#JUST STOP SOMEWHERE AND FUCKIN CHILL

[twistedappletree]

I WANNA SCREAM WITH EVERYONE IN THE KCD2 TAG SO BAD BUT I DONT WANNA SPOIL THE HANSRY KISS AKANAKJSAKJAS

[maiiuelle]

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“take off your top.” the man on the couch across from you barks with a toothy grin, prying eyes focused on you as he puts a bottle of beer to his lips.

you know rafe doesn’t like playing games at his parties. it’s so below him, he’d rather sit back and relax, for once leaving the chaos up to everyone else. in the comfort of his own home he can truly let loose. now that tannyhill is technically his, he couldn’t care less if someone breaks one of the gauche vases rose picked out, or puts a hole in one of the walls — he’s too busy seizing the opportunity to drink, smoke, or snort whatever he pleases.

you like it when he’s chill, it gives you the opportunity to get exactly what you want out of him. you caught him at the perfect time — nursing a drink, swirling the brown liquid in his glass as he nodded along to something topper was saying. you seized the moment, attaching yourself to his side. “come on, rafey! please, it’ll be fun!” you bounced like a little bunny, slipping your hand in his to sweeten the deal. “please, please, please — i don’t wanna play by myself.”

“nah, babe. truth or dare? that’s some fuckin’ high school shit.”

“please, just this once?” you press your cheek against his arm, pushing your cherry-glossed lips into a pout.

that’s how you end up perched on his lap, your boyfriend tucked comfortably into the couch on his porch. you’re really regretting it all now, the feeling of everyones eyes on you makes your skin crawl. you wish you could just disappear, caught like a deer in headlights, sputtering as you peer around the room.

rafe breathes out a laugh, and the room quiets in anticipation. he adjusts his position to lean forward, his hand squeezing your thigh like a stress ball.

“what’d you say?”

“i think everyone heard me.” the boy gawks, still watching you.

“that’s funny.”

“i’m not joking. it’s the game, bro.”

your face feels red hot, matching the heat you feel radiating from rafe. you’re afraid to move, your eyes only shifting to your boyfriends face, who you’ve never seen so angry.

“nah, nah, you’re real funny, man.” he hooks his hand under one of your legs, the other arm around your back to lift you up off his lap, dropping you haphazardly on the couch cushion beside the two of you as he pushes himself out of the seat to confront the kid.

“rafe!”

he’s already got the boy by the collar by the time topper and kelce try to stop him, your hands fly over your mouth as you watch it all unfold before you. rafe shakes him, “you’re a comedian, huh? you think i’m about to let you disrespect not only me, but my girl, in my fuckin’ house?” he raises his voice, everyone else completely silent as he shoves the kid toward the door. “take that shit somewhere else, get the fuck out.”

rafe’s shoulders heave, watching the boy scamper away with his tail between his legs before he turns around, looking at you. “game’s over, let’s go.” he cocks his head, and you jump out of your seat to follow him, leaving the room stuck in a stunned silence.

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[heich0e]

unckuna 🥹

Sukuna is heavy.

It's a nice weight, you think. Blanketing and comfortable as he bears down on top of you. The weight makes sense; he's firm and sturdy and broad through his shoulders, tapering down into a trim waist that you can't think about for too long or it makes your head spin.

He's warm too.

There's a heat that seems to perpetually radiate from him, regardless of the climate, against all odds. It's just as soothing as his weight to seek out and leech from him—particularly when the two of you are out in the cold, inching closer to him on the sidewalk just to fight the frigid breeze or twining your fingers through his own to keep your fingertips from pricking with the chill. His hands are one of your favourite parts of him, usually.

But not at the present moment.

"Sukuna—" the warning is lost to his esurient mouth, mumbled into soft lips and swallowed down before it can elicit any actual response. Sukuna has you pinned down on the sofa, underneath his warmth and weight, and those hands you usually like so much are creeping dangerously up, up, up under the hem of your t-shirt—even in spite of your repeated insistence that this wasn't allowed to proceed any further.

His breath huffs against your slick lips, a laugh you think, and that familiar heat of his hands slithers back down towards your waist like it has every other time you've cautioned him.

"Stop bein' a tease," he mutters, slipping one hand underneath your back and pulling up so your spine arches and presses the two of you even closer together in that impossibly narrow space you occupy on the sofa.

Your breath hitches as your hips grind against his, and the look on Sukuna's face is deeply pleased by the sound. You huff a little. "I'm not teasing."

"Yeah fuckin' ri—"

"Yuuji's only down the hall," you don't even let him finish his snark, chastising him firmly.

"He's asleep," the man above you tries to reason, dipping down to nip at your pulse. Sukuna's nephew had only fallen asleep a short while prior, and as sweet a little boy as he may be, you were all too conscious of his bloodline—you didn't trust Yuuji to stay asleep any more than you trusted his beloved jichan to keep his hands off you, just because you said so.

Using the hand he still has tucked underneath the small of your back, Sukuna effortlessly tugs you up against him. Everything spins as you're righted, and before you know it you're straddling his lap on the sofa in his older brother's humble apartment, peering down the dimly lit hallway in the direction of Yuuji's bedroom. Sukuna mouths at your chest through the thin material of your shirt, sucking against the visible bud of your nipple. He'd weaselled you out of your bra soon after the two of you started fooling around—what had started off as a bit of innocent heavy petting—slipping it off and tossing it somewhere in the living room, and you've lost track of it now that things had kept spiralling out of your control.

You should have known this was how things were bound to turn out when Sukuna had asked if you'd accompany him to babysit his nephew that night. You had plans to see a movie, maybe grab dinner, and then almost assuredly end up bent over some piece of furniture in your/his/a hotel room by the end of the night. That's how things usually go with Sukuna. But then Itadori Jin had called his younger brother only a short while before the two of you were planning to meet, pleading with him to watch Yuuji for the night since he had to stay late at work.

When you first learned Sukuna had a nephew, more by accident than anything, it had surprised you. He didn't strike you as the type to get along with children when he barely gets along with other adults. Then you met Yuuji—even more by accident than simply finding out, happening to cross paths with them one afternoon—and it surprised you even more to see with your own two eyes just how deeply he cares for him. Upon first impression, Sukuna is rough and crass and unsympathetic—and while yes, those things might be true to some degree, the more you've come to learn about him, the more you've come to see other sides of him that you're not sure many (if any) other people have the chance to.

You spent your evening playing games and colouring with Yuuji while Sukuna prepared his dinner (which Jin had left in the fridge, but still, there was a certain level of preparation involved.) The three of you ate together at the kotatsu in the living room, and you laughed every time Sukuna barked at his nephew to stop trying to sneak his vegetables onto your plate. You watched Sukuna and Yuuji roughhouse before collapsing into a pile on the sofa to watch a movie, watched the six year old fall asleep on his uncle's arm, watched said uncle pluck him up (more delicately than you've ever seen Sukuna treat anything) and eventually take him to his room and tuck him into bed.

The Sukuna you thought you met six months ago would have never changed all his plans, with relatively little hesitation or complaint, to babysit a six year old, and he certainly would never have invited you along to accompany him—a bit awkwardly, endearingly clumsy—just so the two of you could still spend time together.

Sukuna pulls away from your chest, a little string of saliva stretching from his mouth to the wet stain he's suckled into the material of your top. He blinks up at you, eyes heavy lidded and gaze hot. You trace your fingers through his unkempt hair, brushing it back from his brow.

"What?" he asks, his tone guarded, as though he's suspicious of how gentle you've suddenly become. "Aren't you gonna tell me to—"

"Hey," you cut him off, your hands settling on his shoulders. He pauses, his lips still parted in speech though the words have stopped. "Kiss me?"

There's not a moment wasted before he cranes up, obeying your request without any hesitation. Maybe it's because he doesn't want to give you the chance to change your mind. Maybe it's because he can't say no to you. Maybe it's because he wants it just as bad as you do.

This time you don't stop Sukuna when his hands slip up your top. Don't stop him when he takes it off all together, either. He's not as talkative as he usually is, having grown used to the way he likes to mouth off when the two of you are intimate like this. He's as conscious as you are of his nephew sleeping only a few rooms away. He's careful with you, not unlike how like he was with Yuuji, in his own particular way.

You don't plan to stop him at all, anymore. Your resolve to deny him (and yourself) having melted under a strange warmth you feel kindling in your chest. You're happy to let him—the Sukuna you think you might be the only one who knows—have you.

Or, you would be, if not for the unexpected return of his older brother, who flicks on the light in the living room with absolutely no idea what he's about to expose.

Thankfully you've learned from experience that first impressions aren't so important after all.

[hazbinshusk]

husk x gn!reader. two anons asked for husk teaching you how to make a drink behind the bar. one request was for sweet, one for a little spicy, so here's something that hopefully somewhere in between. 1.3k

featuring: basically non-stop flirting, wandering hands, and husk being hot as shit making drinks in close quarters.

“I’m just saying, honey, it wouldn’t kill you to add a little flair every now and then,” you say idly, tip-toeing your fingers across the bar top in front of you.

The look Husk gives you is completely devoid of emotion, and he keeps that deadpan expression as he tosses the shaker he’s holding up over his shoulder. He catches it with his other hand behind his back, returning to shaking it without pause. You purse your lips to try and stop your smile, and he smirks, knocking the shaker open and straining the contents into a glass. He slides it across the bar so it comes to a stop in front of you.

“Show off.”

He snickers, drinking the dregs of the cocktail right out of the shaker. He wrinkles his nose at the sweetness of the first sip, but tips the rest of it down his throat anyway. “You gonna try it or you gonna leave me on tenterhooks all night?”

“When the bartender doesn’t even like it?” you tease, lifting the glass obediently. “Shudder the thought.”

“Drink, smartass, before I take back the offer to teach you anything.” Husk tells you, and you grin, tipping back a mouthful pointedly. The sweetness of the honey liqueur teases over your tongue, undercutting the bite of the vodka. “Well?”

You lean across the bar, pressing a kiss to the side of his muzzle by way of answer. “What’s it called?”

Husk grins, reaching up to cup the back of your head with his paw and pulling you into a proper kiss. He lets it linger, tasting that same sweetness on your lips. “’s the Bees Knees.”

“It sure is,” you joke, and he rolls his eyes as he releases you.

“You’re a fuckin’ dork, ya know that?”

“Sure do,” you reply cheerfully, easing yourself up off your stool. You clap your hands together, bouncing on your heels. “Now, are you gonna teach me how to mix you a drink, or what?”

Husk smiles in exasperation, waving a clawed hand to beckon you behind the bar. “I’m already regrettin’ this.”

“Oh, hush,” you shoot back as you round the bar and come to stand next to him. “I’m gonna be great at this. Now what am I making?”

“The Last Word.”

“Sounds ominous.”

Husk smirks, rinsing out the cocktail shaker and setting it down in front of you. “Cocktail outta the prohibition era. If I’m gonna waste my time with all that bells and whistles shit, might as well pick a drink that’s strong as fuck.”

“Charming,” you tease, giggling when he pinches your side in retaliation. “Okay, okay… what do I add first?”

Husk’s shoulder brushes against yours as he moves to stand beside you. “You want about an ounce of everythin’ in there – it’s a real straight forward recipe. But before you do anythin’, if you’re makin’ this right, you wanna chill the glass.”

You raise a brow, amused. “You never chill the glass.”

“Yeah, well, I never make it right.” Husk retorts, smiling when you laugh. He turns his head, leaning into you and ghosts his lips against your temple.  “Ice in the glass, pet.”

“Yes, sir.” you’re only half-mocking in your reply, and you scoop out a shakerful of ice, tipping half of it into the glass he’s set out for you.

“Good.” he mutters, and you feel his arm brush against the small of your back, his hand curling around your opposite hip. You smirk to yourself, but otherwise, you don’t acknowledge his touch. “Now gin.”

You turn to reach for a bottle, and Husk tugs on your waist in reprimand. “Uh-uh. Not the cheap shit.”

You give him a pointed look. “I’ve seen you drink that paint thinner like water.”

“’s a fair point, doll,” he agrees, amused. “But you’re puttin’ the effort into makin’ me a drink – I should probably have the chance to enjoy it.”

A frown pulls at the edge of your lips at that, but now isn’t the time to address his addiction. Instead, you select one of the fancier labels from the shelf and measure out a neat ounce. You pour it into the shaker just as Husk sets a slim green bottle down beside it. You tug the stopper out of it, bringing it up to your nose and sniffing. “Ooh, and this is?”

“Maraschino liqueur,” Husk tells you. He’s moved to stand behind you, watching over your shoulder as you work. “Same amount, baby.”

“Aye aye, cap’n.”

“Shut it,” he growls in your ear, and you can’t help the shudder that rolls down your spine. “Cheeky bitch.”

“You love it,” you retort, doing as instructed even as you say it. The bartender rewards you with a kiss to the side of your throat, his claws claiming your hips. The cold, wet brush of his nose is an addictive contrast to the warmth of his lips, and you hold back a gasp when the rough barbs of his tongue dart out to tease briefly over the same spot below your ear. Still, Husk notices your reaction, and he chuckles, breath tickling against your skin. “Stop… stop distracting me.”

“I ain’t distractin’ you,” he murmurs, sliding a bottle of lime juice across the bar to you. You didn’t even notice him grab it. “Now, usually you’d need fresh lime juice, but I ain’t picky and cuttin’ ‘em up’s a bitch. ‘Specially when the only one who ever asks for ‘em is Angel.”

“Noted.”

“But if he asks, tell him they’re on back order,” Husk says in your ear, and you breathe a laugh, measuring out an ounce of the juice. He hands you a bottle labelled ‘Green Chartreuse’ and you do the same. It smells kind of peppery, but you catch the hint of mint as well. He steps back, giving you a little more space. “Good girl. Now we shake.”

You follow the same motions you’d seen him do a thousand times – pop the top on and smack it down firmly into place with the heel of your hand. You lift it and start to shake, stopping when Husk chuckles. “What?”

Husk takes hold of your elbows, lowering them back to your sides. He steps in close to you again, pressing his chest up against your back. “Jus’… take it easy. You’re mixin’ a drink, not takin’ flight.”

Warmth spreads through you at his touch, and you shiver as he trails his claws down your forearms to your wrists. You can feel his breath fanning softly against the side of your throat, and his nose bumps against your pulse point. You turn your head slightly, chasing his lips with your own, and you catch him smile as he nods down at the shaker in your hands. “C’mon, doll, concentrate.”

“Don’t wanna.” you say petulantly, but your voice comes breathy and soft.

“We’re almost done,” he tells you, volume matching yours. From him it’s a low tenor, a rumble that you swear you feel down to your bones. “Promise.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Focus, pet.”

“Oh, I am, trust me.”

Husk chuckles into your throat, brushing a teasing, biting kiss over your skin. “On the drink, pet.”

You sigh, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. “Fine.”

Husk smiles, touching his lips to your temple before you straighten, letting him guide you into shaking the cocktail like a professional. You dump the ice from the glass and set it back on the bar top, and Husk hands you the strainer with a smile so you can pour the drink. You pick it up as soon as it’s poured, turning around to face him.

There’s only a few inches between the two of you as you lean back against the bar, holding up the glass in offer.

“And voila.”

Husk’s claws curl around your hand as he takes the glass from you, lifting it slowly from your grip. He holds your gaze as he takes a sip, and you wait impatiently for a moment before saying, “Well? How does it taste?”

“’s good,” he tells you, swallowing back another mouthful. “You did good, doll. Want a taste?”

“Sure, I—”

“Good.” Husk grins, grabbing hold of your bicep and pulling you into a kiss.

[lunarduty]

𝙋𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙍𝙏 𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙊 𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝘽𝙀𝘿

☾ sfw & nsfw headcanons for dating soap JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH X F!READER TAGS | nsfw. smut. oral (female receiving). female reader. WC | 2,063 x

SFW

☾ in his mind, he was already your boyfriend before even becoming official. soap is fiercely LOYAL and dedicated - just as soon as he realized the depths of his feelings, he was yours before you even knew it. stopped so much as looking at other people, much less thinking or fantasizing about them. for soap, you were it. he just had to convince you to go out with a guy like him, which is very soap. not always looking before he jumps.

☾ he loves calling himself your boyfriend, or calling you his girl. soap isn’t one to try and make it lowkey or anything. he wouldn’t be unprofessional - disrespecting or making you look bad is the last thing he wants. but soap will insert the fact into mundane little conversations whenever he can. the team quickly gets tired of it long before he does.

“soap, you joining us for drinks after the debrief?” “don’t know,” he says, sounding awfully CHIPPER for someone who might miss out on a night at the pub. “gotta check in with my girl, see if she wants to do anything tonight. missed out on lunch with her, y’know.” he was still beating himself up over that. you kept insisting it was fine - you both have crazy schedules sometimes. but soap didn’t want to make it a habit of blowing you off. gaz nodded like he agreed - soap didn’t think he really got what it meant to be your boyfriend.

☾ his favorite thing in the world is making you laugh, and he does it so easily. and a lot of the time, he doesn’t even mean to. soap can be blunt and cheeky sometimes, and his smart mouth has gotten him in hot water more often than not - but he’s always very happy to make you laugh, even accidentally. always acts kinda proud when his jokes land perfectly. or if he’s not in a great mood, but ends up saying something that makes you laugh, it always brightens his mood.

☾ while he usually finds one petname and sticks with it, soap is known to call you different ones - each worse and more SAPPY than the last. they’re never spoken seriously, he just enjoys seeing your nose wrinkle and look at him as if he just tracked dog shit into the house. it’s one of his favorite ways to tease you without feeling like he’s going too far, like he does with some of his mates.

with his nose buried against your neck, and the slowly thump of your heart vibrating on his chest, soap was damn near close to following you into unconsciousness. it had been a chaotic last few days - the mere chance to cuddle up with you in bed had him relaxed beyond the point of needing a quick fuck to tire him out. at least until you shifted your legs, and your icy toes pressed against his legs. “fuck, lass. toes are fuckin’ freezing,” he hisses against your shoulder. you just hum, not bothering to reply, more interested in finally falling asleep. he hums in return, and condemns himself to the icy torture. “lucky i love ya, my l’il popsicle.” “jesus, johnny.”

☾ generally enjoys going out on dates than staying home. of course, if you’re more of a homebody or he just doesn’t feel up to going out, a home date is perfectly fine with him. but soap likes going out and experiencing things - most of all, he wants to show you off. absolutely loves walking down the street with you on his arm, or you pulled against his side. tries to get some leave every few months so you two can travel somewhere, but usually, soap’s idea of a good date is simply going somewhere and having fun.

☾ gets super soft when you start getting comfortable around him. before the relationship began, you two were good friends - there was already a layer of comfort and familiarity before, but it’s different when you start dating. so one night, when you both are just chilling on the couch, and you start cackling at a joke on the TV or ugly-crying during a sad scene, soap just REVELS in it. he’s heard how far some people go not to show certain sides of themselves to their partners, and he’s super pleased that you don’t feel like you need to do that with him. on the flip side, soap immediately gets super goofy with you right off the bat, so it’s not like you’re alone in your silliness.

☾ don’t think you can outkiss this man. don’t even try to challenge him. soap mactavish is a man made for kissing and he will do it all day if you let him. your eyes in the morning to wake you up, on your cheek before he leaves, your hand after meeting up for lunch, your lips when he gets home at the end of the day, your neck while doing the dishes, your forehead after a good fuck before falling asleep. soap loves being able to kiss you whenever he wants and he takes full advantage of that privilege.

☾ arguments aren’t super common, but they do happen. soap can be stubborn and sometimes doesn’t see the wider picture. he forgets to take your feelings into account. arguments are usually resolved pretty painlessly, since soap knows he can be dumb sometimes and he doesn’t let his pride get in the way of apologizing. even still, he likes to go out of his way when it comes to make ups. he doesn’t like feeling guilty and can go a little overboard in comparison to the argument.

“so, you forgive me yet, bonnie?” “hmm,” you draw out the hum, even if the smile on your face negates the tension, “i haven’t decided yet.” suppressing his own grin, johnny throws his hands up in defeat. reclines back in his chair with a sigh and a shake of his head - always with the theatrics. “yeah, i figured ya say that. but i’ve learned to never enter a battle without a secret weapon.” “making up for a fight is a battle for you, is it?” your question, though a joke, made him pause. “well, no, i didn’t- fuck’s sake, lass. take it easy on me.” johnny stands, his hands clapping together. “i was listenin’, though. i know you feel all alone when i’m gone so much, and i’m sorry. wish i could change it.” of course, you knew he couldn’t just uproot his whole life. some of the things you said during the argument weren’t even exactly how you felt - just something said in the moment. “johnny, hold on, i didn’t mean-” “hey, hey, i’m not done.” he backs away from you toward the bedroom. “last thing i want is you to be here feelin’ all LONELY again. so i got something to fix all that.” he finally turns and makes for the bedroom door. when you stand and follow to watch, you notice how carefully he opened and slid right past. like he didn’t want you coming in. but you realized right away it was because he didn’t want something getting out. “a puppy? john, this is-” “great, right? can cuddle up to him when i’m not here!”

☾ definitely thinks about marriage super early on, but doesn’t really bring it up because he doesn’t wanna come off as weird or creepy. but honestly, soap knew you were the one right away. he’s not out looking at rings or wedding venues - he just kinda ACCEPTS that he’s gonna marry you. might make little jokes or comments here and there. jokingly calls you his wife or “the missus.” so when he eventually does pop the question, he’s a little taken aback when you’re caught off guard. and then he remembers that, oh yeah, he’s always been mentally married to you since basically forever.

NSFW

☾ it’s not hard at all to tell when soap is in the mood. he’s going to get very touchy if you let him - from soft grazes of his fingers along your skin to straight up groping your ass when you walk by. he is an absolute menace when he’s horny. loves coming up behind you when you’re doing something and just squeezing your hips and kissing your neck. grinds his cock against your ass, as if it isn’t painfully obvious how wound up he is.

☾ foreplay with soap is more fun than anything. there are rare moments when he’s silent and serious and focused, but mostly, he likes to keep it light. makes you laugh before sucking on your tits to take your breath away. says some dumb comment when you’re grinding against his thigh to distract you, only to suddenly change pace and laugh when you whimper. he sees sex with you as something to 100% ENJOY and making sure the both of you have fun with it…

☾ …that is until soap gets completely pussy-drunk off you and just shuts the fuck up and enters this kind of tunnel vision when he’s eating you out. it happens a good 60% of the time - he starts out his usual light and teasing self, kissing your thighs, asking you if you want to fuck his mouth. but just as soon as he gets his tongue on your clit and his fingers buried knuckle-deep, it’s so easy for him to just get lost in it. will make you cum twice before he realizes it, and is almost confused when you’re begging him to stop, or at least give you a break. 

“fu- fuck, johnny! i can’t- shit, you need to stop.” those words seem to finally break him of his little trance. your little moans and whimpers of his name are always MELODIC in a way that makes him want to hear more and more. but hearing you ask him to stop makes soap blink and pull his face away - lips parted in his panting, chin glistening. “okay, bonnie?” he asks, a hand squeezing your hip. you’re breathing hard. skin flushed. chin tilted upward with your eyes closed and he wonders just how hard you came. or how many times. “i’m okay,” you answer quickly. “just…need a break. or just fuck me - that works too.” a wide grin spreads over his face, and when he pulls his fingers free, the soft squelching sound almost makes him shiver. “just said the fuckin’ magic words, beautiful.”

☾ not at all picky with positions, so he usually just tries a bunch of different ones or follows your lead. there’s something to enjoy with all of them, so how can he have a favorite? fucking you in missionary gets him on top, where he feels so big and strong and loves feeling you hold onto him like your life depends on it. when you ride him, he gets to watch your face the entire time, or play with your tits, or do anything he wants. getting you in doggy is great when soap is feeling especially FERAL and just wants to drive into you, grabbing your ass, tugging on your hair when he feels like he can’t hear you well enough. gun to his head, he can’t pick just one.

☾ soap does have a preference when he cums. as fucking fantastic as it feels to cum inside you, there’s something otherwordly about pulling out and painting your skin. he saves creampies for slow and sleepy sex (or when you beg for it), but every other time? soap is cumming on your back, your belly, your thighs, your face, your tits. anywhere and everywhere is fair game for him. he’s definitely taken a picture when the sight is too good to leave to memory. eventually deletes them because he doesn’t want them to somehow get out, but not before using it as wank material while he’s away.

☾ very gentle and attentive with aftercare. sex with soap isn’t especially rough or intense most of the time, but he still doesn’t slack on it. kissing you good and proper after you both cum, letting you know just how much he loves you. always gets something to clean you up and talking while he does so - soap is a chatterbox anyway, but more so after sex because he doesn’t want you to start feeling awkward. lots of cuddles and touches when he climbs into bed - but be warned, he does tend to nod off pretty soon.

[re-termination]

✿ What do I do with a boy like you?

Human! Sebastian Solace x GN! Reader

Summary: Your dear friend, Sebastian, has come to you to ask you a favor. A favor where you two will have to fake date to scare away anyone who were to approach him.

Tags: College AU, fake dating trope, Human Sebastian Solace duh, not proofread cuz I cringe easily^^"

“C'monnn, it's not anything serious! You just gotta pretend to be my partner for a bit.” 

“Do I get any benefits?” 

Sebastian takes a moment to think before flashing you a cocky smile. “You get to be in the presence of the most handsomest guy in the neighborhood-” 

“Bullshit. I do that everyday anyway.” you said as you deadpanned at your friend. 

In return Sebastian groans and pinches his nose bridge. “You just have to! I did not skip one of my classes today just for you to disagree with my genius plan!” 

Genius? Seriously? You could think of multiple outcomes to this situation and none were good, well except one but you didn't wanna think about it. In fact, this was pretty cliché, even for Sebastian. Yes he's an attractive man but c'mon!

Stooping so low as to pretend to date you so others can step back and leave him be? Just what on earth was he thinking. 

“Ehh fuck off Seb, go find someone else that's willing to kiss you and stuff like a couple would I don't know.” In truth you really did want to help out your friend but just like him you have classes to worry about. Sure, you were a heavy procrastinator, but this whole fake dating idea will send your mind spiraling and set you back further for sure. 

"…"

“...Can you please stop staring at me with your puppy eyes, it's unnerving. A no is no.” Even after saying no, Sebastian stood his ground and just waited there intently waiting for a ‘yes’.

You looked up from where you were sitting on your bed and stared back at him. Gods was he stubborn with this plan. 

“Listen dude, I really need to finish up my homework and it's practically impossible to get done if you're bothering me so could you pleassse at least get out of my room and chill somewhere else that isn't near me!” 

You pleaded and begged but what does he say in return? 

“Y'know, if you're struggling with your work I would gladly help you if you agre-”

“Alright! Alright!” You shoved your face into your hands and groaned. “Fine. I help you, you help me, we got a deal but could we talk about it later? I'm being serious about my homework!” 

Sebastian practically beamed at that and rushed to go tackle you causing you to gasp in pain. 

“Of Course! Anything for you!” He said as he began to ruffle your hair aggressively. 

God did your friend know no bounds. You patted his back so he could get off you but it seems he didn't get the memo. “Get the fuck off me before I change my mind!” 

With that he let go of you and started to get up to exit your room. But of course not without saying some words.

“I'll be off then! Tomorrow morning I'll be here early to discuss my genius plan with you so you better be ready to start your day! Adiós!” And with that he's out.

“Fuckin finally.” You set your notes to the side and stretched a bit. God just what did you get yourself into this time. You would've led an average life if it wasn't for your good for nothing friend but whatever he's a good person so what's the worst he could do? 

Little did you know this was all going according to Sebastian's plan.

Authors note: I seriously do not know if I wanna keep that as a one-shot and let others interpret how it goes or make this a series. I literally only thought of this while procrastinating my own work sooo yeah there's goes my burst of inspiration.

[presleyslilbaby]

~If You Talk In Your Sleep~

(60's!Elvis X Reader)

(This is just a short little story of Elvis talking/walking in his sleep. The only trigger warnings I have is just strong language, potential misspellings and fluff-)

You were laying in Elvis's bed with his arm draped over your waist, covers curled around your body as the chill of the room seeped down into your bones. It felt as though the AC was on full blast, but you wouldn't complain. It felt nice to be laying next to your Boyfriend of eleven months, his chest pressing against your back, his soft snores filling your ears. It honestly felt like heaven. A gentle smile crossed your lips, and you closed your e/c eyes in delight.

But only after a few minutes of finally relaxing, you felt Elvis begin to stir behind you. "Baby..." He murmured. "Yes?" You replied. It's silent for a few moments before he spoke again. "Baby...Baby, they're comin' f'me..." "What...? Who's coming for you?" You worried, turning slightly to at least face him. He went silent once more. "Elvis," You shook him a little. "The- The Vampires..." He responded.

You take a moment to process what he said to you, a smile slipping onto your face. "The Vampires are going to get you? Is that what you said, Hon...?" Elvis slowly sat up, staring off into space all before crying. "They're comin' f'me, Y/n...They- They're gonna suck the goddam blood outta me...!" He wept, though no tears had left his tired blue eyes.

Did he have a fear of Vampires...?

"Hey, hey," You tried to calm him, the smile remaining on your face though you attempted to hide it. "No one's coming for you, El...I promise." You reassured him, caressing his arm. He stood from the bed with wobbly legs, walking over towards a laundry hamper and digging through it. "Help me find it, Y/n...Help me find it..." He begged. "What're you looking for?" You asked, rising from the bed yourself and walking towards him. "The- The Chicken..."

You had to stop yourself from laughing out loud.

"The Chicken...?" You managed to squeak out, trying so very desperately not to laugh. "Yes...Them blood-suckin', no good, dirty fuckin' varmints- I-I heard somewhere they was 'fraid of Chickens..." Elvis replied so confidently, searching through the hamper before suddenly standing up straight and staring at the wall. It took everything in you not to burst in to laughter, but with how adorable and utterly silly he was being, it was so hard not to. Then, he gets on the floor and curls up in a comfortable ball.

It wasn't long before he was snoring again.

[stevesgother]

Strange - S.H

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 2.1k

Contains - angst, hurt/comfort, swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of addiction, mentions of childhood trauma, exes to lovers, second chance romance

AN - Part 2 of 'Little Red Lighthouse' ! for the sake of not having to use “y/n” bc i hate it, reader goes by Lizzy. Use your imagination idk

'Isn't it strange/how people can change/from strangers to friends/friends into lovers/and strangers again.' - 'Strange' by Celeste

There was a biting chill to the air as you sat shoulder to shoulder on a rock overlooking the lake with your best friend. The shadow from the towering lighthouse did nothing to help your lack of warmth, but the heat radiating off Steve’s body beside you almost made up for it. In his hands he held a worn piece of notebook paper adorned with his signature scratchy handwriting, slightly crumpled from hours of reading and rereading; frustration bleeding between the inky blue lines.

“I don’t even know why I'm bothering with this shit,” he sighs, “dad thinks college is a waste of time anyway,” he gives the paper one last squeeze in his fist before chucking it into the water.

“Steve!--” you practically shriek, “what’d you do that for?!”

“Cause’ Liz, we both know I’m not getting accepted anywhere worth going to,” he says with finality, like he’s already made up his mind despite it only being January, “and you’re gonna go somewhere fancy schmancy like Feinburg while I rot here,”

“Well certainly with that attitude you will,” he shoots you a deadpan look from where his head is propped in his hands. “Stop worrying about what your parents want, Steve. What do you want?”

“Right now I want to get off this boulder. It’s fuckin’ freezing out here,” the end of his sentence is muffled by his cupped hands around his mouth, huffing into them in an attempt to bring some warmth back into his numbing fingertips.

“I’m perfect, actually.” you feign self-assuredness just to tease him. He knows you’re cold too, the tip of your nose is bright red and frozen to the touch, giving you away.

“Oh, are you?”

“Yeah” you chirp, “I am,”

“Oh, okay,” just then he slides what could've been an icicle but really was just a frigid hand up your shirt and presses it firmly to the small of your balmy back, earning a squeal from you.

“Asshole!” you shove him away playfully and he removes his hand, deciding for once, to spare you. 

You spend the rest of the night bundled under layers of quilts, watching movies your mother rented from Family Video that afternoon as snow falls from the pale sky in big, fat flakes. At some point during the second film, you feel yourself curl into his lap where he’s seated on your sofa, fighting and losing a battle with sleep. Just before slumber overtakes you, you note the feeling of his hand tracing soothing circles over your spine. The arm that isn’t holding you against his torso snakes around to tuck a few strands of hair behind your ear, selfishly so he can steal an unobstructed view of your peaceful expression.

He almost enjoys being with you more when you’re sleeping. Not because he doesn’t adore listening to your winding tangents or your infectious laughter, but because you can’t see him unabashedly staring at you when your eyes have drifted shut like they are now. It’s as if the world has stopped spinning on its axis and time has halted just for him. His own personal sleeping beauty. You looked like the rest of his life.

Memories have a mortifying way of appearing gold in hindsight; nostalgia like a knife that’s gutted him, leaving him emptier than he was before. Now, whenever the air gets older, Steve is reminded of how your presence used to feel.

–

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Stepping into his orbit for the first time in all these years, the love you still have for him beats inside your chest like a second heart. You long to reach out and touch him, to weave your fingers through the hair at the back of his head and nuzzle your face into the tender skin of his neck, to cry how sorry you are and ask “How could you let me leave you?’--

“You look well,” the low register of his voice shakes you from your spiral and you remember with a sharp pang of guilt just how long it's been since you heard him speak. You feel like he’s taller now than when you left, even though he hit his last growth spurt during the last summer you spent together. A soft dusting of hair that wasn’t there before graces his upper lip. That cheeky, boyish charm you always loved had suddenly morphed into something more gruff. It made your stomach churn.

“Thanks, I don’t–” you cut yourself off with a soft shake of your head, “Thanks, Steve. You do too,”

He gives a meek shrug as he glances down at himself. There was simultaneously so much and yet nothing at all to say, and the silence was suffocating.

“How long are you in town for?” he asks, hoping the answer is indefinitely but knowing it won’t be.

“For a week, then I have to go back to the city,” you struggle to ignore the subtle disappointment that flashes across his features. “I was offered an internship in graphic design. It starts next month.” You say with a tight lipped smile. You wished you wanted that, but now that you were home, all you wanted was to stand under Steve’s gaze like a bug under a magnifying glass.

“That’s wonderful, Lizzy. I’m really happy for you.” Of course he was happy for you. If this was what you wanted, Steve was thrilled for you. But in all the 15 years you’d been inseparable, he’d never once seen you take an interest in graphic design. Maybe it was because your father was an architect. Your mother, an artist. To not follow in their footsteps, Steve knew, would make you feel like you failed them. It doesn’t change the way he can see your expression faltering when you utter even a word about your future career.

“You– what about you? Are you working for your dad?” 

“No, actually, I took over for Hopper. At the station.”

This time, Steve’s blessed with your real smile. A genuine one. You never wanted the alternative for Steve. Being constantly surrounded by corporate goons, taking over the family business just to be miserable and burnt out in less than a decade. The boy never could make up his mind about what it was that he really wanted to do, but he knew it wasn’t that. The trouble was, Steve only ever felt like he belonged somewhere when he was anywhere with you.

A gentle hand to his bicep sends him reeling, and it’s all he can do not grab you by your shoulders and pull you into his chest with as much force as he can muster. But the moment is gone as soon as it arrives, and you’re being whisked away by some other friend who’s vying for your attention. Absently he wonders if he left, would people miss him the way they seemed to have missed you? He supposes it’s best not to dwell.

–

When you arrive home later, the house is empty with a note from your parents stuck to the fridge claiming they’re out tonight. You’re grateful for the reprieve from socialization as you pad your way upstairs and down the hall towards your childhood bedroom.

It looks almost identical to when you left it, with the exception of a spare unrecognizable object here or there. Things your parents must have picked up for you at some point with the hopes of being able to give it to you the next time you visited home, but never could. Your mother had made your bed neatly, adorned with all the stuffed animals and bedding from your youth. Everywhere you turned, there were mementos of your lifelong friendship with Steve. Greyscale photo booth pictures, old movie stubs and the dried remnants of the corsage he gave you for prom. It was a memorial; a cemetery of your life together.

When you finally managed to lie down, all you did was toss and turn until the analog clock tick tick ticking on your wall informed you it was one A.M. In your sleep deprived haze you absentmindedly sat up and reached for the baby blue corded phone resting on your nightstand. It was only when you brought the phone to your ear and heard the droning dial tone that you realized what you were doing, and set the phone back in its cradle. Your fingers ached to press the digits to the only number you knew by heart: Steve Harrington.

–

You weren’t sure why your mom kept renewing her Cosmopolitan subscription for you, since you hardly took interest in the issues, but she did nonetheless. Tonight, struggling to find something more productive to do, your curiosity got the better of you as you mindlessly flipped through the pages with freshly manicured nails. It was a Friday, and the prospect of sleeping in tomorrow delighted you. You were in no hurry to get to bed. 

Just then you heard the shrill ringing of the new phone your parents got you to keep in your bedroom for your birthday. You knew it had to be at least twelve o’clock in the morning. Only one person would be calling you at this hour.

“Hello?”

“Hey, can I– can I come over?” Steve's voice was hushed and trembling. Muffled yelling could be heard in the background over his unsteady breathing.

“Steve? Yeah, ‘course, I'll unlock my window,” you pause, “everything okay?”

“Yeah just– I’ll be there in ten,” and with that you heard the receiver click back into its place on the wall.

Magazine having been discarded on the floor next to your bed, you sat at your desk, knee bouncing rapidly as you waited for Steve to climb through your window like he had dozens of times before. At sixteen, you’d be caught dead having a boy in your room at this hour, even if it was just Steve.

You hear a soft tap tap tap on the glass, signifying his arrival. In a rush, you hurry over to your window to help him in. When he regains his balance with both feet on your carpeted floor, you’re finally able to get a good look at him. He’s bleary eyed and his nose is chapped raw, like he’d been rubbing at it continuously for hours. 

“Hey,” you say softly with a gentle hand to his forearm, “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” You feel guilty pressing him on the matter immediately, but you can count on one hand the amount of times you've seen Steve genuinely distressed. Last Halloween when Nancy Wheeler had proclaimed that he and their whole relationship was ‘bullshit’ had been the last time.

“Mom and dad were fighting. I guess– I guess he found these pills she’s been taking? I don’t know,” he looks dejected as he fidgets with the hem of his sweater, “Jus’ couldn’t listen to it anymore.”

Your eyes round into saucers when you looked to him, concern gracing your features. It was always something with the Harringtons. If they weren’t screaming at each other, they were screaming at Steve. Catherine had substance abuse issues, John was violent. Broken dishes and holes punched in drywall were becoming the norm. All Steve wanted was a way out; an escape. You gave that to him. Always.

Without another word, you propped yourself up on your tiny twin bed and motioned with open arms for him to come lie with you. He accepted the invitation instantly, sinking down into the mattress with you. His head rested on your chest, just above your rapidly beating heart. A heart that beat for him alone. You silently prayed he knew that.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence and softly petting his hair, you felt two distinct drops of tears land on the silky satin of your pajama shirt. You attempted not to make a scene, with the knowledge of how difficult it was for him to be vulnerable. Instead, you simply continued your ministrations on the back of his head and held him a little tighter.

“It’s okay, Stevie,” you whispered against the crown of his head, “You’re safe now. We’re gonna get out of here someday, y'know? I promise.”

He nodded bleakly in acknowledgment against your sternum as his tears fell a little quicker and a little harder. “Okay,” he whimpered. The sound nearly tore you in two.

You’d never intended on breaking that promise. Not really.

–

Against your better judgement, you reached for your phone a second time and dialed his number for the first time in five years. You hoped he didn’t get a new landline.

His voice was gravely and thick with grogginess when he picked up after six torturous rings, “Hello?”

“Meet me tomorrow. DiBella’s. Ten o’clock.”

You slammed the phone back into the receiver before you had time to regret it.

taglist: @sheisjoeschateau, @ohwauwdoritos

divider credit to @/strangergraphics

[malsmind]

intoxicating

chris sturniolo x reader

summary: a chill night took a small turn after you and your boyfriend had a smoke..

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, mention and use of drugs (weed), nicknames (baby, mama), riding

authors note: idk about this one, i was in a rush and slightly high (don’t do that)

wc: 569

english is not my first language!

you and chris planned this night the day before. watching movies, cuddling, a small smoke sesh. earlier that night, you were sat on the couch, cuddled up to him as he went trough movies to watch. to be honest, neither of you guys were in the mood to watch a movie, so you decided to put some music on, smoke a blunt and just relax, and exactly that had led you guys up to this point.

you were straddling him, your clothes laying around somewhere in the room. your hips were grinding against his at a slow, sensual pace, one of his hands on your hips as his fingers on the other one held the joint between his lips, leaving it there to explore your naked body with both of his hands. your moans filled the room, music playing in the background as the dim, green LED lights hit your body. chris’s eyes glued to your body and how hypnotizing your hips moved, riding his dick. he lifted one of his hands up, taking the joint and placing it between your lips. you happily took it from him, inhaling the smoke, tilting your head back, and blowing it out towards the ceiling. “you’re so fuckin’ beautiful.” chris breathed out, his hands supporting your hips as they continued their pace. “look so good ridin’ my dick like that. so perfect.” you moaned at his words, the intoxicating feeling of weed coursing trough your veins mixed with the sweet pleasure of chris’s dick hitting all the right spots. you slightly picked up your pace, heavy breaths and soft moans leaving your lips. chris removed one of his hands from your hip, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing circles. “fuck..” you breathed out, your expression filled with pure pleasure. a small grin started to form on his face, admiring the way you were so lost in the moment. “sooo good f’me baby. fuck,i love this pussy.” he spoke lowly, continuing his fingers movements on your sensitive clit. “feels so good..” you moaned out, your hips starting to grow sloppier with each second his fingers circled your bundle of nerves.

chris bucked his hips up, matching your rhythm when he felt yours slowly grow tired, his other hand on your hip moving down to your thigh. “m’ so close.” you breathed out, your brows knitting together in pleasure. chris’s fingers never stopped, and neither did his hips, fucking into you, bringing you closer to your orgasm. he was close too, watching you like this made him go crazy all the time. “y’ got it mama, come on my dick.” his sweet talking and heavy breathing, the both of you being so intoxicated by the moment all together with his fingers working on your clit and his dick fucking into your pussy was what did it for you. your walls tightened around his dick and a string of low, breathy moans left your lips. chris wasn’t far behind, watching you come undone while lazily riding his dick, meeting his thrusts made him come, filling you up. “fuuuck, juuust like that.” he groaned, his hips stuttering as he fucked his cum into you, riding out both of your highs. “always look so sexy like this..” he smiled up at you lazily. you gave him a weak smile back, taking one last drag of the joint, leaning in and connecting your lips before putting it out.

i do apologize if i messed anything up. lmk what u think of this one!

@sturniololuv08 @middlepartmatt @forgottxen @emely9274 @impossiblecollectorcat

[semperamans]

yk that one clip of joseph quinn fixing lupita nyongos dress strap when i slipped on the red carpet and picturing benny doing that so casually GIRLL

grrrrrrr woof woof woof woof woof woof woof woof

also known as the two times benny adjusts your clothing and the one time he doesn't :) (ft johnny because i am so insane)

slight voyeurism? LOL! i am FUCKING NUTS and i am so sorry! smut happens below the read more line, so only venture down there if you feel up for it!

it’s the first day of summer and benny couldn’t be any happier even if he tried. the guys think he’s snorting something or off his fucking rocker because he’s smiling. he’s got that dazed, happy-go-lucky look he usually only has when you’re around, but this is constant and has been since the club made the three hour journey to this lakeside piece of paradise. it’s not like a run where benny has to stay on high alert. it’s not club business, more of a family gathering, and he’s is just happy. can’t a guy be fuckin’ happy? right now he’s laying on the sun warmed grass, tan skin still glistening with leftover lake kisses. he can hear cockroach and his son somewhere over on the rickety pier, their bobbers plinking in the water, and the not-so-welcome advice from zipco who is a self-proclaimed master fisher. corky, cal, and sonny are hunting for frogs, the fucking bozos, with their swim trunks pulled up to their belly buttons, knees sinking quickly into the sweet smelling swell of the lakeside. they’re giggling damn near louder than the girls who are bouncing each other popcorn style on the trampoline and, fuck, benny just really likes life right now and likes it even better when something blocks the sun from his face and he opens his eyes to sees you. you’re wearing a swimsuit and a big smile and benny can’t help it. he reaches up, grabbing your arm, and with a swift pull, you’re toppling onto him. a squealing giggle bursts from your lips as you attempt to squirm away, but it’s no use. “you’re gettin’ me all wet!” “thought you liked when i did that?” your eyes widen, hand playfully coming to cup his mouth shut. in all the commotion your swimsuit strap has slipped and now loosely dangles near your elbow where benny just can’t help but look. you move together, your hand sliding from his mouth, fingers brushing through his damp curls; his callused fingertips birthing goosebumps as he situates the strap to its rightful position. “gimme a kiss?” he asks, taking your face between his palms. he tastes like summer.

the days melt into one another all hot and sticky like dripping ice cream. summer’s heat is unrelenting and benny has an almost radiant golden glow to his skin. the respite from the city has all of you slowing down, appreciating the little things: the way the sun tucks herself into the lake at night, the sweet zing of homemade tea, the giggle of gail and brucie's baby girl, and how capturing these moments together somehow bring each of you closer. it's not hard to adjust to this lifestyle. your days consist of swimming and baking and laughing and drinking and telling stories and hiking and you even find a liking for astronomy when the stars you’re studying happen to form new constellations on benny’s shoulders and down his spine. somehow he's more handsome here, if it's possible and tonight he's hauntingly beautiful in the sun's dying glow and angelic against the wavering bonfire flames that flick warmth over your chilling bodies. you can't stop looking at him but cal, who refuses to sit still, has finally wired that damn radio the right way and it crackles to life. there are cheers all around, beers hoisted skyward as a bluesy country song everyone seems to know hisses out of the aged speakers. perched atop stumps and spread over foldable chairs, a singalong begins. the boys drunkenly toss their arms over one another, lifting their chins to serenade the moon. even benny joins in. he's got one arm around you, the other holding tightly to johnny's waist as he sings with this elvis-like intonation. he looks down at you and can't explain it but you just look like you're his. maybe it's the t-shirt you're wearing, but no, it can't be. it's gotta be johnny's, benny's shirts are big on you but not so big that the collar droops down past your collarbone. benny likes it and grins and tells you he likes it and rights the fabric before pinching your cheek because god you're fucking cute.

it's five beers, four shots, and three singalongs later when johnny notices two people are missing. he rises, all wobbly legs and swirling colorful flashes as he extracts himself from the group. when did you and benny slip away? he can't seem to remember and it's not a big deal, not really, but he misses the two of you and just wants to see what you're up to and oh. he shouldn't be watching but his feet have grown roots. he can only see benny at first; the corded muscles in his back waning and flexing with exertion. but then he hears you. my god. the soft little gasp you puff into the air, the way you so delicately say benny's name like you're savoring the flavor of each letter-dragging them out, rolling them over your tongue. johnny shouldn't be watching. shouldn't be watching. can't stop watching. can't turn away. can't stop himself from uprooting his feet and moving over, over, over until he can see both of you clearly. you're pressed against someone's car, one hand splayed over the candy-red paint the other on benny's shoulder, nails biting into the flesh and johnny feels like a fucking freak and maybe he is but he'll worry about that later because benny. benny. benny. that's what you keep saying and your eyes are watery, he can make out their glint through the darkness thanks to the moonlight and he knows you, knows you cry when there’s a lot going on and there is a lot going on. there is pure desperation in your voice and you’re making these delicate preening whines and fuck you're still wearing the shirt. his shirt. the shirt you slipped from his bag then so innocently swore you didn't take. his shirt. and maybe you and benny want him there and that's why you're still wearing that shirt while benny, while he- jesus. it's rucked up and dirty and pooling over the leg you've got thrown around benny's hip but you don't make any move to fix it and now you're close. somehow the three of you are already so close to the edge and how special is that? sharing something so intimate even though you and benny have no idea. close. that's what you say as you bury your face into benny's neck, as your nails bite deeper and draw blood. close as you look up and lock eyes with johnny then you're no longer close but tumbling over the brink and down into rippling, blissful oblivion.

[theloveinc]

bakugo x reader - you have a fussy baby

(warnings: ooc, you have a baby and are called mama. no mention of pregnancy. written in bed)

-

There’s a part of Bakugo that always gets a little bit nervous when you call. A growing fear, one that’s not always the most reasonable, as he’s long since learned to stop guessing what it is he’ll have to answer to.

Usually, his worry is assuaged immediately by the chirp of your sweet voice, more often than not calling to ask about groceries, or the timing of his arrival home, or even just to say, “hey, sweetie. How are you?”

But as of late, with the stress of multiple new realities on his hands, the playing catchup of his returning back to work, it’s been��

“Katsuki,” your voice trembles on the receiver, the fuss of your hands practically audible too, “thank god. I’m so sorry, but—“

You whimper, there’s a wail, and his gut clenches, veins turning cold as ice with adrenaline like any and every other time he prepares, quicker than you know, to catch a villain.

“Fuck, babe?” his voice is raspy with the crack of worry, his eyes flitting about as if the crime is in front of him, the offender just across the line of the dark, moon-lit horizon. “Are you okay? Are you safe—“

You interrupt.

“I just can’t get him to sleep. I-I’ve tried everything,” there’s a hiccup from somewhere close by, the baby on your shoulder most likely, “but he’s not going down. I don’t know what to do anymore. He’s clean, he’s changed, he ate almost everything I had—“

“Hey,” he says sternly, dad-like, in a way you’ve almost never heard from him, and you halt. Bakugo looks around the empty streets he’s walking, the evening sky of a warm spring having now receded into chill. “I’ll be there quick, okay?”

And just as soon, he calls Kirishima to let him know he’s deviating from the patrol route.

-

Your son relaxes in his arms almost as soon as you set him down. Still in uniform, a sheen of sweat and dirt coating his body, he must smell like something comforting to the little babe as he stops crying just as fast, smacking his little lips into the sweaty shirt he now lays on.

You part from them, letting Bakugo take charge, the anxious tears stopped but still streaked down your cheeks, illuminated where you finally allow yourself to sit on the handsome blue armchair by the crib.

“Fussy shit,” Bakugo complains quietly, tearing one little snort of a giggle out of you as you gaze upon the two of them and wipe your nose, and at the same time, he gazes down at the baby with your eyes. “Wanted to make your mama cry, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” you say, sinking down into soft plush, “I’m so sorry I panicked, made you come all this way for nothing.”

“Stop apologizing, baby. ‘S not nothing,” he replies. “You needed help, and that’s what I’m here for. I’m”—he almost says fuckin’ Dynamight, pausing to look at you when he changes his mind—“dad. I’m dad.”

You smile weakly, and he approaches, dipping down on one knee to let you give your finally sleeping baby one last goodnight kiss, your fingers gently curling his blonde bangs away from his forehead.

“Just needed your daddy, I guess. Right, little boy?”

Bakugo can’t help but smirk, pulling back carefully to gently put the baby in his crib. He whines as he goes down, stretching his little limbs out now that the swaddle has been discarded… and though he notices the way your fingers tighten into themselves in worry as you watch, he settles back into sleep almost immediately, barely a pause in between to confirm it.

In the new silence, you finally whisper. “You gotta go back? To work?”

“I’ll get Denki over here in an hour,” Bakugo nods, also whispering; the sound that comes out unfamiliarly quiet, but not all that unpleasant as he steps and turns back to you, one hand reaching out to smooth down the hairs on your neck. “He’ll let you rest. You got it til then, or should I wait with you?”

You wave him off, still seeming tired but already calm enough to turn on the night light and pick up the book you started way back when, maybe even before becoming a mom. “I’ll be okay.”

“Don’t be afraid to ask for help again though, mama,” he leans down to give you your goodnight kiss before he finally has to go, reminding you of all the trust he has for you, too. “We’re all here to help.”

[manicrouge]

(DESERTION) || CHAPTER ONE: DROWSINESS

[SIMON RILEY X F!READER] || MASTERLIST || (DESERTION) MASTERLIST || PLAYLIST

'Even a man as brooding as he can be just as mellow as dawn.'

cw: brief religious discussion (hints of religious trauma), allusion to abuse.

[Word Count]: 3.5k

In the wilderness you find peace. 

Granted, right now you can’t really see anything; the sun had disappeared a few hours ago and you were left in the darkness. Despite the grimness of the night, you find your eyes making out the trees surrounding the pair of you. Raising from out of the ground like hands, the branches being but crooked fingers.

While the wilderness brings you peace, you find yourself restless at the appearance of the moon, your head throbbing at the thought of the trees. The thought of such was one that your father graciously put in your head during your youth, a foolish thought at that as now, every time you step into a wooded area, you find you can’t escape the humanness of nature and her ways. Nature and her ways, sometimes, makes your skin crawl. 

The memory of your father and his words always entails another one – specifically a distant one of the night you had been lying in bed with Simon. You never dreamt of something having such an impact on you, and yet, it was oddly significant as it was your first confession to him.

Not one of love, not one of lust, rather, one of childish terror. 

‘You always seem on edge whenever we’re in the woods,’ he remarked, looking down at you as you laid your head on his chest, the scent of tobacco filling your senses as the cigarette in his hand steadily burned. ‘What’s that about?’ 

Your hands grazed his chest as you busy yourself with pulling at his hair, your mouth filling with air as you glanced upwards at him. You move your leg further across his as you exhale. ‘Promise me you won’t laugh?’ 

‘Depends on what you’re gonna tell me, sweetheart.’ 

You rolled your eyes. ‘Prick.’ 

‘Tell me,’ he huffed, squeezing your waist while bringing the ciggy back to his mouth. You stayed silent, such defiance earning a scoff from him. ‘Okay,’ he relented, ‘I won’t laugh. I promise you my lips are sealed. Tell me.’ 

You took a deep breath, glancing at him before beginning. ‘When I was little, I went camping with my dad,’ you said, ‘we were sitting outside at night and he told me that trees were actually the hands of all the people who went missing in the woods stickin’ up out of the ground trying to get the attention of people after their bodies became worm food.’ 

‘How old were you?’ 

‘Eight.’ 

‘He said that to an eight year old?’ Simon asked.

‘Yup,’ you laughed dryly, ‘I know it’s bullshit, but I can’t get the image out of my head.’ 

‘You’ve seen plenty of dead people by now,’ he said, exhaling a mouthful of grey smoke, ‘it should be somethin’ you’re used to.’  

‘Doesn’t mean a thing,’ you confessed, ‘there’s just something about it that gives me the chills. Dyin’ somewhere like that, stuck bein’ a fucking tree for the rest of eternity.’ 

‘You rather die in a care home?’ 

‘Anywhere,’ you said simply, ‘just not somewhere like that.’

He was silent after that. 

Pressing your hand against his chest, you pushed yourself up in order to get a proper look of his face. ‘You think it’s stupid.’ 

He took another drag from his cigarette. 

‘You’re dying to laugh.’ 

‘It’s cute,’ he said, a small smile beckoning his mouth as he looked at you, squeezing your side. ‘Out of all the thing you could be scared of, that’s the fuckin’ thing that has you pissing yourself.’ 

You scoffed at his conclusion and settled back on his chest. ‘You still think it’s funny.’ 

‘Of course I do, sweetheart,’ he confessed, ‘if it makes you feel any better, when I was a kid, I used to be fuckin’ terrified of the rain.’ 

‘The rain?’ 

‘Tommy told me that it was a sign that I did somethin’ to make the big man in the sky mad at me. I used to cry an’ cry until it stopped raining. Of course, I realised it was a load of shit after a couple months.’ 

You didn’t laugh at his honesty, instead, you frowned. 

‘What made you so scared?’ 

‘My dad was a strict Catholic,’ he said, ‘drilled it into us at a young age – thought he himself was God on Earth,’ he scoffed, taking another drag from his cigarette, ‘he was just a narcissist with nothin’ else in his life. He left and my fear of rain left with him… started to enjoy it actually.’ 

That thought lives in your head, and it’s a difficult thought to shake. So much of yourself was in that sentiment because, before that, you never really did speak much about your childhood. There was the occasional comment here and there, but they all just came off as ideas, nothing ever seeming to be concrete. You couldn’t have held the shattered piece in your hands, so you settled for grinding them in between your teeth and spitting out the remnants during conversations with your Task Force. 

The ground you’ve been treading has your bones aching – you feel as though you’ve been through hell and back and you can’t quite seem to find any form of escape. Your shoulders are burning, ears ringing as you look at the back of the man marching in front of you.

Ironically, you feel as though you’re carrying the brunt of the labour when, in reality, he snatched your backpack off of you a few miles south and you’ve been walking like a stroppy child with your hands pressed against your side, following after him. You know both of you are exhausted; you see such in his eyes whenever you get the chance to look at his face. 

‘Simon,’ you call, your voice raspy and your tongue heavy in your mouth. ‘I can carry my own bag, it’s fine. Give it back to me.’ 

‘No,’ he plainly answers, seeming to pick up his pace. ‘I know your shoulders are hurtin’, makes no difference to me. Had to carry heavier things than this for longer.’ 

‘Like what?’ 

‘Your bag on date night.’ 

You laugh, nearly tripping over your feet. ‘What happened to the discipline you used to show me in the old days, ay?’ He stops in his tracks and you hit his back with a huff. ‘Prick.’ 

‘The difference is you’re not just an annoying rookie to me anymore,’ he says, turning to face you, ‘so, if your bags hurtin’ you, I’ll carry it.’ 

‘If Price saw you doin’ this, he’d fume.’ 

Despite the darkness, you catch him rolling his eyes. ‘Well, Price isn’t here, is he, sweetheart?’ he asks, leaning down in front of you, his gloved hand raising to hold your face, ‘I’m sure he’d have my head for a lot of things, but what he can’t see won’t hurt him.’ 

‘What he might hear could, though.’

‘Won’t be hearin’ nothin’ from us,’ he says, letting go of your face with a sigh. ‘Not anytime soon, at least.’

‘That’s all you’ve been sayin’ since we lost signal,’ you say, furrowing your brow. Whilst he’s typically a pessimist, his persistence concerning the matter is beginning to cause your stomach to churn. So, whilst he bears the burden of your bag, you bear the burden of his baggage.  ‘We’ll find somewhere with signal soon. This isn’t gonna be like the last time this happened.’ 

The moonlight sits well in his eyes. ‘Doubt it,’ he says, looking around, ‘they can’t reach us where we are.’ 

You stare, holding your breath. ‘How? We’ve been walking for hours.’ 

‘Still too far out,’ he says, holding his hand out to you. ‘C’mon, he’s not ere, is he? He’s not gonna care. No one is.’ 

You place your hand in his, taking the position of walking beside him as the pair of you continue on your venture. Really, the feeling of his gloved hand in your own is a peculiar comfort, although you’ve known that his touch can solve any wrong for quite a while by now.

With his hand in yours you find that the ‘hands’ of the undead poking through the ground don’t seem all that terrifying. He squeezes your hand as you walk, an occasional rhythm sinking into your palm as you keep your eyes trained on the trees in front of you. 

‘Do you think we’re ever gonna catch Cain?’ 

His name tastes terrible in your mouth. And what a truly despicable man he is. You've met many criminals in your time on the job, tyrants, wannabe dictators, and somehow, this man is the one who leaves you the most uneasy.

There's nothing explicitly off about him and, had he maintained his business orientated persona, you're more than convinced that the CIA wouldn't have pieced together his part in a deal. It was a blip – a mistake that had brought him to the attention of Kate and the Task Force. Confidence typically brings sloppiness: unfortunate for him, yet fortunate for you and the rest of your team. 

‘Only a matter of time,’ Simon says, ‘only so much of this area you can tread before coming to the edge of a cliff or lake. He’s got no one to help him as far as we know,’ he continues, ‘and with Johnny and Gaz coverin’ ground, he isn’t gonna get far.’  

You nod your head as he speaks, although, there’s something aching the forefront of your head, pushing its hands up against your skull as you continue to walk with him. Your legs are burning, your eyes are stinging: everything hurts.

It’s unlike any pain you’ve ever known, the worst you have ever known, and you can’t help but question why exactly you’re here, doing all this when the pair of you could have been home, in your bed. Still, the discipline that has been woven into your DNA pulls your sluggish posture up and forces you to press onwards, in spite of your doubts. But even that is escaping you it seems.

‘Okay,’ you say dully. 

A stick snaps beneath your foot, you feel it bend. Still, tense, squeezing his hand. You hear a small chuckle escape from his mouth, slightly masked by the balaclava covering his face. Neither of you speak, however, opting to remain silent. It’s better this way because sound only really covers up the sounds of enemies, and whilst you’re sure Cain is far from the sort to be able to do any real damage, you’re more than sure that, if he does have a weapon, you’ll surely be dead: all because of your conversation.

Yet, something compels you to keep talking. You feel as though, if you stop, you’ll never speak to him ever again. It’s irresponsible at best, foolish at worst. 

‘I miss home,’ you say to him, feeling the back of your throat burning. ‘Especially the café at the bottom of our street.’ 

‘Bunny Brews?’ he answers. The name of the café leaving his mouth sounds strange. 

‘They make the best pastries ever. I’d do anything for one of their pastries cause if I have to eat one more MRE, I’m going to lose it.’ 

‘I miss the brews,’ he says, ‘I’d do anything for one of those.’ 

There’s a sound of sadness in his voice as he speaks. Anyone else would miss it because you know you have a tendency to find the details in the oddest of things, him being one of them. Only, with such a soul with yours, you can’t help but notice every little thing about him.

The way in which he walks changes when he’s in the house, but in your home. Anywhere else, his fists are clenched and you’ve noted how his eyes are forever programmed to survey the area as though threat is imminent. 

His professionalism is in his blood, if not him as a whole – and you would believe that fact if you hadn’t seen how he is at home. He’s forever destined to be associated with the night in your mind: dark, unknown, leaving you forever anticipating what his next move is. And yet, despite the fact that you’re confident he’s nature's nighttime creation, his anticipation trails onwards, not ending when the moon disappears, instead, being replaced by the sun as morning rolls around. 

Even a man as brooding as he can be just as mellow as dawn. 

Quiet, washed out, all the while being something you admire from afar. At home, he’s another person, and you were convinced of that for a while until eventually the dawn seeped into his complexion and his professionalism began to waver all for the sake of holding you close to him, or cracking the occasional joke. 

‘Two goldfish are in a tank.’

‘You’ve already told me that one, Si.’ 

He was silent for a moment. 

‘Three goldfish are in a tank.’ 

Granted, you know comedy isn’t exactly his forté. Although his emphasis could not have been considered anything other than a joke within itself – a mixture of his nighttime mentality and his dawn persona. 

You’re retrieved from your train of thought when you tread something a lot softer than the stick. It nearly melts beneath your boot and you stop in your tracks, your hand slipping out of Simon’s as you crouch down, taking a stuffed Grizzly bear into your hands.

‘Has he got a name?’ your mother asked over dinner. 

He sat beside you, his front paws doing little to assist in his balance. ‘Bearie,’ you announced before taking another bite out of your pizza. 

Bearie.

Immediately, your brows furrow as you take the plushie in both hands, holding it out in front of you in an attempt to observe it. The shape of the toy is the only thing prominent to you and it sits in your hand, appearing as an ink mass.

Grabbing your flashlight from your belt, you turn it on and point it down at the toy. Everything, from the shape, from the firmness of his stuffing, all the way down to the missing eye – it’s him. You turn to Simon who was a few steps away from you, holding the bear up for him to see. Your childhood is staring you in the eyes. 

Suddenly, the trees are back to being the waving hands of the dead. 

‘This looks exactly like Bearie,’ you say, ‘it’s even missing the same eyes as he is.’ 

And how peculiar it is to see the one thing that has followed you throughout the course of the entirety of your life on the ground in the middle of nowhere.

There's a sickness in the back of your throat, pondering where exactly this thing has come from – is it a replica or is it him? You don’t have the answer for that question and, really, you don’t want to know the truth behind it. You swallow hard, looking at Simon, your eyes stinging. You feel the urge to cry as you look at him. Your grasp on the bear only grows tighter on him as your face grows warm in spite of the autumn breeze. 

There’s this look in Simon’s eyes as you look over at him. The same sort of look he offers you whenever he’s bought you something from the shop, yet tells you that there is nothing other than the necessities.

‘How does he know about this? I- It can’t be a coincidence.’ 

Holding the bear out to him, you feel the urge to drop it to the ground, to forget about its existence entirely. However, it’s too late, you know it is. No amount of distraction in the distant future could keep you from the feeling of the goosebumps on your skin at this very moment. You raise your hand to your forehead, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself; the way you’re acting is not the way of a soldier, rather one of a coward. You’ve seen a lot – too much, really, and yet, you’re rendered speechless by the sight of a stuffed bear. 

Your bear, but still a toy nonetheless. 

Of course, it was a common design; you remember how plentiful the stock of them was when you went to the Build-A-Bear shop as a child, and still to this day they exist. You only know that because Simon offered to get you a replacement because Bearie has been looking a little worse for wear these days. 

‘He’s a tatty thing now, you should get a new one – I’ll get you him as a little present.’ 

You held the bear in your arms as though he was your infant son, acting as though Simon (the father) was proposing you give him up for adoption. ‘Don’t look so upset. Am tryin’ to be nice,’ he said with a grin. 

You sighed and settled beside him, resting your head against his shoulder as you held him out to look at him. Yes, he was right. His left eye was gone all because of your childhood dog, his fur was nowhere near as glossy and soft as it had been at one, rather a clump of mats. Not to mention his battle scars he received from a jealous squad mate back in your old dorms before you were moved to Task Force 141. However, any other version of him seemed to weather in comparison to the one who looked the worse. 

‘I don’t want a new one,’ you said, placing the teddy bear down onto your lap, ‘when a human’s a little worse for wear, you don’t replace them, do you?’ you asked, ‘you nurse em back to health – appreciate their scars cause it’s what makes them unique.’ 

He chuckled. ‘You trying to hint at something here?’ 

‘I had a scar on my stomach an’ you don’t wanna throw me away,’ you said simply, ‘and he has a scar on his arm because of fuckin’ Chevvy.’ 

‘I could’ve beat him black an’ blue.’ 

‘I did it for you,’ you answered with a grin, picking Bearie back up. ‘He’s lived a life himself, in his own little way. He can’t talk for himself, but his marks do all the talking,’ you said, ‘and if someone doesn’t know what happened, I like to think he’s lived a million different lives just cause someone else comes to a different conclusion, y’know?’ 

‘I understand,’ Simon said with a nod, ‘although, at the end of the day, you do also ave to realise that it’s just a teddy.’ 

You just stared at him. ‘He’s your son.’

‘And am a proud dad for sure,’ he answered gruffly, earning a laugh from you. 

You blink. 

There’s a cracking to the right of you, morphing into a crunch before you have much time to contemplate what exactly it was. One second you’re standing, and the next you’re shoved to the ground, your head shielded by the secure hand of your lover as the pair of you hit the ground with a huff. The grass and ground, fortunately, are much softer than concrete, keeping you from any risk of serious injury, and his touch on you feels so familiar it leaves your head spinning. 

You’ve been drowsy for a while now, perhaps you're just exhausted. 

Despite the harshness of the crack, the rest of the journey to the ground for the tree was quaint and quiet. Once again, all is quiet aside from the heavy breathing from the man lying beside you on the ground. 

You search for the bear that had just been in your hands. 'Where–'

‘You’ve gotta be more careful,’ he states firmly, his hand on your back pressing you closer into him. It’s as though he’s anticipating you disappearing at any moment. ‘Be embarrassed if a trees the thing that takes you out… don’t think I could keep a straight face at the wake if that happened.’ 

His seriousness is gone just like that, and your thumping heart slows. 

‘Really, that’s your only concern?’ you ask, pushing yourself up so that you’re sitting on your knees whilst he remains on the ground. Your head hurts. ‘Out of everything?’ 

He chuckles. ‘Suppose I’d struggle to come to terms with livin’ without you too,’ he says, although (not really) his previous statement remains prominent on your face in the form of furrowed brows. He squeezes your waist as he pulls you closer to him, his professionalism wavering despite the darkness of the night sky. 

‘So, did you save me cause you’d be embarrassed if I was squashed by a tree, or did you save me cause you couldn’t live without me?’ 

‘Mixture of both, I suppose,’ he says through a sigh, ‘you go, am goin’ too. That’s how it works, ain’t it?’

You smile in spite of the aching in your chest. ‘Yeah, it is.’ 

There’s a sound of static after his words, the pair of you falling from the comfort of your embrace as his hand leaves your side to grab the radio on the side of his belt.

‘Price, this is Ghost, do you copy?’

The goosebumps on your skin begin to melt all for the static from the radio to persist. 

‘Price, do you copy?’ he repeats. 

‘Dismissed,’ says the voice on the end of the radio. 

You and Simon share a look. 

‘Dismissed, you are dismissed,’ Price says, his voice fizzling out, although, you are able to make out one final word before the static dissipates, leaving you in silence once more. ‘Rest.’

[insolemi]

....hi

this is so lazy and very quick, im sorry yall, but heres the concepts of a headcanon list for classmate to bff to gf cate

classmate!cate who was so nervous about going to godolkin and starting her classes bc its all so overwhelming, the campus, the people, the course 

classmate!cate who saw you in one of her classes and then another one and another and wow, you’re in almost all of them and somehow that makes her days much easier for her 

classmate!cate who used to watch you from afar in all the classes you shared together because she had a massive crush on you but could never make herself talk to you until you did it for her and now y'all are besties and do everything together

bff!cate who is so very outspoken now a few months in, constantly giving you compliments that are borderline (sometimes just blatant) flirting but if someone calls her on it, she swears up and down she’s just being friendly

bff!cate who loves hugging you and showing displays of affection that seems questionable for couples

bff!cate who never quite lost the urge to stare, but she’s just much better at hiding it now, as long as she can get away with it by staring at you when you’re talking

bff!cate who knows everything about you and vice versa

bff!cate who gets starry eyed looking at you because you're so gentle with her and never forget anything about her and what's happened to her and how it basically shaped her as a person

bff!cate who shows up at your dorm room one night during break (no roommate there, score!) and you two end up laid out in your bed, talking about anything and everything, her head on your shoulder, hand wrapped around your arm as she shifts the conversation to talking about some guy in one of the few classes you don’t share and how he’s been really friendly with her lately and now you’re so caught up in trying to figure out why that makes you feel sick that you don’t even see the way she’s watching you to see your reaction

so when you give her a shaky smile and an even worse “that’s great, cate!” she rolls her eyes and pushes off your bed because she was obviously lying and you didn’t catch it and now she's mad at you bc she knows YOU'RE lying, so what gives

and now you're both mad bc you’re both in love with each other and she’s trying to get you to admit it but you think she doesn’t like you back and now she’s yelling in your face that she does so please stop being stubborn and just fuckin’ kiss her already so you do so now it’s 

gf!cate who’s always staring at you, that specific look in her eyes and then she doesn't stop when you catch her and don't even bother saying anything about it to her because she’ll just smirk at you, won’t even pretend to deny it even a little bit for her pride or yours

the best you’ll get is “cate, please” “what? i’m just looking” but usually it’s more along the lines of “cate, do you mind?” “no. hi, gorgeous” and a pretty smile (while she continues to stare)

gf!cate who always wants to be with you, everything you do from studying to classes to hang outs, she’s always attached to your hip (not that you mind, really) but this comes with her hands always being on you somewhere, also

gf!cate who keeps a hand free solely for holding yours or resting somewhere on you or around your waist, fixing any jewelry you might wear or your hair or clothes and who also loves to just cuddle up to you, no matter what you’re doing

gf!cate who loves tracing words and shapes over your skin, especially at night right before you two fall asleep for the night

gf!cate who spends more time in your dorm than she does in her own, sometimes she’s just chilling or doing homework but usually she’s laid out in your bed, on her phone, bc she insists your room is so much better than hers (it’s not, it’s just yours)

gf!cate who loves sending you random pictures of things that remind her of you especially if they're completely nonsensical

gf!cate who pouts when you don’t pay attention to her or when you pay more attention to someone other than her

gf!cate who loves you so much that sometimes she cant believe that you're actually a real person who loves her back just as much

[nicotine-noah]

closed starter for @mannythejaguar

Noah fucking loved the holidays at Krovs because not only did he get to go out and party there was easy access to all kinds of party drugs and booze. The cambion conveniently forgot how much he suffered after these parties because of his collar and fully intended to get absolutely fucking destroyed for as much of the night as possible. It was freeing, the mixture of drunk and high, and he was already feeling real good from whatever Gwyn had given him and the drinks he'd pounded. He liked going back and forth and wandering the street in spite of most of his body being exposed to the cold air because of his costume. When he was mingled in with the crowds and with all the fun shit in his body he didn't notice so much but he'd separated a little and gotten turned around and was starting to feel the chill. Manny was stupidly working for part of the night which was annoying and Noah had gotten it into his head to look for him which is maybe why he'd wandered a little.

Shivering in spite of himself, he wandered back towards the main noise and the heat lamps that had been set up, wishing they'd actually set somewhere to meet or that Manny hadn't had to work. Luckily, though, he spotted the shifter and grinned, practically pouncing on him and pressing close, wrapping his arms around him both to get a little warmth and just be close to him. "There you are! 'Bout fuckin' time. I was lookin' for you. Who works when there's a party? You gotta stop takin' these holiday shifts it really kills the vibe." He laughed in spite of what he was just saying and kissed him, only a little sloppily. "Where you headed? Hope it's inside. If not, you're gonna have to warm me up."

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART] [AO3]

Really enjoyed writing this one! I like adding lines from the game in different contexts...

Ghost enters the shipment container, taking note of Valeria sitting in the middle, surrounded by the soldiers, and restrained by Graves.

Alejandro is pacing in front of her, her eyes following the motion with obvious amusement.

“Alright”, Graves points at the two of them, “how do you two know each other?”.

Alejandro scoffs, “know is a strong word”.

“Ah, strong words are important” Valeria grins, “our word is our worth, right?”

The Vaquero stops his pacing to sharply turn to the woman and start cursing her out in Spanish. Rudy and Soap rush to restrain him.

Price steps forward, “I suggest you start cooperating, El Sin Nombre. Unless you want me digging through your brain,” the Captain towers over her, “and I promise you, it won’t be pleasant.”

An expression of uncertainty passes through Valeria’s features, but she returns to her usual arrogant smile fast enough, “whatever you’re looking for, you won’t find it here” she nods her head, “I don’t know where any of your precious soldiers are. I’m a courier, I move things.”

“Yeah, and those things just happen to be humans, aren’t they” Graves grabs her shoulder. 

Valeria shakes it off, “I don’t peek inside, that would be unprofessional.”

Alejandro seethes, “and you’re just a model image of professionalism, aren’t you?!”

“Shit Alejandro, will you pull your head out of your ass for one second?!” She screams in Spanish at him.

The Vaquero commander huffs and warns them, “don’t trust her. It won’t end well.” He storms out, Rudy not long after following him calling his name.

“Enough!” Price speaks out. “Who are you delivering your packages to?” He stares at Valeria, tilting his head down.

“I don’t take orders from anyone.” she simply states, “even the dogs at Las Almas know not to-”

“Anonymous PMC.” Price’s eyes move rapidly, as he looks through her memories, “they took down your last clients and filled the power vacuum.” 

Valeria mutters, stunned and still, “how…”

“The ones from Sweden?” Gaz quips up.

Price looks away, having gotten what he was after, “I’ll have to go through your reports again, but it’s very likely.”

Valeria shakes from her stupor, and starts laughing in a chilling way, “you’re one interesting revenant, cabron.” she lowers her head, “but you're still no closer to finding them. I was supposed to exchange two revenants today, before your little soldiers interrupted me.”

The Captain frowns, and gazes at her once more. Valeria winces a little, smirking, “I don’t know where they moved them.” She looks at him with mock-innocence.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

“If there was a deal just yesterday, it means the PMC is still somewhere here…” Johnny grunts.

Graves shakes his head, “eh, they must’ve spread out after the failed attempt at the party. They could get revenants from a different… supplier.” He closes in on El Sin Nombre, “perhaps you can give us a name?”

Valeria regards the American with a sneer, “you tell me, ‘Shadow Company’. Surely you know of your other PMC amigos?”

Ghost has been watching the entire conversation from the shadows, slowly getting more and more impatient. What caught his eye however, is the small hesitation in Graves’ moves when Valeria mentioned Shadow Company, almost like he expected her to say something else…

Maybe Graves’ hands aren’t as clean as he would like them to believe. He says so to the Captain, and Price answers, “I don’t see anything suspicious in his mind.”

Ghost knows he’s sometimes a little too paranoid, not that his life so far proved it too unfounded, but he trusts the Captain enough to let it slide for now. After all, Ghost isn’t exactly an expert at reading people.

He focuses back when Price addresses him, “Ghost, talk to the Vaqueros, see if they’ve surveyed any suspicious activity around the party, take the Sergeants and-”

“La Fantasma, Parca de Roba? I wasn’t sure if it’s really you.” Valeria looked like a shark sensing blood in the water.

He doesn’t grace her with an answer, a snake pit slithering in his stomach. Soap turns to look at him inquisitively.

Valeria chuckles darkly, “what you did to Roba… it’s the stuff of nightmares. Did you really wipe out the entire gang in less than a hou-”

“You keep running your mouth, I’ll give you a demonstration.” He growls.

She falters, before answering with a forced smile, “I look forward to it.”

As they leave, Ghost catches Graves taking Soap to the side to speak to him privately. He would snatch the American’s hand away from Johnny’s shoulder, but the Scot doesn’t look uncomfortable. On the contrary, he’s listening intently to what the Shadow commander is spewing at him.

He waits until they finish, Soap noticing him finally and jogging up to him. “Waiting for me, LT?” he smiles up at him, something dimmer about his usual attitude.

“What were you two chatting about?” he starts walking towards Alejandro’s office, knowing Gaz is probably already there.

The Sergeant tenses, but keeps moving beside him, “nothin’ interesting. Why, wanna hear some gossip?”

Ghost grunts, and walks ahead, leaving the Sergeant struggling to match his long strides.

He may not be good at reading people, but even he knows when he’s being lied to. Unfortunately, they have a job to do, his doubts will have to be resurfaced at another point.

Turns out the Vaqueros have spotted something, during those precious minutes right after Soap created his distraction. Unmarked vehicles, driving off south. They have several possible locations, but until the Vaqueros narrow them down, they’re free to take a moment to rest.

As the Sergeants and himself leave Alejandro’s office, Ghost calls for Soap, and nods to the gym. His Sergeant’s face lights up, his fingertips literally, and he leads the way to the sparring mats.

They both take off their shoes and stand in front of the other, stance lowered and combat ready, “we fight until one taps out.” Ghost grunts. Soap gives him a sharp nod and they’re off.

His Sergeant instantly rushes forward, using his smaller frame to his advantage by trying to duck under Ghost. He expected so, and takes hold of the Scot’s shoulders, pushing both of them down.

They wrestle for a moment, Ghost clearly having the upper hand, Johnny fighting on the defence. Ghost eventually gets hold of the slippery man, and pins him on with his chest down, “you’re distracted, Johnny…”.

“Thinkin’ about what Valeria said to you back there”, Soap growls, pushing Ghost off.

His Sergeant shakes his arms, the fire burning him spreading, “again.”

Ghost feigns a right hook, and grabs Soap’s left arm. The Sergeant uses the grip to shove Ghost down, attempting to pin him, but Ghost can tell he’s not focused, when he manages to wrap his legs around his torso, flip them, and pin him again.

“Been doin’ some thinking myself.” Ghost ponders out loud, “wondering what Graves could’ve said to make you look so…” he murmurs in Johnny’s ear, “intrigued”

Soap is breathing heavily under him, eyes darting around for an exit, “I told ye-”

“I think I’ll be quite interested” Ghost squints, the motion not unnoticed by Soap.

His Sergeant sighs, “he was… offerin’ me a spot on Shadow Company.”

Ghost tightens his grips on Soap’s wrists, “and you refused.” he states. “You fuckin’ refused, right, Johnny?”

“I told him…” the flames on his hands die down, “told him I’ll consider it.”

The sentence feels like a knife shoved down Ghost’s throat, almost like a betrayal, another of his old friends.

Ghost loosens the hold, and Soap immediately breaks free, stepping a meter away from him. “After this mission, I think I should… leave.”

“Why?” What changed? Why does Soap want to get away, and with fuckin’ Graves out of all people?

Soap’s brows turn upwards, his face almost desperate. “I won’t be responsible for your death. I can’t-”

“Do you trust me, Sergeant?”

Johnny is silent for a moment, “yes sir”, he almost whispers.

“You think I’m weak?”

“No!”

“Than you should already know, I’ll not go down easily.” He walks up to Soap, “you wanted to know what Valeria was talking about?”

His blue eyes fill with color, the previous dullness to them fades, “yes sir.”

Ghost looks around, seeing the gym empty and lifeless. The snakes in his heart squeeze, bite and spread their icy venom through his body. His tone is lifeless, belonging more to the man buried under six feet of the Mexican desert sand.

“Roba was a cartel gang leader, they captured my squad. Tortured us for weeks, tried to break me, brainwash me, make me submit.” 

Soap’s hands clenched into fists.

“They failed. Got tired of me. Disposed of me.” he breathes in dirt and rotten flesh, “They killed me. I came back, stronger. Powerful.”

He remembers the shock, the horror as they saw him, a dead man, walk into their base. His eyes flutter shut. He wants to laugh. He wants to cry.

“She was wrong. I didn’t kill them in an hour.”

Nothing exists anymore, just sharp memories and a throbbing phantom pain, “it took less than a minute. Hundred men gone in an instant.”

Something brushes his arm, warm and calming, so unlike his memories.

“I was mistaken. You couldn’t have known what I am before, Soap.” He opens his eyes, and the sight of Johnny’s devastated face would hurt him, if he could feel anything. “You understand now. My purpose is to take revenge on people that hurt me. I am designed to survive the worst this world has to offer.”

Soap now grasps at his arm, the feeling barely registered under the cold blanket constraining him, “Ghost I’m… I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t need apologies.” Ghost blinks, tries to focus on his eyes, “just don’t run away.”

Johnny holds onto him tightly, “I won’t.”

He leaves the gym in a daze, distantly hears Soap trailing behind him, uncertain footsteps echoing after his own. The sun has long set, the stars shining high in the night sky.

After he died, he found himself enjoying the twinkling lights. They were the first thing he saw after being reborn, the heralds of his new existence. 

He pulls out a cigarette, rolls the mask up a little. Settles against a wall, about to take out a lighter when Soap stops him, gently lifting a finger. Ghost lights the end of the cigarette on the flickering flame.

He breathes in deep, finally tasting something other than sand on his tongue, Johnny speaking for the first time since they left the gym.

“Thought your Reapin’ was classified.” he huffs.

Ghost rolls the smoke on his tongue before exhaling, “I reckon my favorite color is classified at this point.”

Soap looks up, “what is it?”

“Don’t have one.”

“Figured it was black.”

Ghost raises an eyebrow, “black isn’t a color, Johnny. Dropped outta infant school?”

His Sergeant chuckles, “a’right, dark grey then?”

He pretends to think on it, “yellow.”

“Yer bum’s oot teh window!” Soap laughs.

Ghost blinks confusingly, “English, MacTavish”

“That was English!”

Ghost grumbles, “You said my arse is out a window, Sergeant?”

Johnny doubles over laughing, the sound warm in Ghost’s chest, “aye sir, yer moonin’ the whole base.”

“Giving them a good view” he takes a drag of smoke to hide his small smile.

Soap straightens, giving him that mischievous grin he often wears, “think I know a better one.”

Ghost glances at him, “and what would that be?”

Johnny crowds him against the wall, “yer face, LT. Must be bonnie under that mask of yers, would bet good money on it.”

Warmth thrums through his chest, almost overwhelming. Still, Ghost can’t help leaning into it, like a moth to a flame, uncaring that the fire would bring his demise.

“Maybe I wear the mask ‘cause I’m ugly.” Ghost breathes. The burning smell that always lingers on Soap fills his lungs, and he wishes it would make a home there.

Johnny looks him up and down, smile growing. He stares at Ghost’s eyes, purring, “Ah doubt it.”

Gaz pops most of his body out of a window above them, making them both jump away from each other, “the fuck are you doin’ down there?! Shit, were you snogging? I’ll come back later-”

“We weren’t fuckin’ snoggin’ Gaz!” Soap shouts, flush covering his cheeks. Ghost is still lagging behind, waiting for his brain to come back online. Whatever happened a second ago, it felt like he was in a dream, the world outside melting away, leaving only Ghost and Soap.

Curious how dreams and nightmares are so similar.

“Need something, Garrick?” he finally looks away from Johnny at the floating Sergeant.

“Rudy is making tea! Haven’t had a good cuppa in ages, you coming?”

Soap sighs disappointingly, “fuckin’ Brits.”

“On my way Gaz, don’t you dare take mine.” he stomps on his cigarette and rolls his mask back down.

Despite his grumblings, Soap follows him to the kitchen, taking a mug of tea himself. 

He spat out the liquid after one sip.

Originally I wanted them to fight for like 2 chapters, but they decided they just don't want to and flirt instead

[onesaltyhunter]

Sleep Token x Gender Neutral!Reader HCs

what type of inhuman creatures would they be?

Side note: I've never made one of these before so props to all those people who make these regularly--they're difficult for my 3 brain cells to pop out something in return

VESSEL (I)

VAMPIRE

Protective, yet kind and passionate (he's also moderately awkward but we love that for him)

Tried his best to use his special "mind powers" to make you attracted to him after years of jokingly flirting with you

(It didn't work lmao)

He's still a hopeless romantic so he tried again

it still didn't work but you ended up falling for him anyway (he still believes that it worked)

Has an undeniable urge to hold onto you in some way, whether it may be an arm around your shoulder, waist--holding hands, and even the occasional fumbling with each other's fingers when walking somewhere

he's cold. like SO FUCKING COLD.

You used to jump at how freezing he was to the touch, but you've gotten used to it (for the most part)

If you decide to go to one of their shows and someone looks at you for a split second with even the slightest look of disgust/infatuation, Vessel with put the fear of God into them

He wouldn't tell you what he did, but, you could easily figure it out

bro is HORNY like ON GOD

II

WERECAT

kinda shy--very cuddly though

yeah sure they have a "Holy duty to be constantly awake" but sometimes, II feels a bit eepy

either very energetic or very tired, no in-between

Can barely hold back the urge to wrap his arms around you and nuzzle your neck (even if you're taller than him)

Acts like he needs some alone time every once in a while (lies)

Doesn't really know how to explain to you that he wants to spend more time with you--doesn't want to come off as clingy

Has literally overslept cuddled up to you and nearly missed a show because of it--loves violating his duty to Sleep if it means he can spend more time with you

It doesn't feel like he has to ask to "accidentally" pass out on you, bypassing any means of attempting to ask you if it's alright

You'd always be okay with it though, unless you were nommin on a snack and it felt weird to see him schlumped over your thigh, snoring--which felt weird but eh, its just II being II

After you found out what he was, you jokingly called him a "catboy"

The weird stare off lasted a solid minute

II was a little weirded out by the fact that you were unphased by your reaction to him telling you that he is a LITERAL monster

III

WEREWOLF

sorry if you thought he was going to be some big strong werewolf man--he has the personality of a golden retriever

Needs hugs (SHOW HIM SOME AFFECTION LIKE 24/7 PLS HE NEEDS IT)

VERY ENERGETIC

Fuckin loves running around like a maniac with you on off-days or even after a show

You still wonder how he has the energy to do stuff after bouncing about and toying with Vessel on stage

Will NOT hesitate on making a scene if it looks like someone is harassing you

Will (attempt) stop the ENTIRE SHOW and jump down into the crowd and shove them

if he can't, well--let's just say that he had a very unpleasant snack that night

Comes back acting as if nothing happened

IV

FAE

very chill (as per usual)

loves to dance around

you came home to him jamming out on his own and all of your seemingly dying house plants started living again

(Bro forgot he can do that 💀)

will dance with you until the middle of the night (goblin behavior but we love him fr)

loves taking you to botanical gardens

can't stop bringing you flowers (like no he really can't stop, it almost a problem)

another hugger (you want to hug him--you NEED TO)