopping of all bodily functions barring want.

“I thought this was your office, Y/N. Surely you should know the layout by now.”

Moment over. You pushed at his chest to stand upright, and he stepped backwards, removing his hands from your person.

“Very funny. We both know these are your books. Setting traps for me now, Spencer?”

You moved around the piles of books again as he flicked the light switch, moving the opposite way around your desks, before meeting you again next to yours.

“You're usually more observant than this. Is there something wrong today?”

“What, like Adenovirus or Rhinovirus?”

“No, like something…” he searched for the right words, pace slowing as he tried not to scare you away by talking with you like this.

“Like something on your mind.”

You snorted, leaning down to switch on your computer, and also to avoid his eye contact. Unfortunately, academic curiosity had gotten to you in the last few weeks, and you'd read some of his psychological papers. You knew exactly what it was the BAU was apparently so good at, and you didn't want him to know that you'd imagined him balls deep in you hours before.

“Not friends, Spencer. If there's something I need to talk about, I'll talk to a friend,” you said, standing straight again and turning to him again. You still avoided eye contact, but it didn't matter. His eyes weren't on your face but angled further down, like he'd been checking out your ass as you bent over or something.

No. No, you weren't going down that train of thought.

“Or even better, my therapist.” You were planning on the words being a bit more playful, but your voice came out deeper than you expected it, more gravely somehow.

Your bedroom voice, you were using your stupid fucking bedroom voice on Spencer Reid.

You cut yourself off again before you said anything else. Before he touched you or didn't touch you, and you got to test your earlier theory about which would be the more demeaning reaction.

“I have class in ten. Clean up before I get back,” you ordered, and you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up when he replied.

“I don't take direction well, Y/N.”

No, you didn't think he would. Neither did you though.

For a week, you tiptoed around the man, your words sharp, but your body weak to him.

By day, you were hurling insults back and forth, messing up his papers and screwing with him via bookshelf again.

“YOUR…FLY…IS….OPEN.”

“VERY….MATURE.”

“MADE…YOU…LOOK…THOUGH.”

“BUSY….LOOKING…AT…OTHER….THINGS.”

“LIKE…THE…UNDERGRADS…THROWING…THEMSELVES…AT…YOU…?”

“LIKE…THE…PROFESSOR…I'M APPARENTLY…DATING”

“Very fucking funny, Spencer,” you sighed at the last message, throwing the books off the shelf and pilling them up on the floor.

“Don't even for a second entertain the idea of making that gossip a reality.”

He grinned at you from behind his desk.

“Okay.”

“Don't even - don't even think about it,” you said, stepping over his desk and poking at his chest as his smile deepened.

“Heard.”

“I'm serious, Spencer, don't-”

“You've thought about it.” You froze in shock at his words, as if your blood wasn't sure whether to run cold or burn hot and fast.

“What?” You spat the words at him, unable to stop them coming out any other way.

“You've thought about entertaining the gossip. You've thought about it a lot.”

You needed to deny him, but he was right. By day, you tried to torment him, but by night, he did torment you. A week of wet dreams, of imagining him taking you over every inch of your office, of sleepless rest and failed orgams, and you could not escape.

“No,” you said with a whisper, shaking your head and trying again even as your voice cracked from the lie and your body's cry for pleasure, for this man.

“No, I haven’t- I don't-” You took a deep breath, but you knew it was no good, as his hand grabbed yours and flattened it against his chest.

“Your pupils are dilated, your pulse is heightened, and your legs are practically clamped shut. Your mouth is dry, and I'm not sure if you've noticed yet, Y/N, but you're shaking.”

“All signs of anger, Spencer, as you're well aware.”

He let go of your wrist and sat back in his seat, just out of reach of you again.

“Shame,” he whispered under his breath, nearly low enough that you didn't catch it, as he flipped open his book and continued whatever the fuck it was he even did in this office.

You ignored it, anger really flooding you now, warring the heat of arousal that was firmly settled in your body for dominance.

The anger won out.

You grabbed books from your desk, files, and papers from the side table by the couch and your laptop from your desk and left the room quickly.

You slammed the door, and you didn't look back, knowing that if you did, you'd see his winning smirk staring right back at you.

You marched yourself right to the staff administration office and put in for a week of leave. Spencer had one more week of work at the university, and then he would go back to being a regular FBI agent.

Your paths wouldn't cross because you wouldn't let them cross, not when it meant for certain that you would give in.

You spent the week working to distract yourself from work. You finished books for your next semester courses, highlighting the better articles and essays to use, going through each bibliography to find better sources if they weren't good enough. You wrote more of a research paper you didn't have time to think about with so much going on. You corresponded with students, with TAs, with the other professors who wanted to know where you were.

Okay, that was a lie. You aired the professors, but you did look out for any inboxes from him. Surprisingly, there were none.

You spent a week throwing yourself head first into your work, and still, each night, you felt his phantom touch on you. No matter how exhausted, your brain still co jured images of his hands grasping your wrists, pushing them above your head and forcing his cock into you, his lips biting against your skin, the fire of his kisses leaving scars where they trailed down.

You were running on three hours of sleep per night, sure, but at least you were as far as you could possibly get from the man ruining your life.

You poured yourself a glass of wine the next Sunday, knowing that when you went back to work the next day, he'd be gone.

You wrapped yourself in blankets and put everything else off for the day, ordering food and eating it and not moving as you worked your way through boxes of pizza.

It was when you finished your first glass and went to pour yourself another that there was a furious pounding at your door.

“Y/N, I know you're in there, open the door.” His hand sounded again, and you nearly dropped the glass at the sound of Apencer Reid's voice.

Your body acted alone, immediately following his directions as you damn near tripped over your own feet to open the door for him.

Throughout all of your arguments, all of the quips you'd thrown at him, every stupid little thing you'd done to get under his skin, you had not once seen Spencer Reid looking this angry.

His brow was furrowed uncomfortably, as if it were frozen in place. Gone was his perpetual smirk.

“Spencer, what the fuck a-”

“Thoughtless. Careless. Do you even know what you've done?” He snapped at you, stepping into your apartment and closing the door behind himself as he immediately walked into your space and began touching things.

“Stop! Fucking stop it, Spencer!” You said grabbing his arm and pulling him around to face you. He brushed you off quickly and worked his way through papers you'd left on your coffee table.

“No. You stormed out over a week ago, you blocked my number, you did not answer any of my emails-”

“I didn't get any emails,” you spit back, pushing yourself between him and your things now, bodies so close they were touching.

“Then you blocked my email, too. You don't even know what I'm looking for or the damage you could have done, do you?” His hands were on you then, not threateningly, as you'd expect, his anger still burning through him if his shaking voice had anything to say for it.

His hands stroked up your sides and back down again, smoothing away your need to think.

“My files. My team sent me a file. It was on the coffee table, and you took it with you when you left. The case is ongoing, and I'm flying out tomorrow, and without some of the classified information in that file, we will be at a disadvantage. Our odds of catching our unsub fall from 83% to 47% without all of the pertinent information.”

Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer.

“So yes, I'm going to go through your things, and if you're a good girl, you'll root through with me and help me find it.”

He stepped away then, and you held your tongue. As much as you hated him, he was right. You knew what he did, you knew who he was and to trust him not to lie to you about his chances without this information.

“The files on the coffee table are research notes, everything I took from the office is in that case over there,” you said pointing at a bag still where you'd dropped it by the door a week earlier.

He walked to it and rooted through it quickly before finding the file he obviously needed and letting some of the tension out of his shoulders.

“You're probably glad to see the back of me, right?” He said, laughing bitterly as he turned back around to you.

“Obviously not as happy as you are,” you spat back, stepping back over to him.

“If you ever speak to me that way again,” you started, spitting at him in the most threatening voice you could muster. “It won't be a fucking unsub that ruins your life.”

“And how are you going to manage that, Y/N?” He said, stepping closer to you until he had you backed up against the wall, trapped in by his bigger frame, using it to his advantage to intimidate.

“How will you manage to ruin my life,” he said, his voice softer as he finished his sentence, but not by much. “When you shake with just every time I get close?”

“This is not lust,” you growled the words out, but try as you damn might, you were shaking, vibrating even.

“Then what is it?”

“Hatred, dislike, loathing, detestation, abhorrence, fuck Spencer, you can pick up a thesaurus yourself and find out.”

“Yeah. Okay. I'll believe your lies for a second.” He walked away, he was walking away but the fire was ringing in your ears and you needed him to stay fucking put so he could take it all.

“You're a jackass.”

“Original.”

“You slammed into my life, expecting me to bend to your will and be at the mercy of your needs, your wants. Your office space, your fucking case files, your job-”

“None of that was my choice.”

“And it wasn't mine either, but at least I fucking left you alone. I spent the week in this apartment and left you the fuck alone, and you couldn't even allow me the same.”

His focus was back on you again, but you refused to be backed against a wall this time.

“What did you say?”

“You will not let me know peace. I have lost my security, my patience, my fucking sanity with each word you have said, my peace of mind, my sleep, my fucking sanity, Spencer.” Your chest was heaving, touching his with each exhale as he too held his place in front of you. He was so close, you'd practically spat the words directly into his mouth.

“How is that my fault?” He whispered, voice still dripping with disdain even as his hands again wrapped themselves in your hair, and he tugged your head back, baring your neck to him as he leaned down into you.

“How do you know that you're not doing the same to me?”

You refused to answer, though, meeting his eyes for one last second before you grabbed his hair in your hands and yanked him down to your mouth.

It wasn't so much a kiss as a battle for dominance, each trying to torture a surrender from the other with clashing tongues and teeth.

You made the first move, but he was obviously expecting it, and he didn't even pause before launching his own attack, finally pushing past your strong defence to walk you back to the sofa you'd abandoned earlier.

His tongue still lashed against yours as you retreated, refusing to give up your upper hand even as you moaned into his touch. The couch hit the back of your knees, buckling, and you silently cursed your lack of sleep for leaving you so unstable right now.

No, that wasn't true. It was him. He had left you so unstable, moving between happy and playful to angry and wrathful in the space of a week without you, and you'd been denying yourself the ability to even entertain any of this happening. Now that it was, your body was unprepared, totally at his mercy, as he pushed you to your back and pushed up your skirt.

“You're already so fucking wet,” he groaned slipping two fingers inside you as you moaned around him, no longer capable of thought. This was the moment, this was when he was going to make you submit to him finally.

Instead, he dropped to his knees and you gasped as his to guess found your sweet cunt and he began sucking to your clit.

You were on fire, skin scorched from the inside out, spreading in waves from your pussy to the furthest regions of your body.

With one hand, he spread your thighs further apart and pushed his entire face further into your cunt, tongue pushing inside right by his fingers, nose pushed right up against your clit as he didn't relent. Every movement was another curse falling from your mouth.

“Shit, Spencer, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered, hips rocking back and forth as you tried to fuck his face, begging for more.

To your surprise, he didn't keep your hips still but let you keep riding his face, riding his fingers as you chased your first orgasm.

It came quickly, overwhelming you with the impact, jolting through your body like a lightning bolt as he let your hips shake and crash across his tongue.

When he finally pulled his face away, it was glistening, and he wasted no time shoving his tongue back in your mouth. His message was clear - he may have let you take whatever pleasure you'd wanted with him, but he was still the one in control.

You trailed kisses along his cheeks, neck, shoulders as he divested himself of clothing, shirt, belt, pants, ripping at yours to free your body as well, until the two of you were only left with underwear and you'd picked up every last drop of your cum left on his skin.

“On your back, now,” he said, and you complied. You spread your legs, and rubbed at your still wet cunt, jolting as he finally lined himself up with your cunt.

But he didn't push in yet. Instead he wrapped two arms under your knees and pulled you closer, so his cock rested over the top of your stomach, and leaned down, his face hovering inches over your own, holding himself up with a forearm rested just above your head.

“You see that?” He said, glancing down. “That is how much I am going to fill you. That is how deep I am going to ease into you. That is how far I am going to go to claim you. You can take it like a good girl, right?”

“Just shut up and put your cock inside me, Spencer.”

“You're so fucking pushy for a submissive little slut,” he said, smiling finally.

“I am not a-” you started to protest, but he slid inside of your hot cunt and you lost the ability to focus.

“Not a what, Y/N? Speak up,” thrusting shallowly as your cunt grabbed him and held tight.

“I'm not a- SPENCER!” You screamed his name as he pulled out quickly, thrusting into you again with a speed and strength that had you wrapping your arms and legs around him tightly, fighting for him to stay right there deep inside.

“Not a sub? Y/N, you're whimpering and drooling right now. You're three seconds away from begging for my cock, why the fuck can you not be honest with yourself?”

“Fuck…you,” you said between moans as he rutted into you like a beast. He wasn't man anymore, bit monster, and he was claiming you inch by disgustingly perfect inch.

“Let go. Let me take care of you, let me control you. Come on, baby, you know how good it would feel,” he said, before ducking his head and wrapping his tongue around a nipple.

You screamed his name again, but you still tried to resist.

“Come on, Y/N. Show me. Cum on my cock.”

For a brief moment, you'd thought you'd resisted the demand. But then your brain faded, and your nails cut into his back like daggers as your body followed his commands and you came on his cock for a second time that night.

“Perfect. One more, you can do one more,” he said, kissing your lips and lifting himself back up so he was sitting on his knees as he again picked up the pace.

You mumbled his name over and over again as he fucked out all of the frustration in your body. Every thing either of you had said or done melted away in the glow of pleasure, your body buzzing from the feeling of him taking ownership of you.

“One more, Y/N. One more, you need to cum one more time.”

“I can't, I can't I can't I can't, Spencer I can't I really can't,” you said, voice growing pathetically whiny as the tears sprang to your eyes and you choked back a sob.

“Yes you can, one more. Together, we can do it together,” he said, groaning as you clenched around him.”

He claimed your mouth again, his hand wrapping around your throat as he cut off your air supply for a second, then two, then three, as your ears buzzed and you finally slipped over the edge again.

But this time, as promised, you weren't the only one caught in the pain of pleasure. Spencer collapsed on top of you as his dick spurted inside you, holding you close as he unloaded everything he had into you.

He sat there, warming his cock as he lazily kissed open mouth kisses into every inch of your shoulders, collar bone and chest. Everywhere he could reach without pulling out of you and leaving you there.

After weeks of no sleep because of him, it was his soft lips that finally enticed you into the hands of the sandman, his weight a comfort as you closed your eyes.

When you woke in your bed, clean and clothed, he was gone, and so was every sign that he'd ever been there in the first place.

🔖 @stillhere197 @understandingsunrise @mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @nox-sprite @alondralolll @allspicestones @chiyozai @i_heart_mgg @2hiigh2cry @tiyuel @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig @pisceslovrr @waywardgoddess66 @tampon_racecar @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @a1dyn @pleasantwitchgarden @kolasbombaf @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @melagem02 @calypso-read @ari-aurelia

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#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #dom spencer reid #sub reader #x reader

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queers-gambit · 11 months ago

Text

Love What You've Done with the Place

song by Rascal Flatts

prompt: he's never been a man built for relationships, until you come into his life. now, the house feels like a home.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: more brain rot rambles, probably cursing, NOT edited, very docile, fluff, romance, hardened men being simps.

It started with clothes. Just a few, here and there; left behind, forgotten, purposefully stuffed in his dresser for when you stayed the nights. He didn't mind, in fact, Tangerine encouraged you to bring whatever you felt comfortable with leaving since he hated how early you'd leave in the mornings to get ready for work. He found his mornings were peaceful when you were around; neither rushed, both content, starting your days on high notes with each other.

So, he made the decision and found an old sitting-vanity for you. He put it in his bedroom simply because he was fascinated with the hair and make-up process; thinking it was incredible that women had such skill. When he came home about 3 months ago, he noticed your vanity when he first got home from a particularly difficult mission. Your chair was draped in an old university tee shirt, and he smiled.

It was like watching your comfort grow and it warmed something deep in Tangerine's heart. Your make-up wasn't always in a neat array, sometimes just left from a quick touch-up; making the house feel more like a home.

Tangerine also bought a strainer for the shower's drain to catch your hair. He didn't get angry like previous boyfriends did when he found strands of your hair left behind - not on purpose or by some gross standard, but it was natural that hair shed in a shower and not every single strand could be picked up. So, to make life easier, he just quietly bought the hair trap, placed it, removed whatever empty bottles from the shower, and went about his day. But then he started to notice your hair left other places.

His counters, his sink, the floor, your vanity, his bed sheets and pillows.

Tangerine had his issues with possessiveness in the past, but this wasn't remotely similar. No, Tangerine found himself smiling when he would find your hair in his clothes; thinking it was funny, almost like a mark or badge of honor to designate him as yours. It was a brief thought, but Tangerine actually felt giddy by the idea of people just knowing he was off the market 'cause his lady's hair was clung to his suit jackets.

He liked it. He really did. He'd not admit it aloud, but he liked it.

Tangerine wasn't the most humble man in the world, but he certainly liked to flash what was his. Golden jewelry, expensive, tailored suits, shining Italian leather shoes. And now, you, the woman who invaded his heart and head - and now his home. He adored showing you off, feeling affirmed and invigorated by the longing glances men threw your way, and while he expected jealousy from other women, they seemed more impressed by your beauty and grace as well.

He remembers one night, after a several weeks long mission, he just wanted to hold you. His throat was a little choked up when he called you, knowing you were at home after reading an earlier text. So, you rushed over in the middle of the night and he'd yet to let you go home - three days later.

"You've gonna have to let me out of bed sometime," you smiled playfully. "I have work tomorrow - and no, I'm not calling out again."

"C'mon, love, don't leave me alone," he whispered, looking like a beaten down puppy. The mission was much harder than he'd let on, but Lemon usually always filled you in. He thought it was important for you to know certain details that Tangerine was sure to omit, knowing those were the details that haunted him.

"I'll be back after my shift," you promised, nuzzling his nose with your own. "I also need new panties and clean clothes."

He sighed, "Some in there," he pointed to his closet now.

"What?" You giggled.

"You've left enough behind, got a bit of a collection goin', yeah?" He smiled softly, wrapping you back up in his arms. With a sigh, he relented, "I'll let yah go to work, love, just... Need this a bit longer."

You obliged, but the next day, you were gone before he woke up. With a frown, Tangerine dropped back onto the bed - but inhaled deeply when his nose buried into your pillow. He hummed in pleasure, feeling himself brim with contentment, bringing the fluffy item to his chest and nuzzling it; your perfume left behind to soothe him.

Was Tangerine clingy? Oh, for sure! He didn't think so, but you knew better. The contract killer liked you close, liked his hands on you; even if it was just a hand on your waist or a nose near your neck. He missed you when gone, but he usually held himself back from texting you all day - wanting you to be able to focus on your job.

But that day? He was inept, just wanting you; wondering if he paid you the same salary, if you'd consider just staying home. So, he texted you several times.

This obviously threw you off a little, knowing him better than himself most days. But he just missed you, so, you sent a selfie - promising you missed him too and would be home right after work.

He saved the photo and tried not to dwell on how you said you'd "be home" and not "come to his place". He had to take a few moments to calm down, feeling his heart zing with unfamiliarity - but not being afraid of it like he had been when you first started dating. He could recognize he was happy, that he was excited to see you everyday, and that the idea of coming home to you was far too appealing to ignore any longer.

It seemed neither of you needed to actually have an official conversation about living together. Lemon didn't mind, in fact, he was the one who insisted you have your own key; adoring you and whatever affect you had on his emotionally constipated brother. So, some mornings, Tangerine wasn't surprised to find a slightly damp towel left hanging in the bathroom, nor by the make-up on his counter - you using that mirror because of the fluorescent lighting. He never put it back, he didn't move it - he liked seeing it. It meant you were still here, and the idea of it being gone made his stomach knot with anxiety. He also wasn't surprised when he went to use the shampoo you insisted would help his curls flourish (you were right), only to find it damn-near empty. His shower gel, too.

When you came home that evening, you had Target bags in hand; replacing whatever was empty, making Tangerine grin to himself by how in-sync he felt with you. He'd never had a connection such as this, only ever feeling close enough to Lemon, but you changed everything for them both.

How Tangerine ended up with someone courteous was truly beyond either of them. Someone kind, caring, adventurous, sweeter than pie - someone definitely out of Tangerine's league, something he never let himself forget. He adored you to your core - thinking someone such as you should never have gotten tangled up in someone like him, but he knew, if the time ever came, he'd never be able to let you go. In fact, most days, he had to convince himself not to just pick you up and carry you around while he did chores or ran errands.

The very idea of losing you sent his heart into his stomach; hallowing his chest in a harrowing fashion that made it hard to breathe. Just a week or two ago, Lemon found Tangerine in the kitchen, hand to his chest as if he couldn't catch his breath, heaving for air; his worry spiking, but quickly realizing what was wrong.

"Bruv, you've gotta breathe - calm down," he tried to coax. "You're having a panic attack, you've gotta just focus on breathing."

"Fuck off with that!"

"Seriously, man," Lemon insisted, catching Tangerine in a vulnerable state enough that he actually listened without much of a fight. When Tan seemed a little more under control of his own emotions, Lemon asked, "What the hell happened?"

Tangerine shook his head, "Nothing t'worry 'bout - "

"Bullshit," Lemon snapped. "I've never seen yah like that, mate, the fuck happened?"

It was embarrassing, but Tangerine managed to answer, "Just... Just started thinking that if she ever left me, I'd fucking crumble, mate."

This made Lemon frown, "She's not gonna leave you, man. You know that. The girl's madly in love with you, yeah? Like madly in love - like to a degree it makes her stupid in the head, all right? Obviously, you too," he chuckled, shaking his head as he affectionately ran a hand over the back of Tan's head. "You're workin' yourself up, 's all right. You don't have to think about that - ever - 'cause she's it for you, mate. Yeah? Hear me? She ain't goin' nowhere, not without you."

Tangerine needed the assurance. Being alone after having a taste of your love felt impossible to Tan now, something he was never bothered by before. Seriously, why give a fuck about a relationship when he had his brother? Someone who loved him unconditionally and wouldn't leave? And then he met you and understood why people gave fucks about relationships.

It was as if every room you ever entered was brightened up simply by your smile. Your laugh wasn't always the most ladylike, but it was genuine and true and always made Tangerine smile to himself. During any public outing, Tan was always close - we've established this - but he liked to play a small game. One of your love languages was physical touch, so, you liked kissing him if even just for a single second. He was aware of your lipstick, feeling the tacky substance stain his cheek, but he wouldn't wipe it off. His game was to see how long it'd take before someone would point it out; his reputation didn't always warrant others to feel secure enough to speak up. Some nights, Lemon would motion to his cheek, and other nights, you'd return home, remove your make-up, and swipe make-up remover over his cheek to clear the color away.

However, it wasn't often you ventured in public due to Tangerine's innate introverted nature. You went if The Agency made it mandatory or if you were feeling stir crazy, but majority nights, Lemon would find you both lounged on the couch in various positions.

Sometimes, you'd be watching a movie together or binging a show. Other times, you were reading a book while Tangerine poured over paperwork. And once or twice, Lemon's come home to find you belly laughing and playfully scolding Tangerine as he tried to paint your toe nails. It was a homey sight to Lemon: seeing his brother so in love and at ease, hearing your laughter, the entire flat filled with warm smells of burning candles and homemade meals.

It wasn't evident at first, but with you laying in Tangerine's arms, clothes left on the floor, bellies full of whatever meal you had prepared that evening, favorite show playing on the bedroom TV, he realized that he loved what you had done with the place.

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

#tangerine #tangerine bullet train #bullet train tangerine #tangerine imagine #tangerine oneshot #tangerine x you #tangerine x reader #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine x f!reader #tangerine x female!reader #bullet train #bullet train movie #bullet train 2022 #tangerine atj #atj tangerine #atj #atj character

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rosyblooom · 8 months ago

Text

blooming season🌷 (1) | ln4

"grief is just love with no place to go”

PAIRING: lando norris x fem nepo!reader WORD COUNT: 2.6k WARNING(S): mentions of death & blood, swearing SUMMARY: four years after she fled monaco, y/n is back on the anniversary of her father's death. however, an unexpected encounter with an f1 driver disrupts her plans. A/N: my first time doing this, so probably has errors. if you've got any thoughts or requests pls let me know xoxo hope u enjoy! :)

part 1 <- | part 2

The scent of salt still lingers in the air, but now it feels different, not as welcoming as it used to be. It's a painful reminder of days gone by, days filled with joy and warmth that now seem distant and unattainable. No matter how hard you try, you can't shake off the memories, replaying them in your mind like a scratched vinyl record that refuses to play properly.

Today marks four years since your father's passing, and four years since you left Monaco. You were just eighteen then, fresh out of high school, when the news of your father's tragic car accident hit you like a ton of bricks. In a desperate attempt to escape the overwhelming sorrow, you packed your bags that very night and left before the weight of it all drowned you.

You couldn't bring yourself to attend your father's funeral, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't real. But deep down, you knew the truth—your father was gone, and nothing could change that. Even as you threw yourself into your studies, pursuing a nursing degree, the pain never truly went away.

And now, here you are, sitting alone on this deserted stretch of beach, watching the waves crash against the shore in a steady rhythm.

This spot holds a special place in your heart, known only to a handful of locals—a fact you couldn't be more grateful for. Here, away from the watchful eyes of tourist crowds, you find solace as you simply listen to the earth rotate.

You exhale slowly, leaning forward to brush the sand from your palms before reaching into your bag for the bottle of red wine nestled inside. It takes a bit of effort to uncork it completely, but the satisfying pop is worth the wait. With careful precision, you fill a wine glass to the brim with the rich, maroon liquid—something to take the edge off.

"Welcome back, Y/N," you whisper to yourself, lifting the glass in a silent salute. "Thank you, thank you. I can't imagine anything worse."

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, a stark contrast to your usual composed demeanour. It's been 1,460 days, yet it feels like your world only just came crashing yesterday.

Needing calm now, you take a sip of the wine, savouring its sweetness, when the sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention, pulling you back to the present moment.

"Seriously?" you think to yourself, feeling your heart plummet like a stone sinking into deep waters. You took every precaution to keep your return under wraps—after all, you paid good money for that privilege.

Arriving just last night, you made it a point to rise at the crack of dawn, a time before the world awoke; a time when it's just you and no one else. You couldn't bear the idea of facing the prying eyes that would surely accompany the day ahead. For once, you didn't want to be known as the daughter of one of Monaco's wealthiest families; you simply wanted to be yourself, stripped of titles and expectations—a daughter mourning her father.

Feeling like a trapped animal, you become acutely aware of every sound and movement, your gaze locked on the figure approaching.

A man.

His brown curls bounce with each step until he comes to an abrupt stop just a few feet away from you.

With a small wave and a nod, he greets you with a simple "Hey."

It takes a moment for you to register that the greeting is directed at you, causing you to tear your gaze away without a response. Your eyes flit between the gentle ripples of the sea and the man settling down uncomfortably close, prompting an annoyed grunt to escape your lips.

“Fuck spatial awareness, huh…,” you mutter under your breath, though not quiet enough to evade his notice. He slips off his black headphones, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Sorry, what?"

You clear your throat, then sit up straight and gesture expansively. "All this space, and you have to sit right next to me?”

He smiles.

Your gaze narrows.

"But I'm not right next to you," he retorts with a playful grin. "You're all the way over there." He points towards you and then at himself. "And I'm right here."

"Well, it's still too close," you snap.

"Sorry, did you buy this beach or something?" he counters, his grin widening. "Last time I checked, it's open to all members of—."

Growing increasingly frustrated, you interject, "No, I didn't buy anything. I just want some personal space. But clearly, that's lost on you."

With a scoff, you spring to your feet, snatching up your towel and cramming it into your bag, sand and all.

"Wait, you don't have to leave," he insists, his footsteps drawing closer. But you pay him no mind, tossing your phone into your bag and hastily gathering the rest of your belongings from the ground.

Once everything is crammed into your bag, you snatch up your half-empty glass of wine and stand upright, only to feel a foreign warmth enveloping your hand and glass. The man now stands directly in front of you, invading your personal space completely; you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his piercing green gaze.

"Look, I'm sorry if I did something wrong, but—" he begins, but you cut him off sharply.

"Way too close now," you snap, attempting to pull your hand away, but he refuses to release his grip.

"You do realise I'm trying to apologise, right?" he asks, confusion evident in his eyes.

"I don't care."

His grip remains firm. "There's plenty of space for both of us here."

"It doesn't matter anymore," you respond, your patience wearing thin.

The struggle continues, your voice growing louder with each tug. "Let go of the fucking glass!"

Suddenly, a sharp yell pierces the air, followed by the hollow thuds of broken glass hitting the ground. Shock washes over you as you barely register the sticky liquid trickling down your hand and onto your toes.

"Ah, shit," he exclaims, snapping you out of your daze. You quickly assess the situation, noticing the shattered remnants of the wine glass scattered on the ground, staining the sand crimson.

Panic sets in as you frantically check your hand and feet for any injuries, your eyes wide with fear. After several anxious moments, you breathe a sigh of relief.

I'm okay.

The tranquillity is abruptly shattered by deep groans echoing through the air, drawing your attention to the man's slumped figure with his back turned to you. His face remains hidden from view.

Though he's clearly in pain, you're tempted to slip on your shoes and make a hasty escape. Today is already burdened with its own weight; you're not sure you can handle any more. You even take a step back, ready to flee, but then something stops you.

A pang of guilt washes over you, weighing you down like heavy bags strapped to your legs. With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly admit to yourself, "I can't believe I'm about to do this."

"Okay, fine. How about you put on your big boy boots and let me take a look at that?" you say, crossing your arms expectantly.

There's no reaction from him, not even a response.

Rolling your eyes, you drop your bag onto the sand and cautiously circle around him until you're face-to-face with his unruly brown curls.

"Hello?" you tap his shoulder, frustration creeping into your voice. "Earth to the stranger who doesn't understand personal space?"

"Seriously?" he retorts, his tone sharp.

His eyes meet yours as he straightens up, his expression guarded, but you simply shrug, maintaining a neutral demeanour, and extend your hand.

"Let me see," you say calmly.

For a moment, he simply stares at you in bewilderment, but then he tentatively extends his hand towards yours.

"I see," you breathe, examining the large cut in his palm with care, mindful not to dirty it with your fingers. Despite the blood seeping from the wound, you release a relieved sigh after a thorough inspection—it's not as deep as it initially appeared.

"Alright," you announce, dropping his hand and clapping your hands together. "Go home, make sure nothing touches that hand, clean the cut, and bandage it. Keep it dry for a couple of days, and then reassess."

Without waiting for a response, you turn towards your bag, sling it over your shoulder, and shoot him one final glance.

"This has been... unpleasant," you remark dryly. "I really hope our paths don't cross again. Goodbye."

"Wait!"

You shake your head and ignore him, determined to continue onward.

"Wait!" he calls out again, desperation evident in his tone. "I don't have any bandages!"

You stop walking, considering his words, but still don't turn around.

"And... I don't have any sanitising stuff either," he adds, his voice trailing off slightly.

Slowly, you turn around and wave your hands dismissively in the air, shouting back, "That's what supermarkets are for! I guess it's time for a shopping trip!"

Just as you're about to spin on your heel and leave again, his voice cuts through the distance.

"Look, you seem like you know what you're doing. Can't you just help me out here?"

Shielding your eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, you squint at him as he begins jogging toward you. "That advice," you shout back, "was me helping you out. Trust me, I wanted to leave way earlier."

For a moment, neither of you speaks as you watch him closing the distance between you. When he finally comes to a halt in front of you, you instinctively take two steps back—you need your personal space.

"So?" he says between pants, waiting for your response.

You furrow your brows, deep in thought. "Well, I don't have anything on me, sorry to disappoint. But like I said, there are shops around here."

You resume your walk, but to your dismay, the guy falls into step with you almost immediately.

"So, what? You have nothing at home?" he presses, his gaze burning into the side of your face.

Refusing to meet his eyes, you increase your speed.

"Right, because I'm just going to invite a stranger," you emphasise, "who I didn't want to be around in the first place, into my home."

His hand suddenly grips your arm, causing you to instinctively rip out of his grasp, both of you coming to an abrupt halt.

"What?" you bark, irritation seeping into your tone.

"You can google me," he offers, his voice calmer now. "Lando Norris, Formula One driver. Search my name up. You'll see pictures—every single detail about me, you'll probably find on the internet. Now I'm not a stranger anymore, right?" he suggests, his gaze pleading.

You remain silent, shifting your focus toward the calm waters as you breathe in and out. It feels as though the world has paused, waiting for you to come to a decision, to reach a conclusion.

Today, the anniversary of your father's death, is a day you've been dreading yet anticipating for so long. Its disruption unsettles you, but deep down, you know you can't simply ignore it. As much as you wish to skip over this chapter of your life, tear out its pages, and never look back, you can't. It's not healthy.

Still, that doesn't mean you can't delay it for a little while longer.

"Fine," you sigh, relenting to the situation, and begin rummaging through your bag until you locate your phone.

Quickly, you extract it and raise it to Lando's face, snapping a photo of him with the flash on.

"What the hell?" he exclaims, blinking rapidly.

"For my protection," you state matter-of-factly. "Just because you're famous doesn't mean you can't be a bad person."

Once his gaze meets yours again, he runs a hand through his hair and offers a sheepish smile. "Fair enough."

You nod, acknowledging his words, and continue your walk toward the car park.

"I'm not a bad person, though," he adds quickly, catching up to you.

"Colour me convinced," you reply dryly.

*********

As you approach the car park, annoyance bubbles within you at the sight of it: filled with cars and swarmed by dozens of people.

"You said you're a Formula One driver, right?" you ask, tilting your head up at Lando.

"Yeah, why?" he responds.

Instead of answering, you grab the hood of his jacket and pull it over his head.

"Why did you do that—" Lando begins, but you cut him off.

"The last thing I need is a mob of your fans, okay?" you interject firmly. "The quicker we get this done, the sooner we can go our separate ways."

Lando chuckles as he adjusts the hood. "I'm really that bad, huh?"

"Worse," you deadpan.

"...Right."

With your raven car in sight, you quicken your pace, relief flooding through you. The last thing you want is for people to realise you're back, especially not today.

However, as if your luck has run out, a woman steps in front of you, blocking your path. You immediately turn your focus to Lando, motioning for him to take a picture with his fan and hurry up.

But instead of the attention falling on him, a weight suddenly falls onto your shoulder, catching you off guard. You clear your throat, preparing to speak, but the woman beats you to it.

"Oh my goodness, Y/N. It's you, isn't it?" the woman exclaims, her voice filled with recognition and sympathy.

You can't reply; your mouth feels dry, your tongue heavy with unspoken words.

No, not today. Please, not today.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Y/N," she continues, her expression radiating pity. It's uncomfortable—the way she looks at you, the way she touches your shoulder so gently. It feels like you're being burned alive, yet you're immobilised, just as you were four years ago when you first heard the news.

"Your father was such an amazing man. And you, I mean, you've been missed. My daughter loves you—"

Suddenly, you're being pulled forward, jolting you out of your trance. You struggle to keep your balance as you try to comprehend what's happening—the woman is gone, and Lando's hand is firmly clasped around yours, pulling you closer to him.

Your personal space has been completely invaded, yet you don't feel the usual urge to pull away. Even if you did, you're not quite sure Lando would let you.

"Your car's the black one, right?" you hear him ask, but the words don't immediately register.

"Huh?" you mumble, still reeling from the encounter.

"That black car over there," Lando points and leans in close, his gaze locked with yours, "that's yours, right?"

You nod, still not quite ready to speak.

Lando releases your hand and holds out his palm to you. "Okay, car keys, please?"

"What? No," you shake your head, rejecting the idea. "There's no need for that."

"Come on, I'm a Formula One driver, remember? I won't crash it."

"It would be irresponsible of me to let you drive in this state," he adds, his voice firm.

"And what about your hand?" you nod toward the injury.

"Like I said," Lando smiles slyly, cocking his head to the side, "I drive race cars; I think I can handle driving with one hand."

Rolling your eyes, you relent, "Okay, fine."

With a sigh, you fish out the car keys from your bag and hand them over to him.

4:05 ───────────ㅇ─ 4:28

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nastybuckybarnes · 28 days ago

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Okay, a little change of pace from how the stories have been going but what if Mouse got sick or something? And Ghost starts to worry when he hasn’t heard from her. Just feeling under the weather and would love to see some comfort. Maybe with soup 🍲

So this is a little more angsty than I thought it would be for some reason??? but there is still our good ole ghost comforting his sweet sickly little mouse 🩵

It started off as a gentle cough, and then your head started to ache, and now your skin is crawling and you feel like you can hardly breathe.

You curl up in the fetal position in your house for the week - an old library with a comfortable couch hidden in the back between the knocked-over bookshelves.

It's getting worse.

You can feel the illness seeping into your bones, and all you want is the comfort of your mother's touch.

Unfortunately, that's not going to happen anytime soon.

Pushing yourself onto your knees, you rummage around through your little backpack, searching for rations, water, anything to fill your aching stomach.

A frustrated groan leaves your lips and you sink further into the couch.

You're trapped. Without food, you won't get better, but you don't have the strength to get up and find food.

A single tear slides down your cheek as you burrow into the couch, trying to fight off the shivers threatening to shake your teeth out of your head.

"Hey, would'ya relax? M'sure she's fine. Prolly got tired'a seein' yer ugly mug s'all," Soap teases, nudging his Lieutenant's shoulder as they walk through the streets.

Ghost only shakes his head.

Something's not right.

He hasn't seen you in days, bordering on a week, and the little skulls have disappeared as well.

He'd be lying if he said the worry wasn't all but eating him alive.

He knows you're not dead, he can feel it in his bones, but that doesn't change the fact that you've seemingly dropped off the face of the planet without so much as a 'goodbye'.

He's pulled from his thoughts by the sound of weak coughing. Brows drawing together, he steps around Soap and follows the sound, weapon at the ready as he enters the small book shop.

Soap is a half-step behind him, always on his six and scanning the shop.

"Back there," he whispers, nodding to a small movement near the back of the library.

Ghost heads in the direction, pausing when there's another soft weak cough, but this one is followed by an even weaker moan of pain.

Putting his weapon down, Ghost approaches quickly, his heart in his throat when he finally lays his eyes on you.

"Mouse?"

You don't open your eyes, all you do is whine softly.

Soap continues through the library as Ghost rushes to your side, yanking his glove off with his teeth and pressing two fingers to your neck.

Your pulse is quick but strong, and that eases a good portion of his fear. What doesn't, however, is the sticky sweat clinging to your burning hot skin.

"Mouse, wake up. C'mon, look at me."

He shakes your shoulder gently, his frown deepening when you still don't wake up.

Setting his weapon down, he tugs you into his arms to sit you upright, carefully cradling your head the entire time.

"Come on, little one. Don't do this to me," he whispers, patting your cheeks gently.

Another whine falls from your lips and you roll your head to the side, away from him.

It's not much but it's better than nothing.

"Soap!" He barks, darting his eyes to his partner.

"Get me water."

He obeys, sliding a bottle of water over and watching as the skull-faced soldier yanks the cap off.

He tilts your head back and carefully drips some water onto your tongue, watching in satisfaction as you swallow eagerly

He continues this until you've had nearly half the water bottle, then sets it down and presses the back of his hand to your forehead.

Your eyes flutter open, vision blurry and distant for a good long moment.

When your gaze finally focuses, you feel your heart skip a beat.

"Ghost...?"

He nods, cupping your cheek gently.

"M'here, Mouse."

Your face screws up in pain and silent tears stream down your cheeks.

"Don't feel good," you whisper.

He nods, his eyes soft and almost sympathetic.

"I know, little one. It's okay, it'll all be okay."

You curl up into his side, a shaky breath leaving you as your bones and muscles ache.

"Hungry," you murmur, nuzzling your head into his neck subconsciously.

He's taken slightly aback by your bold display of affection, but he makes no move to pull you from him. Instead, he offers you what little comfort he can and slides an arm around your shoulders.

You hum happily, basking in the warmth that seems to follow him around like a shadow.

"I'll see if I can find any food. Somethin' tha'll go down easy," Soap volunteers quietly, waiting for Ghost's nod of approval before leaving the library.

"How long have you been sick?" He asks quietly after a moment, rubbing your arm gently.

You huff out a few laboured breaths - as if it's a strain to even do that.

"Days," you finally groan out.

He fights an internal battle.

Should he bring you back to base where they can properly nurse you back to health? Risk bringing an outsider in?

You've been there once before, but not for your own benefit. Not for something like this.

"Are you feeling any better?" He asks softly, smoothing your hair away from your clammy forehead.

You shake your head before allowing it to fall limply against his shoulder again.

He shifts the two of you slightly, pulling you so that your back is against his chest with your head resting comfortably against him. He tucks his chin on your head, arms wrapping tightly around your torso as you take quick shallow breaths.

"Soap's gonna get you some food. Everything will be okay," he whispers once more.

You hum your acknowledgement softly then immediately lean forward as a coughing fit rips through your body.

Ghost moves with you, one steady hand on your back as you start to heave over the side of the couch.

Luckily for you, with your stomach empty, there's nothing for you to throw up.

When your coughing and gagging subsides, Ghost pulls you into his arms again, shushing you quietly when you whimper into his hold.

"Ghost... go. Or you get sick."

He chuckles once softly and gives his head a shake, rubbing his thumb over your wrist gently.

"'M'not goin' anywhere, love."

His words bring you a far greater amount of comfort than you thought they would.

You snuggle against him comfortably, trying to match your breathing with the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your head.

You're not sure when you doze off, but the sound of metal on metal pulls you out of your light sleep.

A groggy wine leaves your lips and you stretch against his chest.

"She's like a kitten more than a mouse," Soap's voice says.

You blink your eyes open a few times, and the blurry eyes of your soldier look right down at you.

"There she is," he murmurs, stroking your warm skin gently.

"Soap brought you some soup, a real delicacy."

You slowly raise your eyes to the other soldier and the small can in his hand.

"S'not quite home-cooked but it'll hafta do for now," the Scot says apologetically.

He hands the can to Ghost, who repositions the two of you once more so that he can spoon-feed you the watery mush more comfortably.

You open your mouth each time he raises the spoon, your eyes half-closed as your weak body aches for more rest.

Eventually, after you've finished almost the whole can, you turn your head away and refuse any more.

"All finished?"

You nod, curling up into his chest once more.

He sets the can down with a heavy sigh and holds you in his arms, resting his chin on top of your head.

It doesn't take long for you to fall asleep cradled against the big man, something that catches Soap off guard.

"Wha're we gonna do with her?" He asks softly.

Ghost only sighs. He's been thinking about that since he found you curled up on the couch.

"Find more food and water for her, and leave your first aid kit. We can't stay here, but we can make her comfortable."

"Yes Sir."

Soap spends a good portion of the night finding more food and supplies, filling the library with as many cans of soup and his own rations as he can. Water bottles are stacked in neat piles, and his first aid kit sits beside them.

The windows have been barricaded and the doors blocked off as much as possible. It's not so much to keep you in, lord knows they have a higher chance of seeing a unicorn. It's to keep others out while you recover.

As the sun begins to rise, Ghost slips you off of his lap and lays you on the couch once more, stroking your hair gently and taking your hand when you reach out for him.

"'ve'gotta go, Mouse. But I'll come check on you, I promise."

You peel your tired, bloodshot eyes open and stare up at him.

"Ghost come back?" You croak.

He nods, cupping your cheek.

He can feel Soap's eyes on him, on the two of you, but he pays it no mind. Not right now.

"I'll come back, always f'you."

You nod your agreement then let your eyes fall closed once more.

Ghost gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze, and then he's on his feet, marching past soap and maneuvering his way through the barricades and back onto the street.

Soap comes out a second later, falling into a natural step behind the Lieutenant.

He's abnormally quiet for a few moments, before finally speaking.

"What's goin' on there? With yer mouse?"

Ghost eyes him for a moment, then continues walking silently.

"S'obvious she means somethin' to ya. What's goin' on? You just havin' fun or is there somethin' else to it?"

"Johnny," he warns lowly.

This isn't a conversation he really wants to be having. Not now, not when he hasn't even allowed himself to have these thoughts alone.

"M'jus sayin', you oughta be careful. What do we really know about her?"

In an instant, the Sergeant is pinned against the wall, Ghost's angry eyes glaring up at him.

"What we know is that she's already saved your sorry arse for no personal gain. For no reason other than that she could, she wanted to. What we know is that she's given us crucial intel," He growls.

Soap raises his hands in surrender, but he doesn't back down.

"You don't find that a wee bit suspicious? People don't just help for no reason, Lt."

Maybe, at first it was for no reason, but now it's not that and everyone knows it. He just doesn't want to admit it.

"She can't want to? She can't see that maybe we're not the bad guys?"

Soap shrugs, still seemingly unfazed by the hostility directed towards him. It only proves his point.

"Even if she did, doesn' explain why you feel the need to play Doctor. You're not out doin' that for the rest'a our informants."

Ghost grinds his teeth together and takes a step back, releasing the Scot.

"All m'tryna say is that you've got shit to figure out. And you'd better do it fast. We're makin' good progress. You know it, I know it. It's only a matter of time, now."

He does know. It's been plaguing him for a while.

Every day brings them closer to success, to victory and to peace. Here, at least. And once they've reached it, they're outta here. They'll say a happy farewell to the bombs, guns, and the locals.

And to his little mouse.

He's not sure he'll be able to let you go.

#lex answers #simon riley x reader #ghost and mouse #ghost x reader #angst #idk y'all where are we gonna go with this we'll find out

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