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mv1simp · 1 month ago

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Haunted ♥️ Part 2 of 2

Alpha!Max Verstappen x Reader (Omegaverse AU)

READ PART ONE HERE

it’s where we go, it’s what we'll be (I know if i’m onto you, you must be onto me)

As Mercedes’ rookie female driver, you garner a lot of media attention, even more when you reveal you haven’t presented. You don’t care about true mates or presenting - all you wanted was the championship. You’d be a lot closer to it, if it wasn’t for the dominating Alpha Max Verstappen. But after your late presentation, you two realise there’s a lot more to your bond than competition.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, size kink, primal themes, dom!Max, Sub!Reader, enemies to lovers. WC: 10k

After the scandalous events of the rooftop, where you and the tall blond Alpha had ended up in an intoxicating kiss, you take your avoidance of Max to the next level. You remain glued to George, furtively glancing from side to side in case your cocky rival decides to appear and terrorise you off the track. Your teammate found your sudden paranoia rather amusing, tousling your curls and making you puff your cheeks up and pout. Max watches the scene unfold with narrowed eyes as he walked into the interview room, finally catching a glimpse of you for the first time in two weeks. He notices you're wearing your jacket fully zipped up despite the warm weather - probably because his hickeys still littered your neck, he thinks smugly. Although next time he’d have to leave some so high up you couldn’t hide them and your loser teammate knew exactly who you belonged to. The possessive though rises up within him before he could even process it, as his inner Alpha seethed at seeing another driver touch his Omega so familiarly. The cameras don't miss the steely glare the Dutch champion delivered to the British Mercedes driver. It gave commentators something to speculate about and ask if Verstappen was threatened by Russell ahead of today’s race in Zandvoort?

And their commentary got even more heated during Lap 31 as they watched the Redbull driver slow down his leading pace, clipping George’s Mercedes car in a sharp and aggressive movement. It sent the Brit spinning into the barricade, letting you take his place in P2 instead. Afterwards, George had found him in the Parc Femme, parked comfortably in P1, and demanded to know what the hell that had been for, mate. Max just coolly told him to keep his greedy hands off what didn’t belong to him. George looked at him, confused, but chose not to argue with the clearly pissed off and aggressive smoky scent Max was radiating.

The cameras ate it up, thinking Max was referring to how George had come dangerously close to taking the Dutchman’s home race trophy. But you knew better, side eyeing Max dubiously when you gingerly sat next to him for the post race interview. You focused on getting through the questions, ignoring how handsome he looked in his white fireproofs, all sweaty and muscly post race, his tousled blonde locks contrasting his intense blue eyes. His large arm lay draped across the back of the couch, and you swore you could feel the heat radiating to your back even through the sofa cushions.

Again, post interview, you hurriedly sprinted away without daring to look Max in the eye. Your self control was getting more fragile every night you spent away from him. You could tell what your body ached for, with every wet dream becoming more vivid, making you ache and drip all down your legs for a man that you hated. And it was this Alpha's name was on your lips when you couldn't take it anymore, choosing to relieve the tension with a buzzing vibrator, praying that it’d be enough to settle the desperate omega inside you. Spoiler alert - it wasn’t, judging by the way you’d had to grip the interview sofa with clenched fists to stop yourself from climbing onto the man next to you and guiding his lips back onto yours, then to your neck, then maybe your sensitive nipples-

You don’t get far with that particular train of dirty thought as you’re yanked into a passing RV motor home. You'd been so distracted you don’t realise you’ve walked into the Redbull plot - and ended up falling right into the home of the one driver you'd been trying to avoid. Because Max goddamn Verstappen is in front of you, your Alpha the slutty inner omega croons, telling you to enjoy the way his strong, tall frame has you caged against the now locked door. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you immediately regret it as you get an burst of Max’s heady scent. Now carefully only taking shallow breaths, you demand he backs the hell off, because you aren’t interested in whatever games he wants to play, you don’t want him.

Really, prinses? the handsome Blonde huskily murmurs into your ear, making you tense when he bends down, inhaling your deliciously sweet scent. You nod furiously, adamantly protesting how truly, you didn’t need him for anything, you’re a strong capable Omega and the entire concept of this ridiculous fated mate bullshit is sexist and outdated-

He chuckles, voicing his agreement that you’re undoubtedly the strongest Omega he’s ever had the misfortune - or blessing, now - of meeting. A good match for the strongest Alpha here, hmm? He teases. But it’s too bad you didn’t need your Alpha for anything, he muses, because he was so ready to help his pretty little mate with anything she wanted, that she needed. Especially that ache in her virgin cunny that just doesn’t seem to go away no matter how many toys she uses?

You yelp, blushing, brown doe eyes wide as you look up at Max in shock. You're half mortified that he knew and half extremely turned on by his suggestion. You’re stammering out your questions, asking how the hell did he know about that, had he been doing some creepy possessive Alpha male stalking-

Max laughs, the genuinely happy sound sending butterflies swirling through you. The soft side to the competitive driver made you so crazy for him, for getting to have both sides whenever you wanted while the rest of the grid got his wrath. No, schat, he reassures with a teasing smile, there was no creepy stalking.

Then he explains how, leading upto the claiming, mates were often given visions when the other was thinking intensely about them - in an effort to help them find each other. And once the mating bond was complete, this two way channel became fully established between an Alpha and Omega. Like a constant shared stream of consciousness, he explained patiently, but able to be closed off when one wanted to, only leaving the most intense emotions to radiate down the bond rather than every thought. You pondered the information curiously, not having come across this in your desperate research after finding out you were Max’s mate. So, this means I could technically get inside your head during a race and figure out your race strategy?

Max grins at your adorable expression, reminding you that he, too, could be inside your mental walls during a race. As you pout cutely, cheeks puffed, he can’t resist the urge to gently press a kiss to your forehead. The sweet gesture makes you tense again, but this time it's because you’re about to cross the line you’d told yourself you were never going to do again. You couldn't resist your desire for your Alpha in this moment, not when you've spend night after night failing to ease your frustrations and he's right here. Standing on your tiptoes, you meet Max's soft lips with your own, eyelids fluttering as his skilled tongue sweeping against yours has sparks shooting down to your aching core. As he easily lifts you up, bringing you over to the sofa and sitting you down to straddle his lap, you remember a missing detail in his explanation. You didn’t say, you say with a blush when he pauses your steamy make out to toss his fireproof shirt off, noting how you’d cast a wandering gaze to his broad chest. Biting your lip, you continued- you didn’t say how you knew about me being a…virgin.

You look down, suddenly shy, missing the predatory glint in Max’s eye as he pulls you flush against him and devilishly purrs Oh, that? I could taste it on the slick you ruined my pants with last time, prinses. Saved yourself all for me, yeah?

Your surprised gasp is cut off by him deeply kissing you again, your hands now eagerly running along his thick, swollen shoulders and neck. Oh, the real thing was so much better than anything you could have dreamed up. You help Max undress you in between desperate kisses, an undertone of urgency to feel his large palms on your bare skin. You flush cutely under his hungry gaze as he pauses to admire the sight of you in his lap.

You're in a pretty baby pink lace set you’d had on underneath your Mercedes suit, and you let our a whine from the intensity of his darkening blue eyes. You nervously shifting your arms to cover yourself up but he doesn’t let you, keeping a strong grip on your wrists with one hand so he can enjoy the delicious view. Your Omega is going into overdrive now, and you’re desperately grinding on his thick thigh again, hoping he’ll resume running his hands along your waist or flex his thigh to help send you over the edge. But he doesn’t to any of that. Instead, he just leans back with a smug expression, enjoying the sight of you trying and failing to get yourself off on his lap.

Huffing in annoyance, you try to redirect his hands to your hips, indicating that you wanted him to take over and bounce you up and down his leg with that brutish strength of his, but he easily deflects, telling you he needed to hear the words, schatje.

Ugh, so goddamn arrogant - apparently finding out he was your mate did nothing to keep his ego in check. Make me cum, Verstappen - it’s just this once, you demand, making his eyes narrow at your bratty tone. He’d need to teach his Omega some manners, clearly. Resting his face against his propped up hand, he watches you with an almost bored look as he deepens his scent, making it even more headier and stronger. Now, you struggle to think clearly through the fuzziness you’re now feeling, overwhelmed with how sensitive you feel after inhaling him. You're dripping all over his muscled thigh as you throw your head back, whining, hoping to tempt him with your open neck. Again, Max looks uninterested by the show you’re putting on, drawling out a like I said, prinses, you’re going to have to ask me nicely.

You lose the game within seconds as you hand over the control to him on a silver platter, pleading for him to please, please help take the ache away, Max. He hides his pleased smirk behind the palm he’s leaning on, making you desperately whine for him a few more times before finally touching you.

So that’s how you find yourself spread out on his sofa, delicate bra ripped off you so he could climb on top of you to twist and lick your sensitive nipples, making you arch into his wicked mouth. He’s running his long fingers along your slit through your ruined panties, ever so gently, making you teary from how badly you need him to do more. The sight of you crying out of desperation for him turns Max on in ways he hadn’t realised were possible. He’s doing everything he can to hold himself back from ramming his hard cock into you right there, knowing you’d never forgive him for taking your precious virginity like this. So he tortures you in other ways, by kissing in between your breasts, licking at the bruises that have formed from his strong grip, and then continuing down, down, to your cute soft tummy and then-

Oh, Max! You moan his name sweetly, over and over again as he runs his large nose along your swollen folds, inhaling deeply and growling at the honey sweet, unclaimed scent that awaited him. Even then, he only pulls your soaked lacey panties to the side to leave antagonisingly shallow kitten licks.

You have no idea how he’s managing to keep his composure while you’re practically falling apart. And then he tells you that you’d been a very bad Omega, ignoring your Alpha for two weeks and then letting other horny Alphas put their dirty hands all over you. So if you wanted him to help you now you’d have to beg me for it, prinses.

You give in so easily, sultrily moaning your rival’s name as you beg Maxie, please kiss me down there, please, your tongue feels so good, I need it to cum-

Smirking at having ruined his mate, his rival like this, he stops his torture and buries his face between your thighs, eating you out like a starved man. You’re so loud, crying and begging for him as he thrusts his wicked tongue in and out your puffy folds that he has to slip his fingers into your open mouth for you to suckle on and keep quiet. As much as it drives him wild to hear your sweet moans, he’s mindful of the buzzing paddock just outside, and how anyone standing too close would only have to catch one whiff or hear one breathy moan to figure it out. He’d kill anyone who got to hear the precious sounds you were making - they're all for him, and him only. Fuck, he should have used something other than his fingers though, because now you’re eagerly sucking and drooling all over them and it’s sending lightning bolts to his already hard cock, as he imagines you sucking him there instead.

Ripping off your soaked panties, he meanly stuffs them into your open mouth, making your eyes widen but successfully muffling your moans. You don’t get to be annoyed by his filthy move, though, because he’s using his fingers to now fuck your tight pussy, hissing at how tight you were for him, prinses, you’re going to feel like heaven around his cock when he claims you.

You moan uncontrollably at the thought, fresh slick gushing out from your core and straight into his waiting mouth. You're pulling at his soft blonde locks, your teary doe eyes meeting his intense blue ones as he looks up at you, still flicking his talented tongue over your clit. You won’t ever ignore your Alpha again, hmm?

You nod frantically, breathlessly agreeing yes, yes Maxie, I promise I'll be good for you and he rewards your good behaviour with further kisses and licks along your slit, the filthy sounds of him messily eating you out filling the air. And then you're cumming, screaming his name as the most intense orgasm you've ever had overwhelms you, squirting your slick all over his lips and couch. Dropping your head back against the sofa, you struggle to stay awake as you come down from the bliss, taking deep gasps of air as Max had gently removed your makeshift gag.

After a few minutes, though, you dazedly realise that you can't close your legs because Max is holding them wide open across his shoulders, his large hands gripping your soft thighs. Lifting up slightly to look at him, you feel your face flush at the hunger in his icy blue gaze as he takes in how pretty you looked when coming undone for him. You can take another one for me, right schat? He croons, eyes never leaving yours as he smirks darkly and leans down, making sure you see him dragging his wide tongue through your puffy, overstimulated folds.

Your eyes widen again, because no, you did not think you could handle another mindblowing orgasm like that and walk out of the motorhome on two legs- Shhh, prinses, you promised to be good for me, remember? And he makes sure you stick true to your word by cumming again, desperately moaning his name, now completely ruined with the need for your Alpha.

You hadn't been able to avoid Max after that. What girl could, after having her pussy worshipped and eaten out like it was the best meal on the planet? Instead of your automatic scowl or snappy retort at him though, you now would go pink at the sight of him, at his captivating blue eyes, remembering how they'd been intensely fixed on yours as he kissed your most innocent areas. Or when you'd look at his veiny arms and thick hands, remembering how they'd held your shaking thighs open for him. No matter how many suppressant tablets you'd double up on, or deep breathing exercises you would do before entering the paddock, you couldn't keep your inner slutty Omega's desires at bay. Your team had noticed your odd behaviour too, with George sniffing the back of your neck briefly one day and commenting that you smelt different. You spun around, paranoid that your sweet Omega scent had started showing, but George had hummed thoughtfully and said you smelled deeper and warmer these days, like burnt amber. Maybe you’re going to have a second presentation as an Alpha? he joked, missing the panicked expression on your face when he inadvertently described your scent taking on Max’s whenever you two would see each other.

Meanwhile, Max’s behaviour towards you had started changing, not just behind the safety of closed doors but in public view as well. It started at the media conferences, where you two would often be next to each other as race winners. The FIA loved to stoke the flames of the Redbull-Mercedes rivalry by giving you an opportunity to argue with each other easily due to proximity. You’d both certainly fallen into the trap a few times, making news headlines and viral videos, but now Max’s aggression towards you had changed to something far more…you didn’t know how else to describe it, except for protective. Now the ones met with Max's hostility would be reporters anytime they directed sexist questions to you or implied that your driving wasn’t good enough for F1, that you were only here for representation.

You’d been very irritated at this particular theme of questioning that had starting occurring more frequently as you won more races. Distracted, you hadn’t even realised how involved your rival was getting in your affairs - until your publicist set her iPad in front of you to play the most recent viral interview. Even before she clicked play, the cover photo made your heart flutter. It was a side profile shot of you on the media couch, arms crossed and an obviously upset expression on your face as you looked on towards a rude journalist. Max sat next to you on the semi circular couch, facing the camera front on. The angle captured the way his large arm was slung across the back of the sofa to just graze your shoulder. At that time, you remember thinking his heat radiating through the cushions had felt soothing. His legs were spread apart in a show of casual dominance but the dark expression on his face clearly reflected how the journalist was going to be meeting the fangs of the Dutch Lion if he didn’t stop talking. And when your publicist pressed play, you saw how Max’s observant eyes flickered to your upset face when it was clear you’d grown sick of the tirade of frustrating questions, ones that you’d normally sassily retort to and earn laughs for, but were now getting overwhelmed with. And then he had intervened, smoothly cutting the next rude question off with a equally aggressive response, saying that really, shouldn't they be asking Max if he'd slept his way to P1 - given he actually won the race?

You'd thought for sure your publicist was suspicious there was something going on. But to your surprise she's beaming and telling you it was great PR to see the Mercedes princess get along with Redbull's Mad Max. Since it had gone so viral it wouldn't hurt for the two of you to get along and be photographed more, yes? You mutely nodded, still half bewildered that she hadn't snapped her fingers at you to say Aha! I knew it, you're his Omega! Perhaps you were getting a touch over paranoid.

So when Max had found you at the end of the day, asking if you wanted to come to dinner with him, you said yes, knowing that your PR manager would be internally giving you a thumbs up. Opening his car door for you, Max noted your glassy stare and tired expression from the race and constant pestering questions afterwards. He drove you to one of his favourite local places, a warmly lit Turkish eatery with falafel and barbecued meat. And it was discreet, too, no one looking your way which you were thankful for, given how casually dressed you were in a hoodie and jeans, too tired to dress up for any stray cameras. Max didn’t seem to mind your simple attire, of course, wearing a practically identical one. The restaurant had just the sort of comfort food you'd been craving and you moaned into your kebab, telling him thank god the Dutch had learnt to bring back food from places they'd tried to colonise.

He chuckled, giving you a warm smile that made you blush a bit from how handsome he looked. You avoided those intense blue eyes of his and tucked back into your kebab, changing the topic to ask him what his other favourite spots in the city were growing up. After paying, despite your protests to split, he offered to drop you back to your hotel. You'd had a lot more energy on the way back to take in your surroundings, noting how confidently Max manoeuvred the steering wheel with one hand as he talked, the other resting on the console. When he pulled up to your accomodation, ready to walk you in, you gently tell him not too. The media backlash would be bad towards you as a female driver if they saw you with a guy going into your hotel. Max scowled, the icy fire returning to his eyes as he was reminded of the sexist standards you'd been dealing with all day. You instinctively reached for his hand on the console, making his eyes flick towards where your small fingers grasped his much larger palm. Thank you, Max, you say genuinely, for dinner and also for helping out with the media stuff today. I can normally handle it, but today...you trail off, a frustrated look on your face. I know you can handle it, Max reassured firmly, his fingers intertwining in yours, but that doesn't mean you should always have to do it alone. Trust me, it gets old really quick. And on the days you're over it, I definitely don't mind telling all those assholes to fuck off.

You giggle at his words, telling him you know this is why they call you Mad Max, right? He watched you laugh with a pleased expression, his inner Alpha content at having taken care of his Omega. As you start to open your car door, once again turning down his offer to walk you in, you hesitate and glance back towards him. Then, quickly, almost as if you knew you would lose the courage to do it if you overthink it, you press a kiss to his cheek, letting your cloyingly sweet scent wash over him so he knows how satisfied you feel with him. And then you're sprinting out the car, hightailing it through your hotel doors with a single nervous glance backwards to Max, who watches you with suddenly dark eyes and a tight grip on the wheel.

The papparazzi don't catch wind of that night's dinner, but as Max and you start seeing each other more regularly under the guise of him taking you to his favourite restaurants, it’s only a matter of time. Pictures blow up online overnight of you two after a Spanish dinner back in Monaco, as Max caught onto your preference for spicy foods. You’re thankful that you’d chosen to dress up a bit that night, in a cute white summery minidress with tie up bow straps and matching heeled sandals. You’re admiring the shot of you, emerging first from the restaurant, thinking you actually looked pretty in the paparazzi shots for once. But your eyes widen at the second photo when you swipe next. Max emerges behind you, and his much larger and taller figure makes for a very protective figure at your back. In fact, he does look like he could be a bodyguard, with the comfortable hoodie he’s wearing that stretches across his broad shoulders and highlights his muscular build. The angle of the photo means only the back of Max’s blonde head is captured, and subsequent pictures continue keeping his face obscured but show him holding your Dior bag for you - having automatically put his hand out for it when you’d gone to the bathroom earlier while he paid. You can see why the flood of comments are asking who the Mercedes’ driver’s hot new bodyguard was?! He’s so well trained! and that this is the height difference every girl deserves!! Is she finally on a date?

You feel a bit flustered, a foreign sensation fluttering in your chest at seeing how natural you and Max look together. The viral dinner photos then turn into a full blown PR scandal the next day, where a fan leaks a picture of you two at dinner from another angle. You're smiling sweetly up at Max when he opens his car door for you, his large palm resting gently on your lower back. This one was a bit harder to explain, and you anxiously bite your lip as you scroll through the new comments, which say things like the mystery Blonde bodyguard last night was MAX VERSTAPPEN??? HER LITERAL RIVAL THROUGH THE WHOLE ROOKIE YEAR? and that this was so enemies to lovers coded!!

You don’t think this is what your PR manager meant when she said she wanted to see more positive interactions online of you with the Redbull driver. But to your surprise, she seems very pleased with the outcome. And she makes it clear to Toto and George, who both had reacted suspiciously to the pictures, asking why you were suddenly so friendly with the dickhead Alpha who’d tried to run you off the track not once but twice?

Their overprotective stances relax a little when your PR manager assures them that it was all good media and that you were acting under her orders. The Redbull team was in on it too, apparently, with both your and Max’s publicists seen giggling as they reposted various memes of the two of you being seen together. You promise Toto and George that Max has surprisingly been nothing but the perfect gentleman. But they still caution you not to let your guard down, because if Max found about about your closely guarded secret of being an Omega….

You laugh nervously, because really, the closely guarded secret was now the fact that the dominant Alpha they wanted to protect you from was actually your mate. But you hadn’t lied - Max had been acting like the perfect gentleman lately. You were surprised by how much you got along with the Dutchman these days, enjoying dinner conversations filled with your mutual interests and laughter at each other’s jokes. Racing, obviously, continued to be a hotly debated topic - but now it seemed to be less of an explosive argument and more like two good friends bickering. You told him this one night as he drove you home - that although it was obviously the right thing to do, you were still grateful that he hadn’t become the over territorial, controlling Alpha mate you’d been scared of. Actually, I - you blush a bit - I actually think this is kind of…nice. I feel like you always know what I’m thinking or feeling without me having to say it. But not in an intrusive way...It's more like knowing I always have someone who will understand?

Max grins at you as he responds warmly, reassuring that it was exactly the same for him, schat. Guess the biology of the mating system did pay off after millions of years evolving, huh? he gently teases, making you roll your brown doe eyes, but you're smiling. Turns out you spoke too soon about the Dutch Alpha, though.

Because the very next week, he pissed you off to no end, resulting in many heated arguments. It started with him pointedly glaring at one of the sponsors who approached you and asked if you’d accompany him to an upcoming gala. You said yes, of course, thinking it would be a good opportunity to source funding for your team - and your boss Toto agreed, pleased. As you got ready for the black tie evening in a hotel room upstairs from the gala in the ballroom, your stylist ducked out after getting a phone call. You assumed she’d returned a few minutes later when you hear the door open, and you called out that you’re In the bedroom, could you please have a hand zipping up the dress?

You’re standing in front of a floor length mirror, pressing your hands to your full chest to hold up the off shoulder beautiful silk evening gown you were wearing. Your doe eyes widen in surprise when it’s not your stylist, but a tall figure dressed impeccably in a well fitted suit that comes behind you in the mirror. Max!? you gasp, confused as you whirl around at his sudden appearance and ask him why he was here. He explained that he’d run into your stylist in the elevator, and she said she had some emergency or the other…asked me to come up and give you this. He holds up a velvet jewellery box, clearly containing the matching accessories for your outfit. Your stylist had mentioned earlier she’d loaned the perfect set of jewels to match the opulence of the gala.

Oh, you say, blushing a bit at the new development but declining when he notes your expression and offers to go hunt your stylist back down. No, that’s okay, I’m sorry to ask but would you mind…you trail off, feeling shy about asking him to zip you up. Despite how steamy things had gotten between the two of you before, this felt far more romantic and intimate. Max hmms, his deep voice rumbling through his broad chest, and gestured for you to turn around with an unreadable expression on his face.

You try to keep you eyes firmly on the ground, staring at the sparkly strappy heels you’re wearing, but you can’t stop your gaze from looking up when you feel Max’s large hands brush against your silk dress. You find his intense gaze is already on yours when you meet his blue eyes through the mirror. He slowly slides the zip up, and you swear you can feel static electricity crackle from how much tension is in the air. When he reaches the top, his fingers brush against your bare back, making you gasp as a jolt runs through you.

Sorry, he murmurs, eyes still locked in on yours through the mirror, but he doesn’t sound like he is in the slightest. His heated gaze then wanders over your smaller form, taking in your blushing face and soft curls that are pinned up, how your dress fell attractively off your shoulders, revealing your elegant neck and collarbones. His gaze lingers there for a long moment before it moves down to take in how your luscious curves are highlighted in the flattering, tight dress. You feel flustered by Max’s attention on you when you’re dressed like this, and quickly busy yourself in opening up the jewellery box - only to gasp at the diamond set that’s revealed.

Where on Earth did she find this? you saw in awe, entranced by the multiple sparkling diamonds that make up the choker-style necklace. You’d have to give your stylist a raise, because you’d never seen such a unique and lavish cut of jewellery in any store. Max shrugs, expression inscrutable as he watches you admire the jewellery you were going to wear tonight. When you struggle to clasp it together behind your neck, shyly looking up at him again in the mirror, you find him already watching you again. He offers his hand out to you for the necklace. May I?

If there was tension before, now it’s so thick that you would need a knife to cut through it. You watch Max’s massive, veiny hands brush across your collarbones as he loops the necklace around. You’re expecting his touch this time, but it doesn’t make it feel any less electric. Warmth spreads through you at seeing how small and delicate your neck looks with Max’s palm across it - a far more effective choker than the delicate jewellery he clasps, you think, unable to suppress the desire that’s swirling in you. Max’s lips are almost brushing your ear from how close he’s standing as he leans down, the high heels you’re wearing giving you a boost to meet the much taller Alpha. And he looks so handsome tonight, his dark suit accentuating his thick legs and swollen biceps, contrasting against his light features and gorgeous blue eyes. You can’t deny that the Dutch Lion is an incredibly attractive man, just your type.

All done, he whispers huskily in your ear, almost teasingly brushing his fingers along your bare collarbones and making you flinch before he pulls away, smirking lightly at your reaction. You look so beautiful, schat he murmurs lowly, the sight of you in the diamonds and silk positively angelic. You turn to face him, wanting to say thank you but the words become stuck in your throat as you see how dark his blue eyes are. Your lips are tantalisingly close, and for a second you’re both leaning in, breaths mingling-

When your stylist loudly re-enters the hotel room, full of apologies for her absence. You immediately move away from Max, avoiding his eyes, the moment broken and your heart racing as you let yourself be guided out the door. You avoid Max like the plague the rest of the evening, rattled by how overcome you’d been earlier, ready to kiss him not in a moment of your usual sexual frustration but rather out of genuine passion. You aren’t ready to admit that you’ve started to feel something deeper for the Alpha, terrified of what it would mean for the future. So you laugh and charm your way through many conversations with sponsors throughout the night, diligently staying by your date’s side, even when you can feel Max’s sharp eyes narrowing at your back and sending shivers through you. Your date is certainly taken with your dolled up appearance, complementing you endlessly. You notice early on he keeps glancing down repeatedly at the stunning choker you wore, like many of the partygoers who’d been admiring it. Assuming that maybe he’d been the one to loan out the set to your stylist for the night, you thanked him for it, but with a strained smile he tells you it wasn’t him. He excused himself, saying that you had his apologies, he wouldn’t have asked you to accompany him tonight if he’d known.

You have no idea why your date was suddenly acting strange and decide to get some air on the balcony, the refreshing night breeze blowing across your warm cheeks. You’re tracing the necklace, perplexed at why everyone seems enamoured with your choice of jewellery tonight. Sure, the diamonds were luxurious, but this was a charity gala in Monaco - surely the guests were used to such opulence?

You feel the hair stand up on the back your neck before Max joins your side, murmuring that you didn’t look like yourself with such a serious expression instead of your usual shit-eating grin. What, scared off your date already? You’re pulled out of your train of thought immediately, the earlier tension with him diffusing as you scowl at his teasing - but there’s no real anger. You end up talking to him for over an hour on the balcony, laughing and enjoying how easy conversations with him are compared to the more stifling, tedious ones you’d been having indoors. As you’d gone to bed that night, you found yourself feeling happily content with the recent development in your relationship with the Dutch Alpha.

But that all changed the next morning, when you woke up to a million notifications buzzing on your phone - the latest one being an ominous “Call me” from Toto. Confused, you start going through your social media, trying to make sense of what’s happening - and your doe eyes widen in shock when you realise just why everyone had been unable to stop looking at your neck last night. Because it turns out the stunning jewels you had been wearing weren’t just some loaned Tiffany’s set your stylist had picked up. No, they were none other than a custom-made, half a million Euro worth, piece of aristocratic jewellery that had been passed on from Omega to Omega in Max Verstappen’s family.

The media had gone ballistic. Headlines like Mercedes rookie driver looks dazzling in Verstappen family jewels and F1 champion Max Verstappen lays claim on his rival driver! fill every newspaper, magazine and gossip forum. And to make it even worse, there’s an undeniable chemistry in the accompanying photo someone had taken of you two on the balcony that night. You look the very picture of a mated couple with how close you stood, him leaning down to intently watch you talk animatedly about something. And those godforsaken diamonds glimmered around your bare neck for all the world to see, proof of his claim on you.

As if you would ever accept the title of being a Verstappen Omega after what had happened to Max’s mother in the very same career.

You’re so incredibly pissed that you’re seeing red for the next few hours, ready to go knocking at Max’s apartment and scream at him for setting you up like this. You had no idea why he’d done this, and with a start you realise the horrible emotion you’re feeling is betrayal, because you’d thought Max actually understood and respected your ambition to be a F1 driver. So instead, you block all his calls when he finally wakes up that morning and decide to see your boss, knowing it’s time to have a long overdue conversation.

Toto watches you silently as you stand before him in his Monaco office, taking a deep breath before confessing that you’d found out soon after your presentation that you had a true mate. Unfortunately, that mate just happened to be Max goddamn Verstappen, and you had no plans to proceed with any sort of relationship with him whatsoever, you tell Toto firmly. I admit my recent friendship with him made me lower my guard, but now- your voice trails off, the hurt clear in your voice, before it becomes resolutely firm again. But now it’s crystal clear that the only thing I should be focusing on is the championship.

Toto closed his eyes with a sigh, leaning forward and pinching his nose. He didn’t speak for a few minutes and you nervously shuffle, but you never anticipated what he said next. Because instead of firing you or yelling at you for hiding this, he said that there was no point running away from your true mate - even if it was an Alpha as distasteful as that brutish Redbull upstart, he says venomously. But despite his sour tone, your boss explains that you two had been lucky to find your true mate at such a young age - he’d had to wait till his second marriage before he found Susie, he reminds you.

You frown, not having expected your normally strictly professional boss to give you personal advice. You’re a great driver, Toto says, ruffling your hair. I admit, I am not a fan of your choice of boyfriend, but if you two have already known you were mates for months and your performance has been outstanding…I have no issues with it. You widen your eyes, immediately protesting and saying Verstappen is absolutely not my boyfriend-

Sure, sure your German boss says, rolling his eyes and showing you to the door. Just be thankful that all this media exposure about you two being a couple actually seems to be drawing the sponsors in instead of scaring them off, like we’d thought.

He cuts off your adamant refusal with a gentle push out his office door. See you at the practise track on Monday, da? Don’t come smelling like that Dutch dog. He closes the door in your bewildered face, muttering something about how kids these days will be the death of him.

Reassured that your job was still secure for now, you take a moment to recheck your phone which you’d been anxiously avoiding all morning. To your surprise, you found that Toto had been right - while there were obviously some negative and sexist articles about you sleeping your way into F1 and seducing the drivers, the overwhelming majority of the media seemed to be going crazy with excitement at the prospect of the first couple who drove within F1 together. It seemed the public still believed you to be Unpresented and romantically involved with the Alpha Redbull champion. They media had not yet caught onto the fact that you were actually Max’s Omega - but you knew it was only a matter of time before that secret was out in the open.

Determined to delay that particular PR scandal for as long as possible, you finally return to your apartment, already knowing who would be waiting. Max stands with a tense jaw and crossed arms outside your front door, immediately turning towards you as the elevator doors ding open. You pointedly ignore him as he begins talking to you animatedly, instead unlocking the door and walking into your apartment. He follows you in, apologising about what had happened but you’ve tuned him out, looking disinterested as you slip off your sneakers and head to your kitchen. Max’s yapping trails off at this point, the normally in command Alpha now appearing uncharacteristically nervous as he looks at you.

Schatje? Can you say something? He says, looking worried now. If you weren’t so mad, you think you might even find his soft blue eyes and scrunched brow rather cute. But you’re still very furious, letting Max know just how fucked up it had been to find out the necklace you’d been wearing had actually been his goddamn family heirloom. Wearing his choker around your neck like a collar, what, like I’m your property? A pretty pet to be put on display for the strongest Alpha? Not to mention that it’s been worn by all the Omegas in your family, you hissed at him. You’re lucky no one has started accusing me of secretly being one yet!

Max absorbs all your anger, apologetically telling you he admits not disclosing history of the necklace had been a bad idea, a mistake that he promises he would never make again. You can feel the genuine sorrow and guilt at having hurt you radiating off him. Feeling calmer now, you ask him just why he’d given you the choker to wear. You’re not my property, Max says firmly, blue eyes now steely. And I wouldn’t ever want you to feel like that. But you’re mine, just like I’m yours. I wanted to make that clear to any other Alpha who may be...interested. And trust me, there were more than a few.

Your jaw drops as you realise his intentions, and you’re completely floored. So basically, you were just jealous I was there with another guy? A sponsor? Max runs a hand through his tousled locks, now looking a bit embarrassed and you finally take in his appearance. He was still dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, with cat slippers - clearly having gotten straight up and driver to yours. Despite your initial anger, you feel yourself soften a bit when he tells you it was mostly just instinct that made him take the necklace out of the family safe when he heard you’d be attending with a date. If I couldn’t be seen publically as your date, then I wanted to be able to offer you something else - and that necklace has been gifted to the Omegas that the Alphas in my family have been courting for the past few hundred years. Not as a collar of ownership - he adds hastily, already knowing where this could end up - but rather an offer to you that I could provide and take care of you however you like. If you’ll have me, of course. His blue eyes find yours, studying your reaction closely to his tempting invitation.

You take in his words, finding a warm flush spreading through you at the foreign idea of having an Alpha like Max promise his loyalty and dedication to you, and only you. There was something about your normally prideful rival admitting his jealousy, his possessiveness, that awoke your inner Omega. She purred at the thought of your Alpha wanting to publically declare you as his, consequences be damned. You decided to move on for now, telling him wryly that next time there might be better ways of handling his jealousy than pawning out his half a million Euro necklace.

Smiling, relieved at your extended olive branch, Max can’t resist a cheeky you’d seemed to love the diamonds last night though? You flush at the teasing, telling him there was no need to bring that up and that reminds you, it was way to expensive to just be sitting on your dresser like that and you needed to return it-

Keep it, Max says, icy fire in his eyes now as his usual assured tone returns. It was almost meant to be gifted to my Omega. It’s yours, now, just like the rest of me. Your heart flutters at his declaration, and you counter that okay, okay, but could he at least store it in his safe again for now, you did not have the contents insurance to cover it if you got robbed? Conceding, Max agrees to your compromise, and your offer to stay for breakfast as well.

Smiling at how adorably excited he looked after earning your forgiveness, you’re humming to yourself as you return to the kitchen after collecting the necklace from your bedroom. You find Max standing still, a small bottle in his hand - that you realise were actually your heat suppressants. He looks perplexed at the label, looking up at you, asking Why you had these? You feel defensive at his demanding tone. What? Obviously I’ve been taking them this whole time, especially with the way you keep trying to rile me up every race.

Max looks completely floored at the new information that you’ve been suppressing your scent, your biological reactions to him. And then he connects to dots to say you hadn’t had a real heat then? After your presentation? You eye him a little suspiciously, asking him where he was going with this but he impatiently prompts you to answer him. I haven’t, you huff, cheeks pink. I haven’t had my first heat yet.

Max’s blue eyes darken at your words, his grip on the bottle tightening so much that it actually gets crushed under his hand. He tells you that you should stop taking these suppressors immediately, that delaying your heat was going to make it much more painful for you when it finally happened. You should pick a safe time and place to come off them, let your heat happen naturally and-

No fucking way, Verstappen you say, rolling your eyes. What, just cause you want to hear me beg for your help again, huh?

Yes, Max says rather straightforwardly. I’ve been dreaming about the day you let me claim you properly. You blush a bright pink, hating how your stomach did backflips at his possessive words, remembering how insanely mind-blowing your sexual experiences have been with him so far. You can’t deny that it's been a recurring theme in the vivid dreams you've been having, that have become more and more frequent and realistic every time. They've left you wondering what your first heat would be like...and how it would feel if you let Max fuck you through it.

But still, you firmly deny his proposal, telling him to shut up because there’s no way you can stop suppressants in the middle of the season. He wisely chooses to bite his tongue at your raised eyebrow, instead putting himself to work mixing pancake batter before you kick him out, still irritated with his thoughtless demand of stopping your suppressants.

But your words come back to haunt you much sooner than you anticipated - two race weekends later. You've been avoiding coming within a 10 feet radius of Max, especially with how rabid the media have gotten, wanting to interrogate the two of you on your relationship status. You only give brief, clipped media-trained answers, saying you were here to be a racing driver and not some gossip column celebrity.

It's almost hilarious how quickly your facade crumbles, barely onto Lap 11 of the race. You'd already been feeling unwell in qualifying the day before but chalked it off as nerves from the scrutiny of thousands of eyes on you. You even took a triple dose of suppressants that morning, blatantly ignoring the health warnings on the label. You'd had to get a fresh supply after Max practically crushed all your old ones to dust, and you scowl just thinking of the memory. Goddamn arrogant Alpha, thinking it all revolved around him, around the relationship - when your first priority was always going to be the world championship. Just like you were certain his priorities lay. Why should you have to sacrifice your career just because you're an Omega?

The universe laughs at your determination, and on that fateful Lap 11 the rising dizziness you'd been feeling becomes stronger as you approach your rival's Red Bull car ahead. The closer you get to him, the more your head spins, and as you come within a couple metres - the crowd screams in excitement and shock as an involuntary shudder through your body almost makes you spin out.

And suddenly you can't breathe, or think, or do anything else because it hits you all at once. Max. Your inner Omega croons, calling out for her Alpha, the man preselected to provide and care for her in every way. And somewhere on the other end of the bond, you feel that heady, intense aura of your mate responding to the call. I'm right here. You're safe.

You almost lose all control of your car as the most intense, burning need you'd ever felt in your life overtakes you completely. And you only want one thing - your Alpha, Max. With a screech of the tires, your car goes barrelling into the barricades, safely cushioned amongst the rubber. Luckily, you aren't hurt, dazedly yanking off your wheel and belt as you stumble out of your car, ignoring the frantic messages over your team radio. You keep your helmet firmly on, trying desperately to focus on taking one step in front of the other and get off this track, no longer caring about the massive fine you were going to get slapped with for disrupting the race.

You barely remember what happened next, keeping your eyes closed and clenching your fists because of how much your head pounded. Blood rushes to your ears, your veins chanting for Max, Max, your Alpha, you needed him-

Your team is tripping over themselves in a rush to come grab you as you stumble to the Mercedes garage. But when quite a few of them freeze, staring at you in shock, you finally realise that you couldn't hide your secret anymore. Because the delicious, sweet scent of an unclaimed Omega in her primal heat radiated off you in thick waves. You're crying at how distressed you feel, thankful for the helmet hiding your reaction. Toto appears at some point, pulling you into his side to navigate through the crowd. There's people talking around you rapidly but you can barely piece together their words, and then you hear Toto's strong voice cutting through it, speaking to you with his authoritative voice. Your Omega hones in for a second, taking in something about getting you out of here, to a safe location for a few days- but then you lose interest, because this isn't the Alpha that you so desperately wish was by your side right now.

You're being led quickly to a discreet car around the back end, and your boss is impatiently ushering you towards it, pausing for a second to yank your helmet off so you can hear him better. Bad, bad idea - he takes one look at your flushed, dazed face before he swears, stumbling back when your sickeningly sweet smell hits him now that your neck is exposed. You reach out instinctively, wanting him to stay by your side and protect you through this confusing mess but he turns around stiffly, pressing his hand to his nose to block out any scent.

Your manager - a Beta - steps in and guided your distressed figure into the backseat, whispering reassurances to you that it was all going to be okay. The last thing you remember is Toto's face as he turns to see your car drive off, his face tense. With a jolt, you realise that the unfamiliar darkness in his eyes was a response to your heat, because it was so strong it had even affected a mated Alpha.

A few hours later, you're well away from the racetrack. Your manager had somehow managed to smuggle you onto an emergency chartered jet to take you back to Monaco. But instead of letting you rest in the comfort of your apartment, she insisted you go shower and clean up while she packed a bag. You spend a good 30minutes under the icy cold shower, enjoying the relief against your skin which had started to become very warm. But your temporary relief is put to an end when you're once again ushered out, into another car, and then she's driving you out towards the Italian farmlands outside of the city.

You don't recognise the double storied terracotta house she pulls upto in the late afternoon, in the middle of a sprawling vineyard without any other houses visible for miles. You confusedly ask her what was going on as she helps you into the house, letting you rest on the sofa as she makes sure all the windows are locked shut. Turning on the AC to maximum, she turns to explain you were in a safe house, a good 45 minutes away from the nearest inhabitants of a rural Italian village.

It's actually a very cozy place, with a traditional exterior but modern interior, the kitchen fully stocked and high grade security locks on the windows and doors. For you to spend your heat safely, your manager says firmly. She makes you promise that you'll stay inside, and not to be scared, because no one knows you were here - not even Max. She hesitates, then, looking sympathetic at your flushed figure as you start burning up uncomfortably despite the aircon. It'll be a painful, getting through this first heat alone. It's a pity you and Max weren't able to work it out before it started...but maybe next time. Leaving your phone plugged in for any emergencies, she leaves, telling you she'd return in a week's time.

And then you're finally alone. The sheer exhaustion of the day hits you, the realisation that the whole world had seen, had smelt the secret you'd been hiding. You fall asleep on the sofa, wanting to forget it all and escape. When you wake a few hours later, the sun is setting over the horizon. You're not sure what woke you up, and then your brain catches up the suddenly unbearable heat radiating from your body. You shrug out of your outer layers, still panting despite being left in a thin camisole singlet and tiny shorts. You needed some air, it was so goddamn hot -

Ignoring your manager's warning, you unbolt the front door and step outside into the dusky twilight. Your senses are still muddled, feeling fried from the aching heat, but then a few seconds later you feel yourself regaining some clarity. You think it was the evening breeze that soothed you - but your inner Omega hones in on something else carried over in the breeze. A smoky, amber scent fills you senses, and makes you suddenly gush an embarrassing amount of slick into your panties.

And when you turn to look at the source, you see your Alpha agitatedly prowling towards you through the grapevines, his dusty Jeep parked haphazardly behind him. He comes to a stop a few metres away, watching you intensely with a tilt of his head, his own chest rapidly rising with deep pants. The sight of the Dutch Lion has the desperate need to be fucked going overdrive within you, and his low growl carries across the gap as he catches a hint of how delicious your slick in heat smells. Missed me, my sweet Omega? Max murmurs, velvet voice deep as he takes in your bare neck and inviting breasts as you breathe him in.

But your little game isn't over yet, and in the brief moment of sanity you're asking him how the hell he had found you? Eyes darkening at your shaky voice, ice blue eyes roaming over your barely dressed figure, he huskily murmurs a What do you think? I just followed the delicious scent of my Omega in heat. There was no way in hell I was finishing that race as soon as you called for me through the bond.

Your heart beats even faster at his confession. You hadn't known the Dutchman had given up his position in P1 to come to you. You'd find out later too that the Redbull driver had stormed into the Mercedes garage minutes after you'd left, demanding to know why you'd been smuggled away from him. And he'd taken one look at Toto Wolff's face, seen his eyes overcome with desire at smelling you, Max's Omega...and promptly seen red. It had ended up taking 4 Alphas to separate the Dutchman from the German team principal, and that was after Max had gotten three strong blows in. The FIA were going to be gleefully rolling in cash from the amount of fines they were sending the latest grid couple's way.

But you weren't aware of any of that in the present. All you could think about was how he'd made you wait hours today. It had been pure torture when he should have been by your side, reassuring you, taking care of you in the way only he can. You test him one more time, telling him if he'd come all the way here thinking you were going to get to fuck me then he was going to be disappointed. You weren't going to let an Alpha who was late to his mate's first heat lay his claim, you say with a sniff.

You smirk coyly at the warning rumble in Max's chest at your stubborn challenge. Then, in an instant, you're taking off, sprinting like a wild rabbit through the vineyard fields as the full moon lights the way. Your body is moving on instinct, and you've heard of this before, the Priming - the final test an Omega performed to see if the Alpha was able to keep up with her, to catch her successfully and make her his mate.

You laugh excitedly, the sound travelling in the air, when you look back and don’t see him anymore. You think you've outsmarted him when you cut through a hidden pathway, almost at the edge of the field and into the woods-

When a large, muscled arm knocks the wind out of you when it wraps firmly around your waist and yanks you back. And then you’re pressed into a warm, hard body with a possessive hand snaking around your neck, and you know your game is over. You gasp when Max bends down to your level, your tiny frame barely brushing his upper chest. He turns your chubby cheeks with his large hand to meet his intense, hungry gaze. The last flecks of the beautiful ocean blue have completely disappeared as darkness swirls in Max’s eyes. I’m going to claim you now, my sweet little Omega he purrs, enjoying how your tits bounce up and down as you pant in response to in his intoxicating, dominating scent.

And when you bite your lip, your doe eyes completely glazed over with lust as you tilt your delicate neck back invitingly, he knows you’re finally all his. Licking a stripe up the column of your throat as a teaser of what was to come, he smiles at the shaky hitch in your breathing. More slick drips out of you, drenching your panties and making you press your thighs together desperately. Smirking now, he teases you as he presses that big nose you adore against your collarbone, his deep accented voice murmuring against your feverish skin. You’re so wet for me and I haven’t even touched you there yet. Didn’t I tell you this would happen with those fucking suppressants? But my Omega is just too stubborn to listen to me, hmm?

He teases you more, his voice husky and magnetic as he moves his lips by your ear to whisper into it. What do you want me to do about this mess, schat? You can’t take this torture any longer, and with a whine you wrap both your hands around his thick, veiny forearm to pull it from your waist and instead cup your soaked core through your thin shorts. Max, you whine, Maxie, Maxieee, yo-you’re gonna take care of me, right? Like a good Alpha? You promised you would when you gave me the necklace!

Your desperate pleas have him growling, and he lifts you up easily to toss you over his broad shoulder. You squeal in shock at the sudden change in position as he stalks off back to the house, locking it firmly behind him once past the front door. And then there’s nothing standing in the way of his large hands exploring your sensitive body, the only salvation to your burning fever. His strong hands easily rip away your camisole, your shorts, and his eyes - that are completely black now - hungrily roam over your heaving tits and wet cunny. He inhales deeply as he climbs on top of you, taking in the scent of his sweet Omega as she begs for him to claim her.

And this time, he wasn’t going to stop until his cock was buried deep inside your pussy, and his fangs on your exposed throat as he leaves his mark there for the world to see who you belonged to.

—————————————————————————

A/N: Tysm for ur patience guys sorry this took so long 🥹🥹 hope u enjoy!!! Love me some primal feral max can't believe i wrote 10k lol. was gonna split it into part 2 and 3 but was like nah ya'll have waited long enough x

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #max verstappen x you #18+ mdni #omegaverse

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melodic-haze · 6 months ago

Note

h-hey 👯‍♀️😕😜🎀

Since you said in your other post that you wanted to write for either Miko or Ei, I HAD AN IDEA!!

What if Miko and fellow kitsune!Reader who start their breeding months (in january obviously) and have Ei volunteering herself to them not knowing that they can’t obviously be sated in just one day 🙄 (r.i.p her cunny)

☆ — DEMO TRACK: switch!Miko x sub!Ei x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Reader and Miko can shift what they want (specifically their genitals 😄), knotting and breeding (not really)

☆ — NOTES: You. YOUUUUUU. Are such a genius ily anon ty for this 🙏🙏🙏

Ohhhh this bitch REALLY fucked around and found out LOL I almost feel bad.......almost

Have to hand it to Ei though, she DID try to research before proposing the idea in the first place. Especially since this is set in the first year since she got out the PoE........but studying it obv won't be the same as the real thing LOL

You and Miko have fared relatively okay on your own—the two of you have ABSOLUTELY mated before to ease each other's heat but it always felt like something was missing. You both made sure to take procedures to make sure neither of you ever concieved a child after the process with the excuse of the two of you being way too busy to care for one but like. The actual main reason was that if you were to have a child, you both wanted to have the third piece of the puzzle there with you

Now that the third member of your polycule's back, your heats are STRONGER THAN EVER bc wtf she's acc here??? Ughfhghfhh neeeeeed......like do you get me I hope you do

It wasn't as if it was a normal discussion to have out in public (you both always talked about it indoors until neither of you needed to really talk ab it anymore from all the time spent w each other) but it was a nice picnic between the three of you; Ei's head was on Miko's thighs as she ate up yet ANOTHER skewer of tricolour dango while you were leaning on the latter's side when she brought it up

Ei cleared her throat with a slight tinge of nervousness, "Could I perhaps, ah.. assist the both of you in your mating period?"

You choked on the dango that you were about to swallow as you see Miko startle the slightest bit, nearly dropping her novel in the process.

When you managed to regain your composure (or at least a modicum of it), you could only rush out a simple "'scuse me?" as Miko placed her book down to the side with a raised brow.

Miko combed her fingers through Ei's hair as she questioned, "What brought this on, dear?"

"Well..." The Archon licked her lips as she slowly got her words out, "I've.. left you two for over five hundred years. And while I'm glad that you both had each other for company whenever the season hits, I cannot deny that.. well, I feel bad, I suppose."

"You feel bad," the shrine priestess mocked, which.. really, wasn't all that undeserved, despite the fact that she was mocking the nation's leader.

"For a lack of a better word, yes." She sits up and turns to the both of you, putting the now-empty skewer aside, "Now that I have returned from my admittedly self-imposed isolation, it would be remiss of me to.. avoid my duties as your lover."

"I don't mean to be rude, Your Excellency," you teased, "but do you even know what you're saying? You've been in the Plane of Euthymia for so long; I worry for your safety."

You hear the pink fox envoy let out a quiet snort of amusement for your slight condescension (all in good faith, of course) as Ei sighed, "I think you forget that I am not a fragile mortal who needs to be coddled—I can withstand brutal wars and come out victorious."

"Besides," she adds, "I have done a fair amount of research to refresh my knowledge. I assure you both that I can take whatever it is you give me."

Miko mused, "I thought you knew better than to rely on textbook information rather than actual experiment, Ei."

"You're trying much too hard to dissuade me from my offer."

"We both deserve to rib into you for at least a couple hundred years."

"Especially considering how we've been left to fend for ourselves..."

"I.. suppose I do deserve that. And I want to make amends for it all, starting with this. So.. will you let me help? Please?" She looked at the both of you with such sincerity despite the subject matter.

...

The fact that Raiden Ei herself was begging the two of you though...

The both of you jumped her sides with sharing grins, your ears flicking in sync as you let out your own laughs.

"You should hope that you don't regret that, Ei.."

"..Because we are rather.. insatiable."

Then comes the actual thing and ohhhhh girlie was NOT prepared

When I said your heats get worse bc of how Ei's back, I fucking MEAN IT. It's the fact that that familiar sweet smell isn't just a not-quite-forgotten memory for you two anymore that it's just driving you both abslutely NUTS

When she gets to you two she gets POUNCED ON and there is. Basically no break for her at all and foreplay is basically foreGONE atp tbh

Eat her cunt like a bitch STARVED it's like both you and Miko are competing and assisting each other at the same time like who can eat her out better, who can make her squirt, etc etc

SO MANY BITE MARKS ON HER HOLY SHIT like okay yes on you and Miko as well but both of you want to mark Ei EXTREMELY for all the time you've lost with her. The both of you wanna show both Ei and perhaps the entirety of Inazuma that archon is YOURS at the end of the day......at least, if the loud noises didn't give them enough of a hint 🤷‍♀️

You're so right anon rip Ei's cunny indeed bc both you and Miko ABUSE the living HELL out of it❗️❗️❗️ You do often have to personally pry Miko off when she's overstaying in the spot you're supposed to share 🫶🫶🫶🫶 just tell her she's being a VERY bad girl rn and she'll fold. Usually she wouldn't but the haze (lol) in her mind is sooo fucking thick she can't think straight and she can't think of the witty remarks she would've otherwise made :((( poor baby the only thing she wants to do is breed and get bred :(((((((

I need to spitroast her with Miko so very badly I'm ngl to you I neeeed I NEEEEED I need to see Ei being impaled on both ends, both sides basically slobbering

It'd be very messy and would 100% take so long before you finish but when you do, it's with your fellow kitsune's own pussy practically filled to the brim and Leaking as she's laid out and finally passed out as your hips are locked in on your Archon's own; you cumming inside of you for like the nth time and stuffing her full w a mix of both your and Miko's cum and essentially plugging it with an inflamed bulb :3

Whether Ei has a system that allows her to get pregnant or not, gen who knows.......but one thing's def for sure. Or like three things acc: one, you two are VERY clearly excited that your shared lover is finally back; two, turns out she absolutely LOVES being used and bred by her two partners; and three?

It was an unusually hard thing to do, waking up. Despite having an artifical body and being an archon that has faced true horrors and extreme exhaustion, she found herself absolutely spent from the marathon.. copulation.

Ei had hoped that her exhaustion meant that the two of you were much more tired than she was, even despite your inhumanity, and yet...

Her eyes couldn't help but flutter open as a sudden gasp left her lips—she sees you push into her roughly with a lust-addled look on your face. You were already inside her when she fell asleep, considering the animalistic knot that held the both of you together, but even when it had shrunk to a more.. manageable level, you still hadn't taken it out.

Then Ei looks slightly to the right and there she sees her pink-haired familiar, heavily breathing as she grinded her wet, hot pussy onto her thighs with such loud, obscene moans.

(If the Archon listened close enough, which she did, she would've noticed the slight growl to the sounds she made—such a sound was at its most clearest when she ducked down to press another bite mark on porcelain skin.)

She couldn't even utter a word to remark that she had just woken up, didn't even have the room to do anything to stop you before you started pounding away at her like your life depended on it.

..And she could. Really, she could. She wasn't the feared Raiden Shogun for nothing.

She could stop you if she wanted to.

If she wanted to.

But when she feels the residual fluids within her gush out as you essentially resculpt her insides over and over and over, when she feels the desperate whines that Miko lets out as she cums and covers her thigh in slick, well.

She finds that she doesn't really want to.

(And really, not only was it her fault for volunteering, but this is her responsibility as your lover.)

(She knew that, and she wasn't going to start shirking her responsibilities again.)

(Even if it costs her her mobility for a while. But it's fine, she can just do a lot of maintenance after.)

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pastafossa · 1 month ago

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"Poor thing." (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic) 🔥

So as promised, I'm taking part in the October Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day One I had three prompts to choose from, and I wound up going for the kink prompt of somnophilia cause, well, I'd hinted at it in TRT as being something Matt liked, but never actually sat down and wrote anything out for it. You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me, but for now, please enjoy Day One! This is not specifically written as any fem!Reader in particular, although any readers of TRT can choose to see this as TRT's reader!

As a reminder, if you'd like notifications when I post something, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

You’d had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldn’t mind if he woke you up—you never did—but odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck. But then… he didn’t have to wake you up, did he?

Wordcount: 3.3k words

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: consensual somnophilia (they talked about this being fine, don't worry), oral f-receiving, grinding, PiV sex, some dirty talk. 18 and up only please!

Oh and we're black suiting this cause fuck yeah.

Your arousal hit him the second he opened the rooftop door.

The scent of it stopped him dead in his tracks, threads of heat winding through him as he drew in a long, slow inhale, savoring it. Another inhale, and he let out a low rumble of pleasure, his mouth already watering, cock stirring.

Well, that was one way to be welcomed home.

Not that he was complaining. His night had gone well enough—the fights visceral and satisfying, with multiple people he’d ensured would make it home safely. But your skin against his, fucking his way lazily inside you while you moaned loudly into his ear, dragging your nails down his back, would only make a good night better. However, as he eagerly stepped through the door and closed it behind him, it quickly became clear that your body’s call to him wasn’t exactly intentional.

He directed his senses down the stairs and into the bedroom, hunting through sensory information, through the fire of the world until he found you in bed. You were laying on your side and tucked under the blankets, one of your arms thrown over his pillow to hold it up against your chest. And despite the tempting scent of you in the air, you weren’t moving. Not really, anyway. At most, every now and then your fingers would twitch or curl, your heartbeat uneven and a little restless.

Asleep.

You were dreaming, then.

Maybe even dreaming of him.

He slowly dragged his tongue over his lips, considering his options.

But then… he didn’t have to wake you up, did he?

Just like that, he settled on a course of action.

He crept silently down the stairs, stripping out of his gloves and black mask as he went, tossing them aside without care for where they fell. The bottom step was carefully avoided, thanks to its tendency to creak and alert you to his presence. He stopped only long enough to kneel and quietly unlace his boots, tugging them and his socks off so that he could slip barefoot into the bedroom, weaving through the shadows, navigating around any floorboards that might give him away. He did it all without a sound, his senses so focused now he could hear the faint whisper of the dust motes in the air stirred by his passage, hear the tiniest shift of your skin against the sheets as you breathed, hear the blood flowing hot beneath your skin where you’d grown flushed and aroused.

The scent of your arousal was even stronger here in the bedroom, more than enough to thicken the heat inside him, an instinctive little purr halted in his throat before it could stir the air with sound. His body knew just as well as he did what that scent meant, what always followed, and his nostrils flared as he got closer to you, taking in how your pheromones had mixed with his in bed. It stirred some possessive, lazy satisfaction in him to take in the way you’d curled up with his pillow, chasing his scent, and you were even wearing—

Oh.

You were wearing his shirt.

It was like you were begging for this, for him, for what he had planned.

He crept up onto the bed on his hands and knees, each shift of the mattress followed by a pause, a confirmation from your heartbeat and breathing that you were still asleep. He had to be careful if he didn’t want to wake you. It wasn’t that you’d be angry, of course—you’d both agreed that this sort of thing was alright, though he’d had a far easier time making use of that agreement than you had thanks to his senses. No, this was about ensuring you still had a chance to rest.

Though, if he were honest, the challenge of this was a thrill all its own. It was a delicate balancing act to give you the sensations you needed, allow himself access to your body, all without waking you. It was as if he were hunting you, gradually gaining ground from the shadows until at last he could take hold of his prize. Fortunately, this prize was one that would leave you both satisfied.

The moment he found himself over your hips, he shifted to catch the blankets and slowly, ever so slowly began to edge them down.

Gentle.

Inch by inch, he bared your body to the air. You didn’t so much as stir, well and truly asleep, and presumably still caught up in your dream. Even so, he held his breath, listening closely to the beating of your heart and your shallow breathing. But he’d been careful enough, and besides, you were used to him climbing into bed in the middle of the night, shifting the blankets around as he crawled under them to join you.

The scent of you that rose up as the blanket slid down was so much richer now that it wasn’t stifled and trapped by thick fabric. It made him shiver, his cock already so hard he could feel a damp spot growing on the silk of his boxers. He needed more of that scent, and to taste it, too, but the angle was all wrong with you on your side. So he gently traced one fingertip up the side of your thigh, applying the barest hint of pressure. You were normally fairly responsive to him even in sleep.

“Roll over for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips, light as a feather, against your hip. “You smell so good. I need a taste.”

He wasn’t sure if it was his touch or his voice that made it past whatever dream you were lost in, but either way, some part of you heard him. You breathed out a soft sigh, twitching a little until he helped you roll slowly onto your back beneath him. You made a soft sound that might have been his name, and he couldn’t resist letting out a reassuring little croon as he pressed your slack thighs outwards, gradually parting your legs. There wasn’t so much as a hint of resistance as your legs fell open, baring the wet heat of your pussy to him.

God, your scent.

He quickly backed up a few inches before dropping to his hands and his knees, lowering his head just over your hips to quietly inhale the scent of your cunt. The rich, musky tang of your arousal—all pheromones and slick warmth—left him half mad, his eyes rolling back. His hips instinctively snapped forward against nothing but air, his body curving as if he were already fucking his way into you.

It only got worse, got better when he let his head fall further, hungry for just a taste. He slipped his tongue out until he could use the tip for the barest little lick at the line of your slit where your arousal had gathered, your body twitching as he did. Even that small taste hit him like a drug, and he swallowed down a ragged moan, his chest hitching as he kept the sound from reaching the air. He’d told himself he’d just have a taste, just one, but one quickly became two became three, hungry, quickening laps at your slit until he finally whined softly in want and dropped the rest of his body down, burying his face desperately against your cunt.

Your hips twitched, rocking against him just slightly, and you let out the softest little whimper as he grunted and slurped quietly at your slit, wetness smearing across his chin and mouth. Only once he’d thoroughly tasted what you’d made for him did he slide up to your clit, tongue extended to lap at it with little kitten licks, ones designed to encourage your body to give him more of your slick wetness, your body jerking with every pass. He tried to remind himself to be gentle, to take things soft and slow so you didn’t wake, but that was so hard when you whimpered again, whimpered as he pursed his lips to suck lightly at your clit, drawing it into his mouth to work with his tongue. Your fingers curled and released against the sheets, and you tasted so good that he found himself fucking against the mattress, humping mindlessly at the folds in the blankets like an animal.

“M… Matt.”

His eyes fluttered lazily open, his gaze drifting up around the sensory shape of you. You were all flowing air currents and sounds and scents, twisting tongues of flame fed by the growing heat of both your bodies. Your heartbeat was still too slow to signal you’d woken up, but your breathing had picked up, your eyes fluttering more rapidly behind your eyelids.

If you hadn’t been dreaming of him before, you were now. And if you were still dreaming, he was safe.

He rumbled a low noise of satisfaction, using his fingers to part your folds before dipping down to your entrance. Once there, he began to lick firmly at you, pressing deeper and deeper until at last your body opened to him and he slipped inside. You let out a sleep little mewl, one of your legs shifting restlessly in your sleep, your head rolling on your pillow as he moaned quietly, curling his tongue inside you to drag against the silken heat of your clenching walls, his nose grinding gently against your clit.

Did you know, somewhere deep down, what he was doing? That he’d spread you open like this and worked his tongue inside you? Or did all your dream self know was that you suddenly felt so, so good?

The very idea that you might not know, that you’d left yourself so vulnerable to him, had him dangerously close to coming, his motions growing just a hint more frantic. Wetness smeared across his face as he kissed sloppily at your slit, kissed at it like he might your mouth, snaking his tongue out to slide inside you with every pass of his lips.

He listened carefully to the quickening pace of your heart, your breathing, taking in the faint sheen of sweat forming on your skin. Every time your heartrate rose too high, he’d slow just a little, or shift his mouth over to your folds or the inside of your thighs. It was there he left you a mark or two, sucking gently at thin, delicate skin. Even if he managed to do this without waking you, you’d know tomorrow what he’d done when you saw the little love bites and bruises between your thighs. The very idea made him purr warmly against you, and he quickly worked his hand down beneath himself until he could undo his pants, pushing the fabric down until he could pull his hard cock free. He took a moment to grind slowly, deliciously against the sheets, presing his mouth to the skin of your thigh to muffle his hitched moan. And that reminded him of what he’d planned on from the start, before he’d become distracted by the taste of you.

He was close, and he needed you. Fortunately, based on the way your body had begun to tighten in increasing waves, you were close, too.

He let his head roll to the side to rest against your thigh as he panted, still grinding himself against the sheets. “Do you want my cock, sweetheart?” he whispered, his lips curling up into a delicious little smirk when your body clenched at the sound of his voice. “I think you do. Even when you’re asleep, you need me inside you, don’t you?”

There was no verbal response, but the growing heat of your skin was enough for him. He rocked himself up as gently as he could, stopping just long enough to strip the rest of his clothes off before climbing slowly up your body. As he went, he caught the hem of your shirt, slowly dragging it up your body with him. He couldn’t take it off you—even he wouldn’t be able to mange something like that—but he had no desire to. The idea of fucking you while you were sleep, while you were wearing his shirt, was a fantasy he’d used more than once while taking himself in hand. He did, however, tug your shirt up just enough to bare your breasts to him.

Obscene, something inside him whispered in delight, a wave of throbbing heat flooding through him. Here you were asleep, shirt pushed up over your breasts, your naked cunt practically dripping onto the sheets. He balanced his weight on one arm as he hovered over you, indulging himself as he palmed gently at one of your breasts, dragging his thumb slowly against your nipple. That won him another soft moan in your sleep, your cunt clenching, body tightening around nothing. Your next moan was even louder when he dropped his head to drag his tongue hotly against your other nipple, drawing it into his mouth to catch it gently between his teeth, sucking lazily until you let out an even louder moan, one of your hands curling as if to claw at the sheets before relaxing. “Poor thing,” he crooned quietly, reluctantly leaving your breasts to climb the rest of the way up your body. “Listen to you, so needy.”

And it would only be right to help with that, wouldn’t it?

Once his hips were level with yours, he settled in, rocking and grinding his cock gently against your slit, slicking himself up with your warmth and the saliva he’d left behind. The sudden sensation of your burning heat against the underside of his cock made his mouth fall slack, and he started to pant at the little shocks of pleasure that washed over him every time he caught the head of his cock against your clit. You weren’t much better even asleep, whining as your hips jerked, eyes rolling frantically beneath your lids. It took everything in him to keep his motions gentle and slow, no matter how much his body demanded he grind and rut, fuck his way desperately inside you even if it woke you. No. No, not when he was so close, his cock now slick and ready for you. He let out a shaky breath, burying his face against your warm throat, huffing in the scent of you as he shifted the angle and began to slide inside you, centimeter by warm, delicious centimeter.

“Fuck,” he whispered shakily, one of his hands fisting desperately in the sheets beside your head. “Fuck, sweetheart. You feel so good.”

God, you were tight, so close to coming that you were already clenching tight around him. That tightness forced him to move gradually, his progress slowed to a sinfully dangerous crawl, one that allowed him to feel every last twitch and shift of your body around his cock. It seemed designed to make him lose his mind when he was already this worked up. In a blink, he’d caught the fabric of your shirt in his teeth, stifling his hoarse, shaky moan, your shallow, hitched breathing a tantalizing whisper of sensation in his ear. It felt like it took hours, ages before he’d finally hilted himself inside you, buried in your slick heat.

He forced himself to still there for a long moment, his chest heaving as he scanned over you with his senses again.

Stuttered breathing, each breath hiding a faint moan.

The fluttering clip of your heart, just slow enough to indicate you hadn’t woken.

Your fingers clenching and releasing, spread thighs shifting in minute, restless movements against the sheets.

It wouldn’t take much more for him to come, he knew that much—the taste of you still lingered on his tongue, filled his nose, and the drag of your skin against his with every breath only left him burning. But he wasn’t a selfish lover, even when you weren’t awake to beg and plead with him for release. No, he’d make sure you got what you needed, too: his sweetheart, so tender and soft and welcoming to the Devil even in sleep.

He slowly, gradually settled his weight onto one arm, sliding his free hand down between your bodies. Even that much shifting around had him swallowing down a groan, and he couldn’t resist grinding just a little inside you. It made you twitch and whimper, hushed and breathless in his ear as he pressed his cock against that spot inside you. Once he was sure that hadn’t been enough to wake you, he quickly dragged two fingers through your folds, raking gently to gather up your wetness before he brought them back up to your clit. The rhythm he started was slow and easy, a gentle grind and loop over your clit that matched the rolling waves of his hips as he began to gently fuck you, barely retreating at all before sliding smoothly back to fill you once more.

It took him no time at all to work your body up that final hill, your breathing growing shorter, your heart rate climbing as you began to tighten around him. It helped that he knew what you needed—each retreat was slow and gentle, and he never left you more than halfway before rolling lazily back forward, ensuring your warm cunt stayed achingly full as he brought you just up to the edge. This time it was your mouth that moved, not a word but a soft whisper of skin as you parted your lips, your head tipping back. And he knew that motion, even as slack and lazy as it was in your sleep.

He purred quietly at the unconscious request that he fill you there, too, lifting his head to seek out your mouth. One soft lick against your lips and you parted them for him on pure instinct, allowing him to slide his tongue filthily into your slack mouth, dragging his tongue against yours, granting you what you’d asked for. You let out a soft sigh, your throat working beneath him as you sucked at the taste of him, of yourself, of you both.

All it took from there was one more finger grinding against your clit, a gentle buck of his hips as he moaned into your mouth, and you crested, your body tightening and releasing around him in rippling waves. Your head rolled back in your sleep, a soft gasp shuddering up your throat as you twitched and shook, eyes rolling back beneath your lids. You let out what might have been a moan of his name, hot and sweet, a sound that seared its way across his mind like a brand. That was more than enough for him, and he let himself go. He groaned softly against your lips, snapping his hips gently against you as he spilled himself near-silently inside you, filling your cunt with a spreading heat that you wouldn’t notice until morning. He kissed you through it as gently as he could, rubbing lightly, quickly at your clit to drag your orgasm out along with his, pleasure rolling through him in gentle waves. Even once you both began to come down, he wasn’t quite done, rumbling a low, possessive growl as he ground himself inside you further, ensuring he’d coated every last inch of your warm cunt, his, you were his, even in sleep. He toyed with that overstimulation just long enough for his toes to curl, for his spent, softening cock to twitch inside you, spilling a few more drops, giving you everything he had as you drifted back down into a deep sleep.

Satisfied with what he’d given you.

He got one arm down and around your hip, gently, carefully rolling the both of you until you were both on your sides, his cock still buried deep inside you. He rumbled a low noise to reassure your sleeping mind, burying his nose in your hair as you sleepily curled into him, one arm draping itself over his waist.

“Love you,” he murmured. “My good girl.” “Mm.”

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milf-murdock · 1 year ago

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Nightmares

(Simon “Ghost” Riley x 141!Reader)

Summary: You’d always avoided spending the night with Simon, quick to make excuses and get out of there soon after your passionate and enthusiastic bouts of mind-blowing-sex.

One night, you accidentally fell asleep. And Simon finds out what you’ve been hiding.

Warnings: Soft Ghost™ should be his own warning ☠️ nightmares, comfort

It was practically routine at this point, you showing up at Ghost’s room, sneaking across base under the cloak of night. There was always a false pretense ready to go—oh, just a quick form for the Lieutenant to sign. Just need to go over one last detail of the mission—though you seldom ran into anyone asking too many questions.

Ghost was always waiting for you.

What started out as a single night of poor judgement, nothing more than blowing off steam with a squad-mate, quickly delved into something much much more. It happened as gradually as walking from the shallow end of a pool into the deep end: slowly, and then all at once, Ghost’s feet were out from underneath him and he was treading water. As much as he was loathe to admit it, he craved your company. And clearly, you felt the same way, if the way you tapped on his door night after night was any indication.

Seated on the edge of his cot, Simon took another sip of his bourbon, a rare treat he stashed away in his quarters for nights such as this, trying (and failing) not to look at his watch.

21:05. You were late.

Simon wouldn’t say he was waiting for you, per se. But he wasn’t not waiting for you. His thumb traced a drop of condensation running down the glass.

Tap. Tap. Tap. There it was: the signature three knocks.

It wasn’t intended as a code of any sort, but it had become a sort of running secret language system between you two.

Tap. Tap. Tap. I’m here again.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Let me in again, Ghost.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Come see me, Simon.

Ghost took a final sip of his bourbon before placing the chilled glass on the coffee table in front of him and pulling down his balaclava.

As he opened the door and your frame came into view, Ghost tried to pretend he didn’t notice how his heart racing as he took in your subtle beauty. His eyes raked over you from head to toe, drinking you in, committing your face to memory as if he hadn’t just seen you the previous night. Maybe he was going mad, but Simon could have sworn that the hours between each visit felt like they were getting longer and longer, despite you showing up at his doorstep at promptly the same time every day.

“Hey,” you smiled up at him, and for the first time Simon noticed the signs of exhaustion tugging at the edges of your eyes. You must not have been sleeping well, he thought to himself.

“Sorry I’m a bit late, lost track of time trying to wrap up this last report,” you continued, stepping over the doorstep.

“S’fine,” Simon assured as he helped you out of your coat. “Glad you made it.”

It was routine: taking your spot on Simon’s bed, your lips finding his as the small talk dwindled down. The unending waves of pleasure as Simon devoured you, thrusting into you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. The two of you collapsing into a sweaty, tangled mess, panting for air in the aftermath.

Simon tugged you into his side, letting your head rest on his chest as he cupped the back of your head, keeping you firmly in place.

“Fucks sake, love,” he panted out. “That was incredible.” Still deep in that post-orgasm haze, a small nod and hum of agreement was all you could manage as you tried to coax feeling back into your shaking legs. Lost in a moment of pure tenderness, Simon tentatively pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He was so so tempted to ask you to stay the night, just as he had been for the last several nights. And though the excuse differed from night to night, the gist was always the same. “Sorry, Si. I can’t.”

Just as he was finding the wordsto convince you to stay, Simon noticed the soft snores coming from you and the steady rise and fall of your chest.

This was new. You fell asleep.

Perhaps it was the lingering exhaustion from your last mission, or the intensity of the two back-to-back orgasms Simon coaxed from your body, or the soothing sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear as you laid on his chest, but for the first time, you fell asleep in Simon’s bed.

Simon smiled to himself in the dark and pressed you in a little closer, his hand trailing up and down your back. He hated to admit how nice this felt. How right it felt to hold you in his arms. And in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder what on earth had stopped you from doing this before?

It didn’t take long for Simon to fall asleep with you in his arms. Your steady breathing and comforting weight on his chest were quick to lull him to sleep, tonight already proving to be one of the best nights sleep Simon ever had.

There was a whimper in the dark.

Simon’s eyes fluttered open. Another sound, and his exhaustion-riddled brain was still trying to fit the pieces together when he felt the twitch of your body on top of him.

You were having a nightmare.

The realization dawned on Simon as another soft cry escaped your lips and you subconsciously pressed your face into Simon’s chest. He carefully brought up a hand to your shoulder, giving you a gentle shake. “Love?” He whispered into the dark. “Wake up, it’s just a dream.” His voice wasn’t used to taking on such a gentle tone. You let out another whimper, and Simon felt his heart cleave in two. He gave another firm shake of your shoulder, his voice growing louder. “Sweetheart, wake up.” You gave a final cry as your body twitched and you pulled your head up. Your breathing came in ragged gasps.

“Easy,” Simon coached. “Take it easy.”

You moved to sit up, Simon following suit, his hands resting on your shoulder in an attempt to ground you.

“Fuck,” you rasped out. “Fuck, I didn’t mean—“ you were cut off by another gasp, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes as the panic from your dream escalated into panic in the present, mixing with the embarrassment at the display unfolding in front of Ghost. “I didn’t mean for you to see that, to see me—“

“No.” Simon cut you off, his hands wrapping around your wrists and gently pulling them from your face. “No, love, don’t say that. Just breathe for me, yeah?” He released his grip on your wrist as he sat back, surveying your trembling form. You inhaled sharply, trying your best to do as he asked.

“Atta girl,” his low voice filled the space, calming you down even further. “Gimme another.”

You took another breath, finally feeling your heart rate start to slow down.

“Simon, I—“ you were cut off again, this time by Simon’s lips pressed gently against your own, just a quick peck, a motion meant to soothe, not to interrupt your stabilizing breaths.

“S’alright, love.” He murmured. “I get ‘em too.”

You nodded your head in understanding. You should have guessed. After all, you both had your fair share of traumatic, nightmare-inducing missions together. That’s to say nothing about the more personal hardships you had each endured outside of your time in the 141.

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding staying the night?” Simon took a shot in the dark, his voice was reserved, trying not to pry too hard for fear of you becoming even more of a flight risk. He couldn’t explain it, but he had this deep seated feeling that if he let you leave just then, you might never come back.

You gave a solemn nod, the thought occurring to you too late that he might not even be able to see the gesture in the dark.

“Thought so.” Simon sighed, raising a tentative hand to brush against your shoulder. This kind of touch was new to him. And to you. You bristled for a second at the sensitive touch, before caving in. Later on, you’d blame it on the midnight haze, still half drunk on sleep, the adrenaline from the too-real nightmare, the safety of the dark room. But you felt yourself slip into Simon’s grasp, strong arms folding you into his body.

You were unsure at first, stiff in his arms, before finally succumbing to the motion and leaning into his form. Simon gently lowered the two of you back down on the bed, making sure you were back in your original spot against his chest. “C’mere,” he muttered, a hand pressing into your back to pull you even closer. “I've got ya.”

It was an unspoken agreement in that moment, a truce of sorts. A line of vulnerability had been crossed and the shift in the atmosphere was palpable. There was no going back. Not for you. Not for Ghost.

Masterlist ✧ Ask Box

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley imagine #ghost imagine #cod ghost

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fireinmoonshot · 3 months ago

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idea for a tyler owens one shot. he broke off the relationship years ago and then you see each other again. maybe you go out for drinks and one thing leads to another. kinda inspired by the song bad idea right by olivia rodrigo.

A/N: Thank you so much for sending this request in. I'm sorry it took me like a week to get around to writing and posting. I hope you like it. I honestly had so much fun writing this one. I'm not sure how closely inspired it is by the song, but I tried my best to give it that same kind of vibe! 😊💗

You knew that going home was probably a bad idea, but it’d been years since you’d gone back and after a particularly hard couple of months, home was the only place you wanted to be – even with the threat of seeing Tyler around. That’s why, when you’d gone out with friends two nights ago to celebrate your return to town, you hadn’t been surprised to run into him.

The two of you had exchanged pleasantries, saying a quick hello before you’d headed back to your friends. You weren’t avoiding him, but you weren’t particularly interested in a conversation with him either. After all, he had been the one to break things off between the two of you a few years ago.

It’d been a fairly amicable break-up, but that didn’t mean you wanted to be best friends. Especially since you hadn’t seen him in years.

You’d assumed that the one interaction at the bar would be the only one. That you likely wouldn’t see him again before you headed back home or before he headed off chasing storms again. Until you woke up to a text the next morning.

It was nice seeing you again last night. Would you wanna catch up over a drink?

Every fibre of your being told you to say no, but somehow you’d texted Yes back.

You didn’t put too much effort into your appearance or dress up to meet him at the bar he’d suggested – one you used to go to a fair bit when you’d been together. You hadn’t been there since. Tyler had seen the best and worst sides of you, so you knew he wasn’t going to care if you showed up in your best outfit or your pyjamas.

It was the smile he gave you when you walked towards the bar and saw him waiting outside for you that made you question whether thiswas a bad idea. You pushed down the feeling in your stomach – the same one you used to get around him before.

“So, how’s the city treating you?” Tyler finally asked when you were both sat down inside, a drink in front of each of you. “Not being tempted into moving back home?”

You laughed and shook your head. “No, it’d have to take a miracle to bring me back home, I think. The city is nice. I wouldn’t call it home, but it’s as good as these days.” You decided to refrain from telling him about the stressful few months at your job, as well as some drama with your landlord. He didn’t need to know about those things.

Tyler, though, had always been able to see through you.

“It’s nice? It’s as good as home? I’m not convinced.”

You stared at him for a moment. He could still do that, even after not seeing or speaking to you for years? It felt like the time had never passed between you, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not. You leant towards not, and you knew your friends would agree.

And… was it possible for Tyler Owens to have gotten more attractive?

“How’s the team? Have you blown up on Youtube yet?” You decided to attempt to change the topic before you got off track or before you said something you’d probably end up regretting. Tyler had asked you out here tonight to catch up, not to rekindle.

Tyler let out a long sigh, obviously irritated with you changing the subject, and then switched, his annoyed expression breaking into a grin. “You mean you haven’t been keeping up with our Youtube channel? C’mon, darlin’, we’ve got a million subscribers and you’re telling me you’re not one of them?”

“I’m really not,” you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “I don’t make it a habit to keep up with what my ex-boyfriends do, funnily enough. But I’m glad to hear the channel has worked out for you guys. I guess there’s a real market for storm chasing these days.”

“I mean, I tried to keep up with what you were doing, but Boone eventually convinced me to stop once he caught me checking your Instagram right before a chase,” Tyler laughed softly, then paused, as if he was surprised at himself for admitting that right to your face. “Anyway, Youtube is going well and the team are great. Storm season starts soon, we’re all hoping it’s gonna be a good one.”

You paused, your drink half way to your mouth. “You check my Instagram?”

“Key word there was checking, darlin’,” Tyler said. “But yeah, at the start, of course I did. I broke up with you, you left not long after. I had it in my head that I was the reason you moved away, even though you told me I wasn’t, but I still wanted to know that you were okay, that the city was all right and that you were safe.”

The desire to come clean and tell Tyler everything about your life in the city had never been stronger. You wanted to tell him about your irritating landlord, about the way your refrigerator in your apartment kept breaking down and the air conditioning never worked, about how everyone at work kept looking down on you despite your experience, about the fact that you’d been on so many dates in the last few years since you moved, but none of them came close to Tyler.

But you couldn’t.

Instead, you took a very long drink from your glass and then sat it back on the table. All the while, Tyler looked at you, reading you with those eyes that he could see through you with.

“Things aren’t great in the city, are they?” He asked softly.

You didn’t have to tell Tyler anything because he already knew.

Hearing his words, the soft way in which he spoke them, and seeing the way he looked at you, suddenly became overwhelming. This man, the one you’d been in love with years ago, the one you used to tell everything to, the one who used to be your home, was sitting right in front of you again and making you feel like you mattered again, after months of being made to feel invisible in the city.

“Will you excuse me for a second?” You didn’t give Tyler a chance to respond before you were up, making a beeline for the front door, desperate to get some air. If you stayed in that bar any longer, you were sure you’d end up making a bad decision. If Tyler kept looking at you like that and making you feel like the version of yourself you were years ago, you worried you were going to become that person again.

You let out a breath of relief as you stepped outside the bar, the cool evening air hitting you. It was still spring, the air not quite cold but nice enough to be refreshing on your skin as you walked to an emptier spot just down the street, away from the crowd which had spilled out of the bar the later it got in the night.

It didn’t come as a surprise to you that Tyler followed you. He always wanted to make sure you were okay when you had been together, and that clearly hadn’t changed, especially with the way he’d just been talking to you.

He sidled up beside you, making sure to give you enough space, knowing that you needed it. “Sweetheart,” he started. “I know I’m probably the last person you wanna talk to right now, but you know you can talk to me, don’t you?”

You met his eyes and nodded.

“I know I’m your ex, but I still care about you. Probably more than I should.”

You’d never wanted to kiss a man more in your whole life.

“Why more than you should?” You asked, taking a step towards him and noticing the way the look in his eyes changed as he looked at you.

“Because I should’ve moved on by now.”

“But you haven’t?”

Tyler swallowed. “It’s only ever been you.”

In that moment, nothing could stop you from closing the distance between the two of you, cupping Tyler’s cheeks in your hands and pressing your lips to his. Tyler was quick to kiss you back and you could tell that for the both of you, it was just like coming up for air after years of drowning without each other.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his body as his lips moved against yours, tongue sweeping across your bottom lip. The fact that you were out on a public street, not far from a crowded bar, didn’t cross either of your minds. All that you could think about was each other and the feeling of each others lips.

When, eventually, you needed to stop for a breather, Tyler rested his forehead against the top of your head, his breathing heavy. “I take it we’re not just talking tonight, darlin’?”

“Not tonight,” you admitted. “We probably shouldn’t have done this, y’know?”

“I know,” Tyler agreed. “But if you think I’m ever letting you go again, you’re wrong.”

You let out a small laugh. “I said it’d take a miracle to bring me back home, Ty.”

His face broke out into a grin. “Didn’t I tell you miracle is my middle name?”

#tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #twisters #twisters x reader #twisters x you #twisters fanfiction #glen powell x reader #tyler owens fic #tyler owens fanfiction

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archaeren · 4 months ago

Note

Hello!! I hope you're having a good day ^^ I came across your post about writing non-linearly on Notion and I'm excited to try it out because the advice resonated with me! Though, I'm really new to using the app and, if possible, need help with how to do this part: 'where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry.' ;v;

Hello! Thank you so much for messaging!!! Since that post about writing non-linearly (linked for context) blew up roughly ten thousand times as much as anything I've ever posted, I've been kind of meaning to make a followup post explaining more about how I use Notion for writing non-linearly, but, you know, ADHD, so I haven't done it yet. XD In the meantime, I'll post a couple screenshots of my current long fic with some explanations! I'd make this post shorter, but I'm unable to not be Chatty. XD (just ask my poor readers how long my author notes are...) (There is a phone app as well which syncs with the desktop/browser versions, but I work predominantly in the desktop app so that's what I'm gonna be showing)

(the table keeps going off the right side of the image but it's a bunch of unimportant stuff tbh) So this is more complicated than what you'll probably start with because I'm Normal and add a bunch of details that you might not need depending on what you're doing. For example, my fic switches POVs so I have a column for tracking that, and my fic follows a canon timeline so I have a column for dates so I can keep track of them, and I also made columns for things like if a scene had spoilers or certain content readers may want to avoid, which they can access in my spoiler and content guide for the fic. (As I said, I'm Normal.) I also do some complicated stuff using Status and estimated wordcount stuff to get an idea of how long I predict the content to be, but again, not necessary. Anyway, you don't need any of that. For the purposes of this explanation, we're just gonna look at the columns I have called Name, Order, and Status. (And one called Part, but we'll get into that later) Columns in Notion have different types, such as Text, Numbers, Select, Date, etc, so make sure to use the type that works best for the purpose of each column! For example, here I'm using Select for Character POVs, Number for Order and WC (wordcount), and Text for the In-Game Date. Okay let's get into it! Name is a column that comes in a Notion table by default, and you can't get rid of it (which drives me up the wall for some purposes but works totally fine for what we're doing here). As you can see on the scene I've labeled 'roll call', if you hover over a Name entry, a little button called 'Open' appears, which you click on to open the document that's inside the table. That's all default, you don't have to set anything up for it. Here's a screenshot of what it looks like when I click the one titled 'I will be anything for you' (I've scrolled down in the screenshot so you can see the text, but all the data fields also appear at the top of the page)

(This view is called 'side peek' meaning the document opens on one side and you can still see the table under it on the left, which is what mine defaults to. But you can set it to 'center peek' or 'full page' as well.) All my scenes have their own entry like this! Note that I've said scenes, not chapters. I decide the chapters later by combining the scenes in whatever combination feels right, which means I can often decide in advance where my chapter endings will be. This helps me consciously give most of my endings more impact than I was usually able to do when I tried to write linearly. So hopefully that gives you an idea of what I mean by writing inside the table and treating the table as a living outline. The 'Status' column is also pretty straightforward, and might require a little setup for whatever your needs are. This is another default column type Notion has which is similar to a Select but has a few more specialized features. This is how mine is set up:

(I don't actually use 'Done', idk why I left it there. Probably I should replace it with 'Posted' and use that instead of the checkmark on the far left? whatever, don't let anyone tell you I'm organized. XDD)

Pretty straightforward, it just lets me see easily what's complete and what still needs work. (You'll notice there's no status for editing, because like I mentioned in my other post, I don't ever sit down to consciously edit, I just let it happen as I reread) Obviously tailor this to your own needs! The Order column is sneakily important, because this is what makes it easy for me to keep the scenes organized. I set the Sort on the table to use the Order to keep the scene ordered chronologically. When I make the initial list of scenes I know the fic will have, I give all of them a whole number to put them in order of events. Then as I write and come up with new scene ideas, the new scenes get a number with a decimal point to put them in the spot they fit in the timeline. (you can't see it here, but some of them have a decimal three or four digits deep, lol). Technically you can drag them to the correct spot manually, but if you ever create another View in your table (you can see I have eight Views in this one, they're right under the title) it won't keep your sorting in the new View and you'll hate yourself when it jumbles all your scenes. XD (And if you get more comfortable with Notion, you probably will at some point desire to make more Views) The Part column isn't necessary, but I found that as the fic grew longer, I was naturally separating the scenes into different points along the timeline by changes in status quo, etc. (ex. "this is before they go overseas" "this is after they speak for the first time", stuff like that) in my mind. To make it easier to decide where to place new scenes in the timeline, I formalized this into Parts, which initially I named with short summaries of the current status quo, and later changed to actual titles because I decided it would be cool to actually use them in the fic itself. Since it's not in the screenshots above, here's what the dropdown for it looks like:

(I've blocked some of the titles out for spoiler reasons)

Basically I only mention the Parts thing because I found it was a useful organizational tool for me and I was naturally doing it in my head anyway. Anyway, I could keep talking about this for a really long time because I love Notion (don't get me started on how I use toggle blocks for hiding content I've edited out without deleting it) but that should be enough to get started and I should really, you know, not make this another insanely long post. XDD And if anybody is curious about how the final results look, the fic can be found here.

#notion #writing resources #writing advice #writing #writers block #writers on tumblr #writeblr #nonlinear #fanfic #fanfiction

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 5 months ago

Text

3.7k / 38 / post-apocalypse au, part 2

...

You emerge deep in the city. Deeper than you should be.

You traveled on foot via the drainage tunnels connecting Amsterdam to the forest. This city was busy and beautiful once, the way unpolished amber is beautiful, but now it's overgrown and empty except for the undead roving the streets.

Staying underground is the best way to avoid the undead. Especially in the daytime. So when you creep through the streets in the open nighttime air, you know you have to be fast. You must find what you came here for.

You stick to the buildings and skulk in the shadows to take advantage of their poor eyesight to buy as much time as you can. You move in the shadows, turning corners to break line of sight and keeping yourself moving away from the few that see or smell you. But the undead—zombies, runners, biters, muties, whatever they’re called—will catch your scent eventually. And they do. Soon, too many lurch after you in mindless pursuit. They begin to stagger in your direction, stumbling over one another. Their howling voices echo off the walls of the abandoned buildings around you.

As you try to evade them, a few stragglers—those less decayed, those who can catch sight of you more easily and stumble in your direction to feast—begin to give chase. The city is so much more crowded than you feared, and you're quickly overwhelmed with nowhere else to run besides the open streets.

Running in the open is a death sentence. You have to get back underground. With your pumping heartbeat shooting adrenaline through you, you can't remember exactly which way leads back to the forest.

You get the horrible feeling that this city will become your tomb before morning comes. No, focus. You need to keep moving until you find a drainage tunnel. They all lead out of the city. Just go where the rain would go, you tell yourself.

You snake through the streets until you glimpse another stone-walled drainage ditch cutting between the street and walkways. You drop in, pressing yourself to the wall. You try to hide your tracks, hoping against hope that the undead might not realize you've slipped away and lurch off elsewhere, but no. No such luck. The undead are on you already.

You curse and take off in what you hope is the right direction. You push your panic into your legs as you try to outpace the zeds on your tail, but they're as fast as you are even in their undead state. They're not tiring the way you are as your body screams for rest. Your throat burns. You can't outpace them for much longer. They're persistence predators.

When you see the drainage ditch veer and dip into what looks like an underground spillway, your heart soars. The undead can't navigate sewers as well as you can. If you can just make it underground, you can slip away--

Then it comes into view and your heart drops. The spillway is blocked by the remains of a collapse. Piles of concrete and rubble block the way. It's a dead end. You're trapped.

The infected, though unintelligent and uncoordinated, are relentless and ravenous. And they're closing in on you fast.

You don't stop. You can't. You grip at the sharp concrete edges of the rubble blindly, pulling yourself up. The chunks of concrete are huge and ragged, overgrown with grass and slick with dew.

There's no time for fear as you try to claw your way to an exit you hope desperately isn't blocked. It's a small hope, but right now it's all you have.

The infected come up behind you, screeching and howling in pursuit. They're coming.

You climb as high as you can. Sure enough, there's no way through to the other side of the tunnel. Not that you can fit through, not with zeds at your back. On both sides, the walls of the drainage ditch loom over you. The railing at the top is almost high enough for you to climb, but when you try to get closer, stepping over the broken concrete, a loose piece slips and almost takes you with it. It rolls down the pile of debris and knocks past one screaming runner’s shoulder as it goes.

The undead aren't coordinated enough to climb as easily, but it’s only a matter of time. With the sheer number of them and a little more luck, they’ll reach you soon. Or you’ll step on a loose rock or slippery patch of grass and slide right back down into their clutches.

With nowhere to go and no exit in sight, your only option is to either fight, or wait out a slow descent into madness and death like everyone else.

You pull out Soap's gun and load it.

…

Dawn is breaking by the time Soap and his team make it to you, following the sounds of your gunfire.

Soap whistles—a signal to you. The piercing sound makes you flinch through your adrenaline high. You clamp your shaking fingers around your—his—gun. There are still dozens of undead, many now with bullet holes and arrow shafts sticking crookedly out of them. Your quiver is empty. You’re crouched, gun in hand, aiming at one as it draws closer. You don’t have the bullets to waste otherwise—not with your wounded arm.

It lurches forward.

But it’s not your bullet that strikes it through the head—it’s his, and it's a clean shot. The runner's head splits like a peach, chunks of bone and brain flying across broken stone. You turn your eyes up to see Soap lining up a third shot atop a nearby building, and you glimpse his squadmates heading toward you. God damn are you happy to see him. Before another zed can take the mulched one’s place, Soap fires again, reloads, and again. He takes out another with his second bullet before lining up a third shot.

A shout interrupts your line of thought. You look up and see a man stretching his hand toward you, startlingly close, bridging the gap between the safety of the railing and where you stand. One of Soap’s teammates—a man with a black scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth. Ghost, you think his name is. You grab his hand.

Something else catches your attention in the rubble, too—long swaths, claws marks, carved under the mass of something much bigger than you or the undead. They disappear into the rubble and, conceivably, into the tunnel behind.

This is the lead you’ve been searching for all these days in this godforsaken place.

“Distance and cover!” Soap shouts, all focus.

You hear him. But if you withdraw now, you might not be able to follow those claw marks and search the tunnel. Half the undead in the city will be here before long, following the gunfire and howling. If you make the plunge back down into the depths, you might be able to find what you came for and get out intact before the undead get there forst. This could be your only chance.

Before you can move, Ghost yanks you by the hand, dragging you almost entirely up the sheer rocky wall. You bite down on a gasp, scrambling to keep your footing as he hauls you up and over the railing.

Soap’s rifle cracks again. Another biter, this one now trying to scale the wall after you, drops. Its upper torso explodes with a wet thwack.

You double back almost before you know what you’re doing and boost yourself back over the railing. You need to get into that tunnel.

Ghost grabs your arm again before you can jump. “Are you mad?”

“Let go!” you bark.

“I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

God damn it. There’s no time to explain. Or maybe there is, but the adrenaline running through you makes it impossible to find the words.

When it’s clear he won’t back off, you bite him. Just sink your teeth into his hand hard enough to make him let go. He curses and rips his hand away, more in surprise than pain. You take off, vaulting over the railing, rushing to the very middle of the heap. The top of the tunnel. Loose chunks of stone roll under your feet. With Soap’s squad focused on taking out the zeds, you can focus for the first time on breaking your way through these stones.

You wedge your bow under the loosest, topmost piece and wrench it up as if wielding a crowbar. The rock tumbles. You do it again, and again, and again until you feel a steady stream of warm air rise from underneath. You follow it, ignoring the chaos behind you, until you’ve torn open a big enough gap to slip through.

You tuck into a slide, letting gravity take you down into the darkness and out of view.

“Bloody animal—get back here!” echoes after you.

…

You find what you’re looking for within minutes. Roach—he’s alive, but caught in what looks like a trap. A man-made trap. Your heart clenches when he sees you and his tail thumps in a weak greeting.

You’re at his side in moments. “Easy, busy. Don’t move. I’m right here.”

It doesn’t take long for Ghost and Soap to catch up to you.

The scathing words on Ghost’s tongue die at the sight of you crouched next to Roach. They can only stare in shock. Saying Roach is a dog would be an understatement. Roach is massive. Megafauna. He might have been shaped like a wolfhound breed except for his massive, maned shoulders and elongated muzzle full of too-large teeth. You’re on your knees under the huge beast’s jaw, dagger sawing at the contraption holding him. Even laying on his belly, he towers over you.

Roach locks eyes with Ghost and Soap. They stop, standing completely still.

Ghost glances over his shoulder. “Think the big mutt can take care of himself,” he tells you, scanning for encroaching zeds in the dark.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur to Roach, totally ignoring Ghost. You’re still trying to soothe him, but your voice is frantic. “Almost got you out. Just stay still—”

The trap groans under your knife, but it holds fast. Then Roach growls—a loud, deeply unsettling sound that vibrates through the cave walls. His yellow eyes don’t leave the men behind you.

You hear Soap’s voice. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Is this what you were looking for when you…” He shakes his head and walks toward you. From his belt, he pulls out a large hunting knife. “Let me.”

“You should stay back,” you call over your shoulder. “He doesn’t know you. Don’t make him feel cornered.”

“Sound advice,” Ghost says.

Roach stares at Soap intently. Roach shifts a paw closer to you.

“Leave the dog alone, Johnny,” Ghost says. “It’s tryin’ to protect her. Doesn’t matter if you think you’re not a threat. You’re as good as dog chow.”

But Soap hesitates. “It’s our trap,” he admits. “If you’d let me help, I could show you how to free him quicker. We need to move.”

As if in response, Roach growls again.

You shoot a frustrated look over your shoulder. “It’s your trap? Why the fuck would you have a—"

There’s a loud crack and the trap splits under your knife. Roach lurches free. Instantly, he limps around you, getting between you and the two men.

“Easy!” you cry. “Roach, heel.” You bury your hands in the fur on his flank. He’s enormous. Your head doesn’t even reach his shoulder. You can’t stop him physically. You need him to listen to you.

Roach steps closer to Soap, staring him down. His breath blows Soap’s hair back.

Soap doesn’t back down just yet. He’s not a threat, right? He proved it to you, now he can prove it to your dog. He hates dogs. Goddamn hates them. Why’d it have to be a dog you were looking for? Big fucking bastard of a dog.

Ghost speaks quietly from just over Soap’s shoulder. “No sudden moves.”

“Easy,” Soap says, raising his hands slowly in what he hopes is a peacemaking gesture. The rifle is slung over his shoulder, out of sight as it can get, and he tries to relax his posture.

You duck around Roach and stand between him and Soap. “Calm down, Roach,” you say again, like you’re talking to a misbehaving terrier instead of staring up at an animal three times your size. “They’re friends. See?”

You grab Soap’s arm and lace your fingers together with his. He tenses in surprise, but you ignore it. Roach goes quiet and looks at you, cocking his head. You hold your joined hands up to his nose to sniff.

Soap looks from you to the dog and back to you. Underneath the tension laced through his whole body, he’s impressed.

Roach sniffs Soap's fingers with yours and seems to relax. You reach up and scratch the fur under Roach’s chin—or as close as you can reach, standing on your toes—and you bring Soap’s hand up to do the same.

"Looks like you're approved,” you say with a little too much surprise in your voice.

Soap swallows as he touches his fingers to Roach's tangled fur, trying not to think about those stories of dogs being able to smell fear. But he forces himself to unclench, just a bit. He's glad you're both okay. And glad he's not about to get snapped in half by a giant fuckoff hellhound.

Roach takes another massive, curious sniff of your hands. Then he moves on to sniffing the top of Soap's head. Then he lowers his enormous maw and licks Soap with a giant tongue.

Soap grimaces. He looks more grossed out than defensive, at least. You smirk.

Ghost makes no move to join the handholding circle. "Not the strangest travelers we've seen, but close," he says. He glances over his shoulder, shifting his rifle impatiently. The others are cleaning up the group of zeds, but the quicker they can get out of here, the better. It’s never a good idea to be out in the city for too long. Especially not somewhere any shambling creature could wander up in the dark.

Soap shoots Ghost a look before glancing back at you. You're still standing close. He lets go of your hand. It's calloused, he notes, like his. It wasn’t like that before. "You've got a way with beasts."

You walk down Roach’s flank, checking for injuries. “He’s not a beast. He’s my dog. You’ve seen what the mutagen does to animals, right? The ones it doesn’t kill. Changes them.” You pat Roach’s flank fondly. “But I adopted him before all this started, back when he was just a normal dog.”

"No one gets to be normal anymore," Ghost mutters.

Soap chuckles. "Well, he's a bloody tank now, isn't he? Big lad. How the hell you keepin' him fed?"

Ghost examines the bite mark you left on his hand. "Got a hunch.”

"I'd apologize, but you shouldn't grab people who don't want to be grabbed," you tell Ghost. "You're lucky I didn't go for my knife instead.

Ghost gives you a flat look. “I’d say you’re the lucky one for deciding against it.”

“Easy, LT.”

Ghost scoffs. "She's just much a beast as the hound.”

You finish your inspection and find nothing major. Just scrapes and bruises. Nothing bleeding. No open wounds to attract more zeds, thankfully. Relieved, you return to Soap and Ghost again, giving Roach another scratch under the chin. Then you notice blood on Soap’s leg, soaking into his jeans. “Is that blood yours?” you ask him.

Soap glances down. "Aye. Took a swipe from one of those undead bastards. It's nothin’.”

"Doesn't look like nothing," Ghost says.

"It's just a little blood. I'm fine," Soap says. He steps away, but staggers on his injured leg. Ghost appears instantly to support him at the shoulder.

You step back, grimacing. Open wounds are risky. There's always risk of infection. Worse, the smell of blood attracts muties.

"I said it's fine," Soap says, but his voice is strained. He's in more pain than he wants to let on.

"Let me see that." Ghost kneels and pulls Soap's pant leg up to examine it. Then he grunts and stands back up. "It's a bad gash, but it's not life-threatening."

"Mm," Soap agrees, obviously trying not to cause more worry for his teammate. "I'm fine. Just gotta walk it off. Be peachy tomorrow." Blood drips around his boot heel.

"You'd better get going," you tell them. "Sun's coming up."

"You'd better find somewhere safe yourself, hen," Soap says. "It's a horror show out here in the daytime. Runners clusterin’ in packs--"

"She'll be fine," Ghost mutters. "Take care of the log in your own eye before you worry about the splinter in hers."

You pat Roach. "Found what I came for. Thanks for that, ah... for your help, Soap."

"Aye. You're a scrapper, that's for sure. Good to know you've got a lot more muscle with that one backing you up." He nods at Roach.

Ghost helps him stand up straight. The three of you make your way back to the entrance of the tunnel. By now, Soap’s crew has cleared away enough that they can help Soap out as Ghost boosts him up. They offer the same to you, but you refuse. They hurry out of the way as Roach shoulders his way through the comparatively tiny passageway. He squeezes through, widening it, and you follow easily. More soldiers than you expect—all dressed and outfitted like Soap and Ghost, armed and armored to the teeth—watch from behind buildings and over rooftops. You get the feeling that they have eyes on every zed in this half of the city. Several of the soldiers converge on you, moving like shadows, to help Ghost heft Soap along.

You tread with the group until you reach the edge of the city. Or maybe it’s the edge of the forest. The tree line half-swallows the streets and homes.

“Look after yourself out there,” Soap calls over his shoulder. You salute wordlessly in reply, and his eyes linger.

You watch them make their way out of the city, disappearing into the enormous trees and tall grass. Once they’re gone from view, Roach nudges you gently.

"I know, I know," you mumble.

He sits on his haunches to let you to climb up and take your seat on his back. You take off running to the east, leaving them behind.

That would have been the end of it. Except it's not long before pass by more runners—more than two dozen of them. They don't bother with Roach, smelling the mutagen affecting him and missing your smell completely smothered in his—but the direction they're heading, they'll run head-on into Soap’s party for sure. And with Soap injured, the smell of blood, being outnumbered...

Dread and guilt coil in your stomach. It doesn't matter how good they are. They'll be overwhelmed.

But it doesn't matter, right? You have what you came for. You should keep going. Mind your business. Stay alive.

Roach paws at the ground, agitated, and you realize you’ve unconsciously pulled him to a stop. You glance up, checking the sun’s distance from the horizon. You owe them. They helped you. Wouldn’t you be dead without them?

You let out a long, irritated groan. Then you nudge Roach to turn around. “Let’s go get them,” you mutter.

Roach bounds off into the trees, his nose leading you both back to Soap, Ghost, and the others once again.

A few of the men almost jump out of their skin when they see the shape and size of Roach bounding toward them.

Roach pulls up beside them in a flurry of grass and dirt clods. “There’s a group of maybe thirty zeds heading this way,” you say, looking at Soap from your high mount. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world for you to be doing. “You’d better hurry or they’ll swarm you.”

Soap and Ghost exchange a look. “We’re moving as fast as we can,” Ghost says. “If they catch up, we fight like we always do.”

“You won’t be able to fight them all. Not without a few of you getting picked off.”

“We won’t abandon your own.”

“She’s just tellin’ us what she’s seen,” Soap says. “Wouldn’t have come back otherwise. Best to leave me out here and hustle back to camp. Easier to hide one person than a whole group. Can’t have you all dying just because I was a right idiot and got myself hurt."

Ghost glares at him. "That's not up for debate.”

Soap smirks back. "You sayin' I can't handle myself?"

"No one's leaving you here. You're coming with us, one way or another.”

"Hell," Soap mutters. He groans from the pain. "Amnae riskin' the team over my injury."

You listen to them bicker, shifting as you try to calculate how much time they have before the muties get here. Not long.

You should just leave now, right? You told them what was coming, which is more than they'd usually get. They can fend for themselves, right? They've done it before. A hundred times, probably. And if you stay, you're putting Roach at risk too.

But Soap's leg... that happened to him because he was helping you. God dammit. You can't just let this go. That's another favor you owe him.

You have Roach lay down and hop off him.

"Hey," you bark over their arguing. "Get on. Hurry."

They both pause. Soap narrows his eyes at you. Getting sniffed at by that big bastard is one thing. But riding him? He gives Roach a very wary look.

Ghost picks up on your plan immediately. He jerks his chin at Soap. "Get on."

...

part 1 / [part 2] / part 3

more Soap / masterlist

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silcoitus · 3 months ago

Text

As Long As It Takes

Masterlist

AO3 link

Rating: Mature

Tags: Silco x gn!reader, soft Silco, depression, grief, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort

Word count: 705

Beta Readers: none. we die like my will to do anything

Silco notices that you've been off. He comes to quietly reassure you as you rest.

A/N: Sorry for the absence. Let's just say the reader in this one-shot is semi-autobiographical. This one's short enough that I'm just going to post the whole thing here.

You've been sleeping a lot more.

You tell yourself it's just from overworking. That it's natural for you to sleep more when you're this drained. You're working longer, harder hours.

But you know that isn't it.

You nap more frequently, for longer periods of time.

You go to bed sooner.

Wake up later.

It's becoming a pattern.

And despite your best efforts to hide it, Silco—your partner—has noticed.

You're in his room, on his bed. The bed you've shared together since you started seeing each other. You still have your own apartment, but you stay at The Last Drop more often than not.

This is where he finds you, laying on your side, your back to the door.

You hear the soft creak of the door’s hinges before a gentle, booted footstep. Then, another step before the door closes.

Silco says your name, voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to wake you if you're still asleep.

Your fingers cling to the pillow as you close your eyes, pretending to sleep.

There's more footsteps as your partner makes his way around the bed, followed by the mattress groaning as he sits. You feel his weight sinking the bed next to you and keep your eyes closed.

Gently, he places his palm on your hip before letting out a deep exhale.

“I won't pretend to know exactly what's going on,” he starts, “Nor that I have all the answers.”

You keep your eyes closed, focusing on his voice.

“But I know something is wrong,” he continues. “Don't think I haven't noticed—the way you retreat here immediately after your shift. The way you've stopped going out.”

He lets out another sigh. When he speaks, his voice seems a little further away, like he's turned his face away from you to look at the wall.

“I could lie to you: tell you it'll get better. But the truth is… sometimes it doesn't.”

Your lips pinch into a line as you feel a familiar sting growing behind your eyes.

“It never really goes away. Grief. Depression. We don't… conquer it, so much as learn to live with it.”

You hear him shift and feel his gaze on your face without seeing it.

“But just know—you don't have to go through this alone. I'll be here to listen when you're ready.”

The both of you stay like this for a moment. You, laying on your side, eyes resolutely shut. Silco, with his hand resting on your hip, mismatched eyes tracking across your face.

After a beat, the mattress squeaks as his weight leaves it. You feel his hand start to leave you and, in an instant, give yourself away as you grab his wrist.

He gives a small startled sound and you turn to look up at him.

“Please don't go,” you whisper, a tear forcing its way past your defenses. “Please stay.”

He looks at you with gentle eyes and gives you a small nod before sitting back down. As he does, both your hands move, fingers lacing together.

Your throat bobs and your eyes turn down, looking at the sheets to avoid his gaze.

“I'm not ready.”

When you dare look up at him, he answers by simply shaking his head.

“It's okay.”

He leans down and brings his scarred lips to your temple. You melt a little into the touch, eyes fluttering closed at the warm contact. When he pulls away, it's a mere inch, his breath still in your hair as he whispers.

“I'll wait as long as it takes.”

You pinch your lips together, eyes still closed tight as you nod.

At that, Silco shifts to move behind you. He maneuvers his way under the sheets, his arm wrapping around your waist. You feel him slot himself behind you, his chest pressed into your back as his legs perfectly fit behind yours. You cling to his arm, pulling him closer.

He buries his face in your neck, taking in a deep breath before kissing you gently there.

And as you both drift off to sleep, you feel just a little bit more hopeful.

Maybe tomorrow will be a little bit better.

How bad could it really be?

When you have Silco?

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starkidmunson · 7 months ago

Text

glitter & crimson

Steve comes home from his first post-injury workout drenched in sweat and throws himself onto the sofa on his back. Robin winces as she watches him go, raising an eyebrow.

“That bad?” She asks, to which Steve groans in response.

“They want me to wear a bubble.” Steve responds, digs his hand around inside the gym bag still attached to his side and lifts out the full face mask.

“Wouldn’t be the worst idea, protect your face at least.” Robin observes, only to be met by a glare from Steve. His facial expressions are making a triumphant return as he regains more control over his face as the wound heals, and he’s taking full advantage of his bitchy looks whenever he can.

“Says the one not blowing hot air back into their own face as they work out.” He grumbles, flopping back and dropping the mask onto his stomach. “Everything hurts. You’d think I’ve been out for months, not just a few weeks.”

“How’s the headache?” Robin predicts, and Steve gives her another look before he sighs.

“It’s not bad, don’t overreact. It’s not the concussion.” He insists, ignores the way her eyebrow rises again and instead pushes himself up again. “I’m going to shower,” Steve announces, making a quick escape from Robin.

It’s not exactly that he’s lying, because he’s not. He doesn’t think anything he’s feeling is concussion-related. The soreness in his muscles is from suddenly being weighed down with his hockey gear again, after weeks without. It’s a similar feeling to the first workout of the pre-season. The headache is a little trickier to convince everyone around, so he’d avoided mentioning it and done his best to hide it at the rink. It’s no surprise Robin can just tell he has one, though.

He lets steam fill the bathroom before he steps under water so hot his skin turns pink. He lets the shower spray target the middle of his back, shifts so it settles between his shoulder blades, and rests his forehead against the cool tiles in front of him.

Eventually, he emerges back into the apartment in sweatpants, his hair air drying. Robin is setting a cup of hot tea down on the coffee table, her own tucked onto an end table beside her on the sofa. Steve smiles softly and mumbles his appreciation as he sits and takes a sip.

As he drains the cup, the headache eases a bit and he feels a bit more human than he had after returning home from his workout.

“You got mail from your parents today,” Robin eventually offers over the New Girl re-run neither of them are particularly paying attention to but have on for familiar background noise. Steve just grunts, uninterested, and instead busies himself checking any messages he may have missed from people he actually cares to give the time of day.

Dustin had demanded a “family dinner,” which Steve agrees to and warns Robin when to expect a full house. Max, traveling with the Blackhawks for a game tomorrow night, had sent him a detailed threat to not push himself too hard while working out. He responds with a video clip the trainer had taken of Steve nailing a series of wrist shots.

Steve tries hard not to be too disappointed that he hadn’t heard from Eddie. They’d texted about their plans for the day, Steve knew Eddie had said he’d be spending the day in his studio working on a few new tracks he was putting together. Still, though, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping he’d have found a text or two from the other in the time he hadn’t been looking at his phone, something that was quickly becoming a standard for the pair.

Biting back his pride, he decides to send the first text, figuring the other will answer whenever they’re wrapping up in the studio.

Steve: Hope you’re having a good studio session.

After a long few moments, Steve can’t help the little sigh he lets out as he buries himself into the throw pillows filling out the sofa beside him. Robin nudges him with a foot, eyebrow raised, and he shrugs back at her, turning his attention to the television. It isn’t long before he zones out, though, thinking and overthinking.

His injury has given him a lot of time to think about a lot of things; primarily what landed him off the ice. He’s only mentioned it to Robin, but he has been considering coming out to his coaching staff and league officials to give background on what seems like an otherwise unprovoked violent streak from Billy Hargrove. Steve learned, in the days he spent in LA after the attack on the ice, Billy had taken to calling him names and slurs with press and on social media. The trash talking had landed him another fine from the league, but it wasn’t slowing him down. It was more than enough to prove the attack was premeditated, if everyone who needed to know the background was read in on their history.

And while Billy was staying on the attack, his teammates were apparently squared up and ready to defend Steve in a way he probably should have expected but hadn’t seen coming. Each of the players who had gotten physically involved in fighting Billy after Steve had taken a stick to the face had made comments with press about how Hargrove plays dirty and mean. Several had also spoken out about Steve’s leadership and sportsmanship on and off the ice, throwing their support behind him through his recovery.

Coming out to the league and his coaches also had the potential to alleviate some of the anxiety he was feeling around his personal life. There had always been concern about coming out, getting kicked off the ice and ending up without the one thing he knew best. Long before he’d joined the league, his father had impressed upon him that he would have to settle and make sacrifices if he wanted to stay with the sport, but Steve wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep his sexuality bottled up and hidden away from the public.

In large part, it was easy to place blame on Eddie. The rockstar blew into his life and changed his perspective on what it was like to be a public figure, out and proud. Steve knew their status didn’t translate equally. Sports fans were different from fans of a band; Steve had joined a team with supporters who would cheer him on so long as he wore their colors and made them proud. Eddie’s fans had sought him out, decided to listen to his music and support him on their own. But for Steve to see Eddie carrying on with his life, not having to hide any part of himself or worry about not posting certain photos from their days in LA on social media (because what if they looked too suspicious and got people talking and asking questions?) was what Steve longed for.

Chicago was a pretty open-minded town; it’s why he and Robin had first moved to the city to begin with. But it still wasn’t a guarantee that everyone would continue to support the team if he did publicly come out. And Steve was working to reconcile that in his mind; to gauge how much he should even care about it. A part of him knew the greater majority wouldn’t give a shit as long as he still scored goals and played a clean, fair and exciting game whenever he hit the ice. But the thought of those few who might push back too hard and how it could impact his teammates - his friends - in the long term is still what ate away at him.

“I can hear how loud you’re thinking over there.” Robin eventually says while he’s deep in thought, and he shoots her a small smile in response. “Look, Steve, you have to do what you think is best for you. Who gives a shit about anyone else.” She says.

He wishes it was that easy. He knows it could be, but he cares too much about the fallout to stop overthinking. They fall back into silence again, until Robin eventually closes her laptop and leans close to press a gentle kiss to Steve’s hair.

“You’re the best at what you do and if people can’t see that around the fact that you like guys, then that’s their loss.” She says, gently, before excusing herself off to bed.

Steve lounges around in the living room for a while longer, before he turns off the tv, grabs a blanket and makes his way out onto the terrace. He wraps the sherpa around his shoulders and drops into one of the loungers out there, looking out toward the skyline. It’s cold, but not as cold as it’s been, and he’s always found comfort in the winter weather, anyway.

His phone buzzes, catching his attention, and he smiles softly at Eddie’s name. When he answers FaceTime, he’s immediately met by chaos. It sounds like three voices are talking over each other, Eddie’s closest to the phone, making a loud ‘shhh’ sound until everyone around him is silenced.

“Did you mean to call me?” Steve asks around a smile, and watches as Eddie’s face lights up as he draws his attention.

“I did!” He insists, though Steve isn’t entirely convinced. “Want to hear what the track I’m mixing right now?”

Steve raised his eyebrow, only half sure he knows what Eddie’s talking about, before he nods. “Let’s hear it.” He agrees.

“Told you,” Eddie hisses at someone just out of the camera’s frame; probably one of the Corroded Coffin boys. Eddie taps a few buttons below the phone, then a soft guitar tune starts playing. It’s not like anything Steve has ever heard from the band before, gentler and softer. Other instruments crash in, in a more typical Corroded Coffin sound, for what Steve assumes will be a chorus once there’s a vocal track, but it slows back to just a guitar for the next verse. Eddie pauses the song and lifts the phone up again. “Thoughts and opinions are encouraged.”

“It’s different.” Steve says, still a little in awe.

“But not in a bad way!” He hears Gareth’s voice from somewhere in Eddie’s studio, and Steve nods in agreement.

“I don’t think it’s in a bad way, either. Just different. It still sounds like you guys in that middle part, when all the instruments join in. But the guitar, that’s… it’s soft and sweet and gentle. It works nicely, not that I know anything about music,” Steve laughs, and Eddie gives him a little smile.

“I appreciate your opinion,” he says, seeming to inspect the screen. “Your face looks a little less colorful. How was practice?”

“Fine, I’m sore now, though.” Steve admits, shifts and cracks his back.

“Gross!” Jeff cries from somewhere around Eddie, and Steve can’t help but laugh again.

“You should get back to working, I’m gonna head to bed soon anyway. We can talk tomorrow?” Steve asks, and Eddie nods.

“Night, Stevie.”

~~~~

He hangs up the FaceTime, steals a pizza roll off Jeff’s plate, and re-opens the notes app on his phone. Scanning over the rambling notes he’d made himself about how he imagined the song would work out, he starts a new paragraph.

And he stares at the blank line before him.

“You’ve composed, like, 4 tracks and you can’t come up with a single lyric for any of them?” Freak asks, takes a pull from a joint burning in an ashtray near the sofa, and blows the smoke out away from the group.

“Very helpful insight,” Eddie grumbles, and Jeff leans forward.

“Do you want us to help? Like, do you have a theme for the songs, or is this just going to be your own little pet project?” He asks.

“Well, I guess it depends. If you want to drop a surprise EP or double album after the one we’re putting out, I’m probably going to need help. But if you’re cool with letting me sit on it, I can probably figure it out on my own.” Eddie offers.

Gareth twirls a drumstick between his fingers. “I think we let Eddie handle the love songs about Steve Harrington, and if he comes up with enough to make into something to drop, we drop them whenever he’s ready, and if not, we throw them onto the next album or whatever when he’s ready to release them.”

Eddie sighs and drops his head back against the rest of his swivel chair. “Can we stop calling them love songs about Steve?”

“Guess you have extra incentive to write lyrics to them, then,” Freak teases, and Eddie groans back, making the other boys laugh.

It isn’t much longer before they all excuse themselves to the rooms they claimed around the house. Eddie spends a few extra hours in the studio, working on as many lyrics as his brain allows and even sorts out bridge for the song he’d played for Steve before he heads off to bed.

He isn’t surprised to wake up the next morning to a text from Steve, who routinely gets up hours before Eddie and is always the first to send a text wishing him a good day ahead.

Eddie: Go easy on yourself on the ice today, you were up too late listening to headbanger music.

It’s a while before he gets a response, which isn’t uncommon. They both have their own lives which responsibilities to get up to. But Eddie would be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting not-so-patiently for Steve’s next response. Freak flew out this afternoon, heading back to visit family in Ohio, leaving Gareth and Jeff at Eddie’s. They’re playing video games in the living room when Eddie’s phone rings with Steve’s name and ID photo.

“Hey, how was today?” Eddie asks immediately, launching himself off the sofa and away from the boys and the noise from the television.

“Well, that’s part of why I’m calling,” Steve says, sounding a little out of breath and hair damp with sweat, glancing off camera before he flashes a charming smile down at Eddie. “What are you doing Tuesday?”

His brain short-wires for a second, thrown off course by the response. Is this Steve, asking him out on a date? That can’t be it, right? There’s no way, not with the back-and-forth they have going on. There would be more to it than that, and Steve seems like the kind of guy to give more than 4 days notice for a date that requires at least one party to travel several states. So Eddie does his best to quickly calm and compose himself, hoping he hasn’t taken an alarmingly long time to answer, before he responds. “I don’t know, what am I doing Tuesday?”

“I think you’re coming to watch the Blackhawks play the Predators in Nashville. I’m allowed to travel and suit up, but I probably won’t play just yet.” Steve is grinning, and Eddie can’t help but smile back.

“Hell yeah, I’ll be there!” He agrees, already pulling up the link to buy tickets for the game. “If I get shamed for wearing my Harrington jersey to a Preds game, you get to take the blame for me rooting against my home away from home.” Eddie teases, and Steve lets out a breathy laugh.

“Bring it on,” he challenges, finally seems to Eddie like he’s caught up and gotten back the quick wit and sharp humor which had been on a slight delay since the injury. A sign of recovery, Eddie’s sure and it helps to see him returning to normal.

They catch one another up on their days, and Eddie lets Steve listen to a few more of the tracks they’ve been working on over the last few days, but stops before the lyrics start in the only one he and Jeff have crafted words to so far, not ready for Steve to hear it yet.

As they’re talking, Eddie gets a notification he almost swipes away without reading, but Steve’s name catches his attention, so he drags it down and reads over the words.

“You okay?” Steve asks, and Eddie realizes the face he must be making is ridiculous.

“Oh, uh. I just got a notification about you?” he mumbles back, and texts the link to Steve.

Now it’s Steve’s turn to look confused as Eddie reads over the headline again.

Hockey Legacy Harringtons to Host Joint Fundraiser

Steve reads the words and seems to immediately understand them in a way Eddie can’t, and he closes his eyes in a heavy sigh. “I promise you, my life is not usually this dramatic.”

Eddie hates how miserable Steve seems all of a sudden; regrets passing the link on but knows he would have found out eventually and gotten upset anyway. “Dude, really, I don’t even know what that means, so it’s not a big deal.”

“It is, though. This is my parents, deciding that I’m worthy of being their son again because I’m getting a bunch of positive press after the injury. So my name gets to be included in the gala invitation, which I have been excluded from since juniors, by the way.” It’s still piecemeal, the information Eddie is able to take away from Steve’s explanation, but it’s enough to get the general gist of the issue.

“Ah. So, the dad who convinced you to self-sabotage is now trying to take credit for your sportsmanship?”

“Something like that,” Steve grumbles, and Eddie can see how he’s holding the phone differently, typing out a text. “I think I have to get Robin and we need to figure this out, sorry to jump off like this. But, I’ll see you at the Preds game? We can grab dinner after?”

“It’s a date.”

Eddie physically can’t stop the words before they’re out of his mouth, and immediately waits for a hole in the ground to open up and suck him in and put him out of his misery. But Steve just raises an eyebrow, smiles and shrugs. “Not yet, but. Sure.”

Then, Eddie stares at himself in the reflection of his phone after Steve ends the FaceTime call and he has no idea what he’s supposed to do with Steve Harrington, who keeps finding new ways to catch him off guard.

#glitter & crimson #starkidmunson writes #it's a little longer as an apology for how long it's been #steddie #rockstar!eddie munson #hockey player!steve harrington #simultaneously the slowest of burns and the most obvious flirting #anti-steve's parents

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